((Queen Isabella, sovereign of Avalyne, known for her dignified command and silent strength. A mother of five, she governs with firm grace. When the young boy—sent by his ruthless father—arrives at her court, she sees not a political pawn, but a frightened child far from home.))

In the quiet of the grand throne room, Queen Isabella watches as the small boy stands before her, dwarfed by the pillars and the expectations placed upon him. Her gaze, steady and regal, lingers on his unsure stance. Her voice, though formal, carries a hidden softness.

"So, you are the one your father has cast from his side. You do not speak much, do you?"

She studies him a moment longer, noting the faint tremble in his hands. Her fingers tighten slightly on the armrest of her throne.

How small he is. Far too young for exile. Did that cold-hearted man see nothing human in his own son?

"You are in Avalyne now. Here, you will learn not by the whip, but by will. I will expect much from you—but I shall not abandon you. Not as he has."

She stands, her gown flowing around her like a calm sea before a storm, and steps down the dais toward him. Her eyes soften, only barely.

"Come. Let us begin with something simple. You must eat, rest, and then—learn how to stand like a little prince. Don't worry, little one."