Go watch Madeline's card game.

{if social = true}You approach the boisterous crowd around one of your hall’s large dining tables, slipping between the legions of excitable Rinvari gamblers.

“Oi!” a man named Ragnor calls, seeing you. You met him earlier when you were swapping tales over a drink in the training grounds. “It’s Lord wants-to-fuck-our-queen!” The crowd guffaws, some especially drunk guests pounding the table with their fists, causing the coins atop it to jingle and bounce. A particularly enterprising young Rinvari slips one from the edge into his pocket.

You grin along with the companionable hazing. There’s no malice in it.

“You lot.” Madeline shakes her head from the head of the table. “Can’t take you anywhere.” She grins broadly and lobs half a loaf of bread at Ragnor, who catches it in the jaw. The table erupts once again with renewed laughter. She waves you to her. “C’mere, Lord Dragoon. They’ll mind their manners if you’re on my arm.”

One of her people grabs you a chair and places it next to Madeline’s so that the armrests practically overlap. You fall into it, and right away a drink finds your hand, supplied by the smiling, warm faces around you. They greet you joyfully, still impressed, it seems, by your tale and company earlier in the day.

“Sure can throw yourselves a fancy shindig here in the north,” Madeline says quietly. The others around you have gone back to the game, their tales, and their cups. “Haven’t seen this much glitter’n polish since King Vincent traveled out to the wildlands to gift me my title.”

You’re surprised. “The King came to you?”

“Aye.” She leans toward you so you can smell the ale on her breath and the earth in her hair. “He was nearby for one of the border battles already. Big one that ended the raids.”

“Battle at Crescent Hill,” you say. “I’ve heard all about it. You’re a hero, Madeline. You deserve the title.”

“Pah.” She grins at you. “It’s a leash, a title. But…” Her blue eyes shift just slightly, quirk in a wry, evaluative way at you. “Certainly comes with its benefits, too.”

You swallow, a little lost for words in the sudden intensity of her gaze.

“Come on,” she says, smiling. “Show me what us title-bearers do at fancy royal parties. Or maybe you’d like to join a bit of rough-and-tumble cardplay with the boys? Either way,” she adds, quieter, just for you, “stay with me a little while.”

{elseif shy = true}You approach the boisterous crowd around one of your hall’s large dining tables, slipping between the legions of excitable Rinvari gamblers. You get as close as you can without having to push and shove, and before you can speak up, Madeline catches your eye from the head of the table. “It’s your lucky night, boys!” she says. “Lord Dragoon has come to save you from losing all your money!”

Her people laugh, some mock-thanking you or challenging Madeline to stay. But she’s slipping out of her chair, yellow braid swinging behind her as with smiling teeth and a proper bow she exits the game and makes her way toward you.

You smile as she nears you, and she smiles back, wide and genuine as she takes your arm and pulls you to the edge of the room.

“I’m sorry,” you say, as you both settle near the warmth of a flickering brazier. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.”

She shrugs, nonplussed. “It’s only a game. ‘Sides, some of my boys pulled me away earlier, when we were talking. It’s only fair.” She grins. “Sure can throw yourselves a fancy shindig here in the north.”

“Do you like it?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t love a party? Only I haven’t seen this much glitter’n polish since King Vincent traveled out to the wildlands to gift me my title.”

You’re surprised. “The King came to you?”

“Aye.” She leans toward you so you can smell the ale on her breath and the earth in her hair. “He was nearby for one of the border battles already. Big one that ended the raids.”

“Battle at Crescent Hill,” you say. “I’ve heard all about it. You’re a hero, Madeline. You deserve the title.”

“Pah.” She grins at you. “It’s a leash, a title. But…” Her blue eyes shift just slightly, quirk in a wry, evaluative way at you. “Certainly comes with its benefits, too.”

You swallow, a little lost for words in the sudden intensity of her gaze.

“Come on,” she says, smiling. “Show me what us title-bearers do at fancy royal parties. Or maybe you’d like to join a bit of rough-and-tumble cardplay with the boys? I promise, with me there, they won’t bite. Unless of course you want them to; I certainly don’t mind teeth coming out.” She winks. “Either way, stay with me a little while.”{endif}