The Throne Room

    "Ah, Evrand." He stood up from the throne and moved to the middle of the room, meeting his son and taking the letter back with a gracious smile. "I see you have done as I asked. I am pleased."

    The king wore his ornate green regalia and a cape today, emerald encrusted sword at his hip as always. The guards in the corners of the room stood statuesque in the darkness, as King Hylon started pacing to and fro before the two, as if it fueled the gears in his head. He took a moment to think, and then stopped, looking slightly to the ceiling as if to emphasize some deep thought.
    "My son... as you know, we have recently acquired a vast expanse of land.. the town and lands of Brimiarde."

    The king continued.
    "Doing so was in the best interest of our people, as our twin nationalities have joined forces under one flag to carve out a meaningful and progressive existence. And now, we have been presented a second opportunity to expand our borders in such a manner, and I'd not call myself king of this land if I were not to take each and every opportunity to increase the wealth and security of our people."
    He contemplated one final time what he was to decide, and then looked Evrand square in the eye.
    "Camilla D'Arcy is the last surviving royal member of a foreign sovereignty. In one week's time, you and Camilla are to join together in holy matrimony."
    The king was also gracing Camilla with as much of her old life as he could, in giving her a title as princess of the realm, and the security of their nation. While Camilla had a reasonable feeling that this might come to be, King Hylon braced for his son's reaction, to whom this would be an entirely new and life-changing proposition.

    The news struck him hard; he had anticipated such a possibility, and yet the reality of it he was still unprepared for.
    "Yes, father," he said obediently to the king, bowing his head in respect for his decision. Camilla had proven to be good company, though all of this was so sudden. His life had changed in the matter of a few words. When his head bowed, he flashed a glance at Camilla.. an almost accusational glance... as if she knew. Those proverbial butterflies made their home in his stomach, as he began thinking ahead to his future life with this beautiful woman he hardly knew..

Shot another glance toward her now, betrothed and bit her lip again. No, she didn't know his majesty was going to choose them as a pairing. She had anticipated someone else perhaps. “Yes, Sire...” she said rather weakly, having caught that slight accusation. She looked to the king and gave a curtsey, before retreating. If the prince should follow and try to figure out what just happened, she would stop in her tracks and look straight ahead, shoulders squared, and say, “I knew of a possible betrothal, but not with whom. I was the one who made the proposal to your father. I didn't do any of this to ruin your life, highness.” She would keep it formal of course... “I did it to save mine.” And with that, she would repair to the place she was staying in order to get cleaned up. Of course, if he did NOT follow, none of those things would have been said. She would have simply gone on.

H o u r s – L a t e r

Camilla was freshly scrubbed and dressed in her finery... A soft, ermine color of silk that set off the gold in her eyes, the fabric draping her form rather gracefully. It was embroidered with gold thread, tiny little gem beads placed tastefully to catch the light of the torches just right. She had requested that tiger lilies be brought to her... Just two... and she pinned them behind each ear along with tawny ribbon. It was not her best gown... Her best gown was reserved for the nuptials. But she did make a stunning picture, which was completed with the minimal amount of jewelry – a net like crown that was made of gold chain and studded with gems that matched her gown, and a simple, gold chain necklace with a single gem amulet at the end. The signet ring rested where it belonged as well, though it was on her thumb because it was too large for her third finger.

She left her lodgings and nervously walked to where the feast was, the soft scent of lilies drifting subtly in her wake...

     Mailed guards stood sentry, two to each door of the hall and the entrance to the castle. In these months, the sun set early, and nightfall was already descending upon the settlement. Deep shadows beneath a setting sun were pierced by newly lit torches, which would burn and cackle on merrily as the night progressed. Everything - the tapestries, the cleanliness of the courtyard, the smells of incense and potpourri - had been prepared for a multitude of noble guests, ultimately to include the prince and his new fiancée. At the entrance to the small fortress was a little wooden table, with a fancy guestbook into which everyone was required to sign, including Camilla and the prince.
    Everything was very well-organized and carefully planned, a product of the king's machinations while the two were on their way home from the mines. Evrand and Camilla would be shown to seats near the king himself, who sat in a great dinner chair of exquisite woodcraft at the farthest end of a long, oaken candle-lit table that provided for an entire royal party.



    There was much chatter, and throughout it all, Camilla may find herself challenged with the complexities of her royal past, years of social and mental development in the wilds of the forests and roads from the final days of her princesshood.
    A multi-course meal awaited on a huge table that boasted a meticulously crafted, detailed model of the Stonevale Castle future vision as its centerpiece. Immediately before them was a soup, only of the finest potatoes, leaves of kale, red peppers, chicken broth, and sausage. Buttermilk bread rolls glistened with fresh butter and scarce spices of crushed basil, dipping complement to what was essentially a full meal for an appetizer, baked soft to perfection. Numerous courses cluttered the gold-laced tablecloth of their feast - a quarter of stag roasted after a full night in salt, a magnificent turkey embellished with peacock feathers and drizzled with egg yolk and gravy, several chickens and quails seasoned in rosemary and parsley, honey-maple smoked hams of the finest cut circumventing a whole cooked pig on a platter, and mashed potatoes topped with melted cheddars and speckled with green onions. Pies and pastries of every variety dotted the table amid the presentation, coupling with sugar-plums for an extravagant and plentiful dessert. Everyone had silverware, bowls, plates, tankards of water, and goblets of pewter. The latter would be filled with the finest cabernet sauvignon by slickly groomed servants. Truly, it was a feast fit for royalty...

Having been invited to the King's feast Sam arrives where he was instructed to. As he is walking up he sees a table with a guestbook. He walks over and signs in. He then walks in to find a huge banquet table. He looks a little lost as to where to sit down and so he decides to just take a seat directly in the middle of the table on the right hand side of the King. He hopes he didn't take someones seat.

Her face went a lovely shade of pink as the many eyes shifted her way. She ducked her head toward the end of the speech and found that with it having been said, more questions erupted from those seated around her. The princess of Verri lives? Indeed, it was all too much for her. The bounty of food especially, was something she was so unused to. She who had to fend for herself for many years in the wilderness and find a use for every single scrap, bone, and skin that she owned.... The color on her face soon drained to a gray color, and she found herself breaking out into a sweat. She needed some air.

“Many pardons, Majesty, but might I be excused for several moments?” she asked, leaning in so only he could hear. If/when he gave his consent, she would stand and gracefully give a curtsy despite her obvious pallor, and soon would find herself outside away from the people so she could compose herself. She would not... could not... make a fool of herself and burst into tears for what she saw. This was common. The feasting, the loudness, all of it was something people had been doing for centuries, and she... She was so detached from it because she'd kept the company of only trees since her fifteenth year. She didn't belong in a place like this, yet if she wanted to survive, she had to belong in a place like this.

When she returned, she looked composed, though her hands were clasped in front of her to keep them from shaking. When the feast was well underway, and she was able to handle giving a speech herself, she waited for the right moment before standing up and looking quite regal even with the feral nature she had.

“Just over a decade ago...” she raised her smoke ruined voice as best as she could to be heard, “My home, Verri, became lost to war. Ruins sit where once, magnificent castles and keeps stood... The people, have faded away over time. I, myself, have seen nothing of my people and would rejoice if one person from Verri would come to me, alive and well.” She paused, looking out over the crowd. “His Majesty and His Highness were gracious enough to take me into their kingdom, and to accept me into their family, soon, in marriage when I am but a humble servant of the land. If my people live, I trust His Majesty to give them the same welcome and see that the war torn lands will prosper once again; to see that the hungry will never starve; and to know that with hard work, we can all rebuild and rise from the ashes like the phoenix.” She looked to Evrand pointedly, “And I shall ask for a toast... To the union of old and new. To the future of two kingdoms that will become one in a week hence... and to the children that will be born in the years to come that will symbolize hope... and love... and prosperity.” She raised her goblet then.

There seems to have been a collective sigh given by a lot of the ladies, especially. Her speech wasn't nearly as eloquent as the king's, but the emotion she put out was genuine and attention getting. She gave yet another curtsy before seating herself.

The Prince had looked up to the king during the announcement, and while not really enjoying being put on the spot this particular evening, he handled it all quite well. Evrand raised his goblet to Camilla's toast, a fine cause indeed.
"Yes," he says in agreement, "to the future!"
Prince Evrand also beamed approvingly at the merchant Sam's introduction... particularly, the part about introducing a new weapon prototype.
Throughout the banquet, wine helped the whole, complicated ordeal of a dinner to be more enjoyable and relaxing. He never took monstrous gulps, but slowly and surely, the beginnings of Evrand's conversations to the person to the left and right of him had gone from something like "so, Mr. Bowden, I'm curious of the details of your most exciting mission in recovering those embezzled funds..." to "so there I was... alone in the forest... with naught but my sword and the clothes on my back...and, the werewolf...

Feruzia had not gotten an invitation, but she was confident once Camilla knew who she was, she would be let in. She strode confidently up to the doors, and when blocked by the guards, she craned her neck to see inside. “Princess Camilla!!!” she called into the banquet. “Princess Camilla! It is I, Feruzia! Please have them let me in!!” Hopefully they would hear her over the music and the partying, her voice was somewhat strained.

The Beast Mistress did not dress for the occasion like the lords and ladies did. She did not have a beautiful dress, nor would she wear one. It was all, leather armor for her. She was clean, though, after having spent the last few days resting at the local inn and recouping after her misadventures in the Misty Woods.

“Your highness!! I implore you, please tell them to let me in!”