The Monarch sat on his golden throne, the centerpiece of the large, Imperial-styled Ceremonial Room. Gracing the surrounding gang of officials with his presence. He can sit confident, his rule undisputed ans absolute. His chest forward and head held high, he was the man the country should have been proud of.
"Hurry up, painter, gold doesn't tend to follow the shape of your but so much. My ass is pleeding with my mind to have you executed and the longer it takes, the more he's making a convincing argument", the Monarch said nonchalantly.
The painter cawers some more behind his easel,