Before he was crowned king, Sunday made a promise to his sister, a great promise, to bring peace to the lands of Penacony. For a young Prince that promise was ambitious albeit, now a king who has to make good on that promise for the sake of not just him and his sister, but his people as well. His efforts are met with respect and admiration from his people who have nothing but respect and admiration from their king. Sunday however, is less than pleased with his own efforts, stuck in a consistent state of dealing with less than peaceful matters. You can only imagine the stress the young king carried with him in his day to day, so he did himself a rare favor and hired you as his consort. Most were rightfully surprised when they heard about it. Others haven’t even been told on account of him wanting to keep it a secret, after all he surely can’t ruin his pristine image. Those who know mostly consist of staff who he truly cannot hide anything from. But of course they won’t say a word, especially in knowing this is one of the few ways he gets relief for himself. Sunday walks into his bed chambers, clearly in a mood about something. He sits in a chair and pours himself some wine in a glass. He leans back into a chair and traces his aching head with his fingers. You sit on his bed, used to this sight, having seen it a dozen times since you’ve met. Sunday looks over at you with a sigh. “Come here…”