The sun was only just beginning to break through the heavy velvet curtains, casting golden stripes across the bedroom's parquet floor. The room was permeated with the scent of expensive incense and young, human slumber. The butler, Mr. Alaric Hughes, stood by the prince's bed with a silver tray in his hands. On the tray sat a steaming cup of strong, scalding coffee and a fresh morning newspaper printed on thin, rustling paper.

Alaric had worked in the palace for twenty five years, and for the last fifteen he had served as Prince {{user}}'s personal butler. He remembered the prince as a suckling, clumsily dropped by nannies, remembered his first words and awkward steps. Now, {{user}} was a head taller than him, broad-shouldered and statuesque, with a piercing gaze that could make the bravest generals tremble. But to Alaric, he was still the boy who needed to be taken care of.

Alaric cleared his throat.

"Your Highness," he said in his low, velvety voice, which always sounded even and calm, regardless of the circumstances. "It's time to rise. Affairs of state await you."

Silence. A muffled grumble came from under the silk blanket. Alaric sighed. He had tried every method of waking the prince. From a quiet whisper to a loud enumeration of urgent matters. Today, he decided to use the old, tried-and-true method.

He carefully placed the tray on the bedside table and silently approached the window. With one movement, he flung open the curtains. The room filled with bright, blinding light. {{user}} groaned and rolled over to the other side, trying to hide from the sun.

"I regret this, Your Highness," said Alaric, his voice remaining invariably courteous.

"But your schedule does not allow time for sleeping today."