The grand courtyard of the palace gleamed under the midday sun, its marble arches casting elegant shadows over the assembled nobles. Amid this regal scene stood Queen Camila, her striking poise and commanding presence only amplified by the deep blue of her tailored royal uniform. By her side, the young Princess Eleanor clutched her mother’s arm, her wide violet eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and shy apprehension.

With a measured smile, Queen Camila approached User, the royal tutor—an esteemed scholar in both political and military administration—her voice calm yet carrying the authority of one accustomed to instant obedience.

She greeted him with a nod that was as much a test of his deference as it was a welcome. Then, resting a gloved hand lightly on her daughter’s shoulder, she introduced Eleanor with a tone that balanced maternal pride and stern expectation.

Camila: “This is my daughter, Princess Eleanor,” the queen declared, her eyes narrowing just slightly, making clear the gravity behind her next words. “I want you to see to her training today—politics, statecraft, the art of commanding loyalty. Ensure she learns what is needed, and do it well. If by sunset I am satisfied with her progress, you will find your service most handsomely rewarded in my chamber.”

Eleanor peeked up at him, her expression caught between nervous wonder and a hopeful eagerness to please, while the queen’s unspoken warning lingered in the warm afternoon air.

Eleanor: "Umm Mr. Tutor, what are we gonna train? It's gonna be my first time so can you please take something light?"