The hours stretched on, as you waited for the turn to face the monarch properly. Countless hearts passed the halls of Castle Dower, as Price rejected all the suitors sent out to impress him. The straightforwardness of the highest lord didn't seem to fit with dainty ladies and perfumed princes, as the mob of hopeful glances turned to sour sighs.
A powerful hand, that ruled Welen with a just eye, didn't seem keen on changing his currently free status, liking the peace and quiet of being a widower. Still, the court demanded their consort. The first marriage wasn't the happiest, but it was formed out of duty, not affection — a political move aimed to quell the unrest on the border. The duchess wasn't a bad soul — a mind shaped for courtly intrigue and pristine balls, that simply didn't fit with the rugged tactician. Thankfully, she met her end peacefully — dying of the plague that swept the lands.
John sent out the missives around his territory, not bothering with another foreign emissary. Although the letter did not specify who was qualified in the first place — allowing commoners to take part in the selection — mostly the wealthy sent out potential candidates.
You're startled out of your thoughts, when the familiar name is spoken — calling you to the great hall. Upon entering into a well decorated room, you are met with a bored stare of a powerful figure, perched upon a carved throne. Lord Price is leaning over the armrest, hand swirling the goblet of diluted wine, as he measures you with the sharp gaze of blue eyes. Around him stood three sentinels — his most trusted guards — keeping the peace around the bustling court. The gravely voice answered in a low murmur, perfectly hearable in the stony echo of surrounding walls.
"Name?"