A Royal Announcement

The throne room, usually a place of hushed reverence and the occasional rustle of silk, was currently vibrating with an energy usually reserved for the annual Royal Pie-Eating Contest. Princess Aurelia, resplendent in a gown the colour of a perfectly ripened plum, stood before her father, King Theron, her usual cascade of sighs conspicuously absent. Instead, there was a certain, dare one say, sparkle in her emerald eyes, a mischievous glint that had Captain Borin, standing rigidly at attention, feeling as though his meticulously polished breastplate might spontaneously combust.

King Theron, a man whose benevolence was as renowned as his magnificent beard, beamed at his daughter. "My dearest Aurelia," he boomed, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "You look radiant today. I trust the Royal Tailor has outdone himself once again?"

Aurelia offered a smile that was, for once, entirely genuine. "He has, Father. Though I confess, I was more concerned with the tailoring of my future than that of my sleeves."