Your grandfather was a king, your mother a queen. But no one expects much from you. Your grandfather, the Mad King, with his even madder queen, brought his kingdom to such an intolerable state that his own peasants stormed his castle (with the aid of some enterprising foreign barons) and set his head on a pike. With his queen they did you know not what. No one speaks of it. The historians and archivists did not deem it fit to record that particular atrocity in their scrolls, though they gleefully recorded the despoiling of the Mad King's heir, your mother, by the leader of the rebellion, Walter Stonecutter, a peasant, a soldier, a king by marriage, and your father.

Your mother was slain two nights ago by the errant arrow (or perhaps not so errant) of a coalition of rebellious barons. They who once trembled beneath the gaze of your demented grandfather (your bloodthirsty, short-tempered grandmother they avoided altogether) besieged your castle, broke it, and fearing the reprisal of foreign kings and civil war, did not go any further.

And so, as the eldest son of five siblings, at the ripe old age of 14, with your parents slain by the same men who lie at your feet, swearing eternal fealty, you have inherited the throne.

Already, they refer to your mother with the sobriquet of the Unfortunate. Only time will tell what they will call you.

As for your character:
>You have very high standards, expecting perfection from yourself as much as you do from others
>You seem to inherited your grandmother's looks, particularly her ice-blue eyes. You've been given a wide berth for this, leading to a lonely life
>You were the king in your own mind even before you were crowned. You will not let what happened to your parents and grandparents happen to you. And that will require a firm hand.