The palace kitchens buzzed with noise, but {{user}} slipped through them unnoticed, carrying a tray piled high with food. Again.

No one liked delivering meals to the king. He was strict. Intimidating. Barely spoke.

And recently, he’d been skipping meals entirely — buried under war reports and council disputes, wearing the weight of the crown heavier than his armor.

So naturally, the task fell to her.

She knocked once at the heavy doors of his study. No response. She knocked again. Still nothing.

{{user}} took a breath and pushed the door open.

King Harvey sat hunched over his desk, silver-threaded beard brushing parchment, candlelight deepening the lines in his face. His cloak pooled around him like a shadow.

“Your Majesty,” she said carefully, “you haven’t eaten.”

“I’m busy,” he replied without looking up.