Meeting Madeleine

Strolling through the Palace, you and Donald eventually arrive at the entrance to Princess Madeleine's quarters. The two Beathan ladies, Kara and Jana stand outside, clearly awaiting their Prince before venturing into the dining room.

"Your Majesty, I'm honoured once more." Jana nods, offering up a rather rusty curtsy. You smile and nod back at the blonde warrior. Donald's woman looks a pleasing sight in her gown, albeit not half as much as she had done at the Spring, her chest bare and the Jitterleaf coursing through her system.

"Shall we get this shite over with?" Donald asks, gesturing to the door.

"Steady, brother." Kara tells Donald. "You can't afford to piss Madeleine off, you know. We might need her aid one day."

"I know..." the Crown Prince sighs, rolling his eyes before rapping on the door.

An instant later, Elodie, the Princess' meek little lady-in-waiting answers.

"Your Majesty!" She curtsies to you. "Your Grace, Your Grace." then again to Donald and Kara, before turning to Jana, unsure how to address the only commoner before her.

"Jana's just fine, lass." the warrior woman scoffs.

“Very well.” the blonde nods, ushering you all inside.

This secondary dining hall is larger, and far more opulently appointed than the one favoured by King Pierre. In the centre of the room sits a heavy, elegantly carved dark wood table, a small and rather eclectic group of people seated around one end.

“Princess Madeleine Valerie Diacre.” Elodie says with a flourish, formally introducing you all to Sinnabarrow's heir.

It's not hard to tell to who Elodie is referring. Seated at the very head of the table is a round-faced young woman, red of hair, finely attired and dripping with jewellery, grinning as you and the Beathans enter.

“Ah, but this is a treat! Kara, Donald, it's been too long!” Madeleine smiles. The princess' lips are smeared with some form of red cosmetic, only applied too thickly, giving her the appearance of a sort of mummer or clown. Her chin-length red hair is immaculately styled and dyed a more artificial vermilion colour, as opposed to Kara's naturally ginger locks.

“And you must be Edward.” Madeleine surmises, turning her gaze to you. “Ah, but they weren't embellishing your condition at all! Gods, look at you!”

The Beathans are a little taken aback by Madeleine's comment. As are you, to say the least. The princess' companions, however, seem unfazed by her frankness, save for a glint of embarrassment in the eyes of the tall, moustachioed man seated at her right hand.

“Really? I hadn't noticed?” You respond, in your most confident tone. By now, you were used to offering up such deflections.

“Ah, good one! Good one!” Madeleine responds, her titters going on a good few seconds longer than the rest of the room's subdued laughter. “My friends, please take a seat. I'm just... thrilled you all decided to come.”

“Shall I handle the introductions, Excellency?” Elodie asks, as the four of you join the princess' group.

“Fear not, Ellie. Your princess is more than capable of it.” Madeleine tells the blonde, reaching up to give her lady-in-waiting's nose a quick honk.

Madeleine slides her chair back and stands up. She's a petite woman, what she lacks up for in stature made up for with a sort of blithe energy. She wears a gown of black and red silks. A gold ring adorns nearly every one of her fingers, her hands glinting with every gesticulation she makes. Most of them are set with intricately carved chunks of cinnabar. A floral design on this one, alchemical symbols on another.

“This,” Madeleine begins, alighting behind the man next to her. He's dark-haired, about thirty, with a sensitive, cultured air about him. “Is Benjamin Swain, bard, writer, intellectual.”

She squeezes his shoulders affectionately.

“Edward, I'm sure the name's familiar to you.” Madeleine says, a mischievous edge to her voice.

“F-forgive me, but it doesn't ring a bell.” You admit.

“The Swains are a mainstay of the Lagan Admiralty, Your Majesty.” Benjamin reminds you.

Madeleine still hasn't removed her hands from his shoulders. You seem to recall you and your mother had posed for a portrait in much the same way when you were a boy.

“I was due to inherit my father's captaincy, but the quill, easel and lute called to me far more strongly than the open sea or battlefield. I've travelled the length and breadth of the continent, but have found few more knowledgeable or inquisitive than our dear Crown-Princess.”.

“See, he's rather clever, yes?” Madeleine smiles. “Don't let the part where he deliberately had himself disinherited fool you.”

Swain's smile falters a little at Madeleine's barb, but fortunately, the Princess is quick to move on to her next “courtier”.

“This is Narrowband.” Madeleine continues. “He's a goblin. ...as you can obviously tell.”

Sure enough, the diminutive figure sat next to Ben Swain is a goblin. You'd hardly know it from his fancy attire, but the green skin and pointed ears are a dead giveaway.

“A pleasure.” The goblin intones. Between the princess hovering behind him and the small doublet, obviously intended for a human child, he's **** into, his discomfort is palpable. Casting an eye around the table, you reckon he's far from the only one.

“And not just any goblin, an important one at that. Old Bandy's brother is the “king”,” Madeleine emphasises the word with a wiggle of her fingers “Of all the goblin tribes in Sinnabarrow and Morland. We keep him around as a sort of ambassador, if you can imagine it.”

“So in a way, there's two kinds of royalty around this very table.” Madeleine surmises. “Goblin and, well... real.”

Moving on, Madeleine retraces her steps, passing Swain, her own chair at the head of the table, and alighting between two very similar looking ladies.

“These two beauties,” Madeleine simpers, laying a hand across each woman's shoulder. “Are Marguerite and Rose Tournesol. The Baron de Tournesol is one of my father's closest friends, so we basically grew up together!”

The Tournesol sisters are twins, alike in nearly every respect. Their pale skin, beauty marks on their chin, lengthy, plaited black hair. Just about the only difference is that while the girl closest to you is rather skinny, the one to Madeleine's right is a more... full-figured woman.

“If you can't tell them apart, just remember this: Marguerite's the one who looks like she's already had her dinner!” the princess laughs wickedly.

A silence hangs in the dining room for several seconds, until Madeleine pounds her hand down on the table, rapping twice with her golden rings. As if on cue, her companions burst into polite laughter, Marguerite included.

Satisfied, Madeleine returns to her seat.

“Now, with that out of the way, shall we eat?”