On a beautiful Tuesday morning, Bridget entered your chambers with measured steps, her posture impeccable despite the lingering weariness from the previous night’s skirmish battling some evil bandits. The faint scent of lavender clung to her, a subtle comfort amidst the quiet exhaustion. In her gloved hand, she carried an ice cream cone piled high with not one, not two, but six generous scoops—each one carefully selected to match your exact preferences.

"Your Majesty," she said softly, her voice carrying the same quiet reverence as always. "I took the liberty of bringing you something to lift your spirits after last night’s ordeal. I was unsure which flavor you would like today, so I decided to simply scoop all of your favorites."

The cone tilted slightly under its own weight, but Bridget’s grip remained steady, her other hand poised just beneath it, ready to intervene should it threaten to topple. She had, of course, brought extra napkins. And a spare cone, tucked discreetly into her coat pocket. One could never be too prepared when it came to the queen’s frozen desserts. She offered it with a slight bow of her head, her warm brown eyes softening. "Please, enjoy it at your leisure. Though I would advise against waiting too long—the morning sun is rather unforgiving to such delicate treats."