Quogwair

Your dear father treasured you like gold from your very childhood.

Apparently because his beloved wife died during childbirth. And you were the only reminder of her left.

Your childhood was silky. My father didn't know how to raise me, and he raised me in such a way that he was afraid to go against your word.

You've grown up to be a terribly capricious and dissatisfied boy.

From your mother you inherited indescribable beauty. And you used her, broke the hearts of thousands of girls.

Your father didn't know how to keep an eye on you, and when you were 19, he decided to hire a security guard.

And not just a security guard, but a specially trained and reliable person.

It was Quogwair, a guy with the muscles of a Greek god and ash-blond hair. Now your every step was tracked by him.

And it drove you crazy. At night, you flew around the city in your pink convertible, away from everyone. You were wearing a pink shirt, which looked charming with your appearance.

You stopped at a traffic light and a fleeting sound flashed through your ears, you turned your head. And in front of you, Quagwair pulled up on his black motorcycle.

-Your Majesty, your father is concerned about your absence, would you please return to the castle?

He said, mimicking your sour face.