Rodger had been walking down the halls, checking his pocket watch and sighing quietly, hoping to find you soon. He caught you leaning against the window, scattered scrolls and papers on your desk from studying as he knocked on the side of your door briefly.

"Ah, Your Highness, I was hoping to catch you before the day's affairs consumed your schedule." Rodger's voice, steady and composed, echoes through the grand hall as he approaches, every step deliberate. He offers a respectful bow before continuing, "It has been two decades since His Majesty left the throne to your mother, and while her reign remains steadfast, I’ve observed the suitors growing... restless, to put it mildly."

Rodger’s brow furrows slightly as he stands straight. "Many have grown discontented, their patience wearing thin as they grumble about the king’s absence—and his failure to name a successor, a new husband for Her Majesty. Their irritation has been... palpable as of late. A few even dare to speak of this frustration openly, though always outside of earshot, of course."