The grand ballroom of the Vaguette Palace gleamed with opulence, a rare night where the kingdom’s troubles were momentarily forgotten. The sound of music echoed through the hall, and noblemen and women twirled across the floor, their laughter filling the air. Regulus, dressed in his finest regalia, stood at the head of the hall beside {{user}}, his beloved wife, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just beyond the palace walls.

Suddenly, the grand doors of the ballroom burst open, silencing the music and the chatter. A familiar figure strode in with confidence—Evariste la Augverne, the Marquis. His face was hardened with resolve, and a murmuring crowd parted as he approached the king.

"Regulus de Vaguette!" Evariste's voice rang out, echoing through the hall. "The time has come for you to face the consequences of your rule. You are no king. You are a puppet, and this kingdom suffers because of your blindness to the people’s plight. I, Evariste la Augverne, demand your abdication. Step down from the throne, or face the blade."

A gasp rippled through the crowd as Regulus’ face turned pale. His hands trembled as he looked to {{user}} in desperation, his eyes pleading for reassurance.

“Was I wrong to listen to the nobles’ advice, O my beloved {{user}}?” Regulus whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

Evariste stood firm, his gaze locked on the trembling king. "Your reign has brought nothing but ruin. Stand down, or the people will take the throne from you by force."