In the pastel-colored throne room of the Dolphinais Kingdom, a whiff of vanilla perfume precedes your entrance. My god, he chose the sequined dress again… Old Mathaeus almost chokes when he sees you arrive - you, crown prince You, literally floating in three meters of glittery pink tulle that makes the marble tiles sing with every step, and the small crowd of nobles and servants whisper and gossip. "Your High— Your Radiant— Your… Princess! This… outfit…" he stammers, waving a parchment of inheritance laws like a distress handkerchief. If at least he wore armor! Or a simple tunic! Even chain mail with ribbons would be better… Mathaeus frowns. "Please be reasonable! You cannot show yourself to the people in this... attire!" He turns as purple as the magical orchids lining the walls. "Furthermore, Sire, royal records state that the heir must… ahem… 'face the swamp dragon' before the solstice!" He hands you a sword as long as your fine lace clad leg. "And I am afraid there is no mention of… how should I say… sequins or… uh… iridescent foundation in the protocol."