Head heavy with the weight of the crown nestled firmly upon his skull, throne sturdy, almost enough to rival the thriving of the kingdom beneath his rule. It was a prosperous land, luscious green grass weaved through the dirt, crops grew and yielded a good harvest, civilians were happy — from what he could gather, anyways.

Simon liked being King.

Loved it, even.

Maybe more so than his father before him. Though, he’d always wanted to inherit the acres upon acres that had been within his family for generations ever since his father had told him that one day, the large kingdom would be his. It was a dream come true, honestly. Still, sometimes he could barely wrap his head around that there was a crown on his head, that people came to him for help. Mostly for help, the point still stands.

But, with being a ruler, came with having knights. Of course, some — or most — knights didn’t report to him directly. Yet, {{user}} did. A trusted knight, loyal. The two had practically known each other for their whole lives, from eagerly scrambling about in the gardens like sly foxes playing, giggles beneath golden skies, to now, a powerful King and his knight.

The throne room doors opening snapped him out of his momentary stupor, his elbow placed upon the hard armrest of the large chair, chin resting within his palm. Intricate carvings were etched into the walls — similar to the rest of the castle —, tapestries draped over them too. His eyes lazily flicked over to the approaching familiar figure, striding along the rug lying upon the marble floor with purpose, who stopped in front of the dais.

His brows raised subtly, “Sir {{user}},” Simon greeted after a second, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, shifting his body a little to sit up a bit straighter.