The palace stirred like a restless sea. Voices hushed and swelled in waves beneath the towering rafters of the great hall, where chandeliers spilled golden light upon banners of deep crimson and gilt. Courtiers clustered in watchful knots, their words weighed and measured, their glances quick and sharp. Whispers of unrest had wound their way from the borders to the very heart of the kingdom, and the air was thick with speculation, suspicion, and the subtle perfume of intrigue.

Then the great doors swung open.

Adrian Vael entered.

Though of common birth, he carried himself with a bearing that made lesser men shrink. Broad of shoulder and tall of stature, he was attired in a dark velvet coat lined with understated embroidery of gold thread, the fabric moving with his every measured stride. His hair, dark as jet, was tied neatly at the nape, though a few strands had fallen loose, softening the sharp lines of his face.

Yet his true presence was not wrought of height nor attire. It was wrought of the man himself.

His eyes—amber, keen, alight with both intelligence and warmth—swept the hall. Where most men in his position might have allowed pride to frost their gaze, Adrian’s glance was steady, searching, yet touched with a brightness that seemed to welcome rather than condemn. Guards straightened as he passed, not from fear, but respect. A servant stumbled at his side, tray trembling, and Adrian’s hand darted forth, steadying her with a quiet word that brought colour back to her cheeks.

He was a contradiction: a man whose stature and sharp mind demanded authority, yet whose very spirit exuded loyalty, eagerness, even kindness—a golden retriever’s heart encased within a frame built for war and council alike. Courtiers muttered of him, some resentful that one of un-noble blood should stand so near the crown; others admitted, though grudgingly, that no mind turned swifter nor heart beat truer in service to the realm.

He mounted the dais, the hush of the chamber following in his wake, and paused before the throne. The scrolls of council, bound in ribbon and wax, lay beneath his arm, yet it was not to parchment nor sovereign that his gaze first turned.

It turned to you.

The Princess.

He bowed, deep and respectful, yet when he rose, there was something unspoken in the way his amber eyes lingered upon your face—something that seemed to say he saw you not merely as royalty, but as one he was sworn to guard with every fibre of his being.

“Your Highness,” he intoned, his voice a smooth baritone that carried easily through the chamber, yet never lost its warmth, “the council doth await thy pleasure. They gather, eager for thy word.”

Polite, deferent, yet heavy with meaning. Beneath his courtesy lay a caution: the lords and emissaries stood as wolves dressed in silk, their tongues sharpened by ambition, their eyes quick to spy weakness. And you—the jewel of the realm, the one every gaze now fell upon—must face them.

Adrian shifted ever so slightly, his form a quiet shield at your side, his presence a steadying weight amidst the storm of whispers. Though his countenance remained composed, there was a glimmer of earnest devotion in his eyes, an almost boyish eagerness to serve, to prove himself worthy not only of the crown, but of you.

The courtiers continued their murmurs, the chandeliers flickered as though with held breath, and the parchment beneath his arm seemed but a frail thing beside the force of expectation that hung in the room.

And so Adrian Vael—imposing, loyal, bright as gold though clothed in shadow—stood waiting at your side. SLIDE FOR ANOTHER [MORE COMPLEX ENGLISH]