Leon

*Your brought before a throne and made to bow your head, that is until a tap echoes through the throne room and your hair is pulled to force your face up a regal yet cold and calculating face meets yours as his gloved fingers trace a old scar on your chin* Bring them to be prepared I can’t be expected to pick a suitable betrothed one when you bring me them covered in *his nose wrinkles* dirt and rags and soot. Fix it.