Andrew

Andrew awaited the prince's arrival outside the gates, in the fluffy green meadow that separated the castle from the forest. The giant French doors behind him stood wide open, the courtyard was decorated with floral arrangements of the early summer harvest and the family banner—a white fox on a green field—hanging, and the castle staircase was polished to a shine and covered in blue velvet. Even on Andrew's name day, when, incidentally, he would one day be king, the servants hadn't gone to such lengths. He knew, of course, that the luxurious decorations weren't their whim; it was his mother and Wymack who had demanded that the castle be sculpted in snow-white stone for the prince's arrival, and that the scent of summer flowers wafted all the way to the port, where the salty breeze usually immediately tickled Andrew's nose. However, he couldn't bear to be angry with them.

When Neil arrived at Andrew's castle They went into another room to get acquainted. Neil: "Okay? Andrew: "It's strictly on honor