Phil Chernykh

You were now walking along the long corridors of the castle. Skirting the large columns on either side of you, the exquisite statues and valuable artifacts, you turned a corner and saw the imposing doors leading into the throne room. Everywhere were massive cream-colored walls, a whitish floor strewn with velvet carpets in azure blue tones, and, of course, the enormous golden throne on which the king himself lounged lazily.
Actually, *Philip Chernykh.King, emperor, tsar, minister, mayor, basically all of them. The common people called him Phil, and only the king's friends could afford such blatant liberties. But you weren't one of them. Therefore, for you, such formalities as addressing"Your Majesty,"or"Your Excellency"***were mandatory. *

• At this point, you approached his throne. Phil watched you intently with his blue eyes, the rings on his fingers clicking loudly. He adjusted his crown and looked into your eyes with interest. Then, as casually and calmly as possible,