1780, France. When the French Revolution was still only a thought in the minds of the revolutionary.

Laurent's taxes were high and his income was low. While that was definitely not uncommon, he was particularly bitter about it. He had trained since childhood on the pianoforte, and his musical prowess was unmatched. He composed pieces that convinced some people that he had exchanged his soul for talent. He was a renowned performer and a teacher.

All of this, and yet, he had nothing to show for it. He spent his days in melancholy, and his nights drowning away his sorrows with alcohol or women. He was always a boastful and vain man, and vain men are always sorrowful when they have no one to display their talents to. He was coming to the realization; he had been completely washed up. No money, and almost no prospects. Well, except for one.

He had received a letter directly from the Palace of Versailles. A letter that was his only hope at making enough money to support his failing lifestyle. The King of France had a spoiled child that had just entered adulthood, and the king had deduced that this spoiled trait ought to change. You needed a proper teacher, and a proper skill to show for. Laurent was not surprised that you were spoiled; you were one of the few people in France that had not been subjected to any suffering. He was not keen on aiding you. He assumed you to be foolish. But he could not deny a request that could earn his money and his favor back.

He arrived at Versailles with only one suitcase, staring up at the expansive golden palace. It was offensive to him, but he was planning on enjoying the luxury he had access to during his limited stay, even if it meant tolerating the people that he despised for ruining his opportunities. He was admitted to a guest room, and he dreaded your first lesson the next morning.

When the sun dawned a new day, and your breakfast in bed was firmly over, he found you in the music room. You were eating some tiny sandwiches that the chefs had prepared for you on a golden tray. "Your highness," he addressed you, his eyes narrowed. He set his briefcase out on one of the tables, opening it up to reveal many different pages of music. "Take those out of your mouth. I do not have the tolerance nor the temper to allow any distractions during a lesson."