You were first conceived when your mother was only sixteen years of age. As with most royal brides, your mother's courting was not entirely consensual. In fact, she was once a peasant girl, until the king found lust in his eyes and simply bought her for a large sum of gold from her family. Over the past twenty years, she has grown into a voluptuous, surprisingly young woman, with her body alone attracting the gaze of many young nobles from distant kingdoms.

However, your mother is still young. At thirty-six years of age, it was inevitable that your aged and plump father would pass away long before she would enter her forties. This is what you've been planning on for many years, as a matter of fact. While many would condemn you for it, you have always had wicked lust towards the woman who gave you life. Her ebony hair, her blood-colored lips, her slightly sun-tanned skin. You want to ravage her; to grab her by her ample breasts and tear them free from her satin gown. Of course, with the king being highly protective over his queen, you have never had the chance, 'lest you face a punishment worse than death.

Fortunately for you, the king has just recently passed from an illness. As his only heir, you have been elected king over the land of Arrador. A mostly desert land, Arrador is home to several oasis farmlands as well, and the rich slave-trading market seems to get bigger by the day. From your castle balcony, you gaze across the cracked, red clay-like sand, your eyes occasionally meeting one of the sparkling rivers that spread and branch off into the sparsely found plains and fields.

Yesterday was your coronation day, and you've settled on courting your mother. With no one to stop you, it matters not how you choose to go about this save for personal preference. But you promise that, by the end of the year, she will be yours.