Interpellate v. to question (someone, such as a foreign minister) formally concerning an official action or policy or personal conduct
"And who are you wearing, Prince Jarvan?"
"First off, thank you for honoring the great Demacian artisans whose work, along with that of our other hardworking citizens, is the backbone of our great nation." He gave the interviewer his most winning smile. "But the real question is how we can make this great nation even greater. For starters, we have a great plan in the works to improve…"
He walked out from behind the podium, gesturing as he laid out his vision for Demacia. His voice carried without yelling at his audience, authority ringing in his voice.
Jarvan didn't miss a beat as a man in a dark mask leapt from behind the desk. Still talking, he snatched up the Demacian flag from its stand and used it to trip the would-be assassin. His opponent fell face-first on the floor, Jarvan's boot on his back.
The assassin tapped the ground. Jarvan finished his thought and helped him up.
"Excellent, my prince!" Commander Steele exclaimed, pulling off his mask and laughing hardily. He clasped the ten-year old on the shoulder. "You will make your father proud if you give a showing half that impressive at your first public announcement!"
Jarvan grinned up at his tutor and replaced the flag in its holder. Honestly, he was happier with Commander Steele's praise than the praise of a man he barely saw, even if he knew it should be the other way around. "Thank you, sir. Now what can I improve?"
"And could you keep it short, sir?" Garen put down his list of interview questions, kicking his legs. "We have to get to sparring practice."
"Quite right!"
The commander hobbled over to the other boy on his wooden leg and ruffled his hair. Garen made a face. Jarvan's grin widened.
"Now on your transitions…"