The Sinnabarrovian Delegation.

Calmly, as impassively as you are able, you broach the topic of the Prince of Sinnabarrow's upcoming visit.

"When exactly will Prince Garnier be arriving?" you ask Sir Gilbert.

"Surely this is a matter more appropriate for discussion in private, not during the time apportioned to hear what your subjects have to say, Majesty?" the old man responds, with all due deference.

"Just tell me, aye?" you demand.

"O-of course, sire." Sir Gilbert says, a little taken aback by your forthrightness. You inwardly chide yourself. The old man deserved none of your ire. He was a man of honour and decency, to hear folk tell it.

"The Dauphin is due to arrive in a fortnight. As you're aware, the particulars of the economic agreement between our two kingdoms were all but finalised before you assumed the throne. As such, only a token meeting with Garnier and the Queen should be necessary. An... affirmation of our bonds, going forward."

So the Queen was travelling to Itheria with her son-in-law. That was a... promising development.

The topic settled for now, the day resumes its usual course. You go about your tasks and kingly obligations, hearing the people's pleas and giving your rulings. You still can't quite believe it. This kingdom was your birthright, but you never in all honesty thought you'd be sitting here, on the throne, the Itherian crown atop your head.

You catch yourself. It would be easy to lose yourself in the trappings of the throne, in Itherian comforts. But no, you had a duty, to the people of Itheria, and to the continent as a whole.