Arriving at Sinnabarrow's capital

You and your mother's delegation travel for the better part of a week, crossing over Itheria's short eastern border with the smaller kingdom.

As accustomed as you are to spending time with her and fucking her regularly, it's a little aggravating to be so close to Marissa, and yet unable to bed her for fear of revealing yourself. Any frustrations you have, you relieve them with Vanessa's reliably pleasurable body, ploughing her several times a night and more than once even as your carriage travels the roads.

For another week or so, your party ventures into the Sinnabarrovian interior. The contrast between the kingdom's roads and your own is rather edifying. While Itheria's roads were often hardscrabble and under-defended, Sinnabarrow's are, to a one, well-maintained and well-guarded. In fact, the only sight more common than army patrols, the red mountain sigil of Sinnabarrow emblazoned on their armour, is trade convoys, sturdy workhorses pulling carriages full of mastercrafted goods and rare resources.

Like the downward curve of a funnel, following the roads eventually leads you to Copieux, the kingdom's capital. Cresting a rise in your carriage, your delegation is afforded an excellent view of the city as you approach.

The buildings seem to stretch on forever, handsome houses, shops and taverns, peppered with the red stone spires of numerous churches. To the north, built atop a cliff face in such a way that it looms over the city is the seat of the Sinnabarrovian crown, the Ducal Palace. Sinnabarrow had been a kingdom, not a duchy for nearly a century, but the nickname had persisted. Apparently King Pierre had renovated the facade of the Palace early on in his reign. Despite it's ornate appearance, you were assured the cliffside structure was a veritable fortress.

As your delegation wends through Copieux's streets towards the Palace, the smallfolk of the city come out to watch. Though you hadn't truly crossed paths with any Beathan civilians, you sensed the folk in Sinnabarrow were less hardy, more suited to work and trade than braving the elements and fighting to defend their land.

Upon crossing a drawbridge and entering the Ducal Palace's impressive courtyard, you are greeted by a tall, thin man in his late thirties.

"King Edward!" he greets you as you hobble out of your carriage and into the slightly chilly air of the dreary late afternoon. "On behalf of King Pierre of Sinnabarrow, second of his name, I am honoured- honoured indeed to welcome you to our kingdom."

The man bows. The silks and rubies he wears are more ornate than many of the outfits at your own court. His pale, angular face is offset by a distinct lack of eyebrows. The oiled black coiffure atop his head is as false as his smile, you note.

"I am Grégoire Bistodeau, our kingdom's Chancellor, by the grace of the gods and the will of King Pierre!" he announces.

Of course, you recall. Amelie did say her cousin was the Chancellor here.

"His Excellency apologises for being unable to greet you in person at this juncture." Bistodeau says gravely. "He will, however, be able to see you in an hour or so. We expect." He lets slip.

"In the meantime, I could very well show His Majesty to His Majesty's apportioned quarters, if that were to his liking?"

You nod your assent, your party falling into step behind the Chancellor. You look over your shoulder, searching back until your mother meets your gaze. You need to talk to her at some point, find out what your next step is.