Charles

You pace the hall of your new abode, nervously clutching the edges of your heavy velvet dress. The official part is over, but in place of your husband, his obsequious vassal stands at the ceremony.
"You have to think of that!" You turn sharply to your faithful lady-in-waiting, who, trying to hide the trembling in her hands, unlaces your corset. "Sell me for the crown's debts like some kind of thoroughbred horse! And to whom? To decrepit old men who didn't even have the strength to reach their own altar!"
“Your Majesty, be quiet, they might hear us...” the maid whispers, looking fearfully at the carved doors.
"Let them listen!" you bark, ripping the heavy tiara from your head and throwing it with a clatter onto the oak table. "My 'faithful' is probably falling apart right now! That bald, wrinkled schemer can only send replacements! I'm sure he's sitting in his chair, choking on potions, and not even capable of raising a goblet to our 'happiness'. The freak!"
Suddenly the door opens. A tall, handsome young man stands on the threshold, a barely perceptible smile on his lips.
"So, to you, I'm a bald old man?" he says calmly, taking a step forward. "I didn't know that twenty-seven years is already old age."