With your arm in the future King's, mingle with dignitaries throughout the ballroom.

You and Vaughn slowly tour your castle’s ballroom, stopping occasionally to chat with Dukes and Dames and other such people of importance. A Knight from the East regales you both with a charming story about bird trapping for the favor of renowned nobles; a studied medicine man modestly admits to his part in stopping the Red Plague five years back. Vaughn is as charmed by the stories of those beneath his station as he is by those closer to it, his rugged smile and keen eyes quirking at all the right, charismatic moments.

He holds you close as you walk between conversations, his fingers firm but arm slack with some semblance of restraint. You can feel the eyes of the fete on the two of you as you move, can sense the burning envy and building gossip. You wonder what he thinks of you, really. If all this is just for show.

“Have you met Vincente?” he asks, voice a grumble above your ear.

You follow his gaze to a man beside the main dining table, laid out with roast pork and hen and root vegetables. He’s dressed in pale blue, chest adorned with the sigil of the pelican. “Of the DuVontes?” you say. “I know of them -- of him -- but I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Vaughn chuckles darkly. “It isn’t much of a pleasure. He’s a riverlord with a territory as big as yours, though half as well-managed. All of the ambition of a Western Emperor and all the laziness of a hibernating bear. But his family builds our ships. He plays an important role, despite his failings.”

You’re surprised when Vaughn leads you Vincente DuVonte’s way, but like him, you quickly put on a diplomatic smile.

“Your Highness,” DuVonte says, startled, when the two of you stop before him. He sets down a small plate of roasted potatoes. “My Lord,” he says to you. “Your castle is...decent, for being so far North. Passed a great number of what one might call hovels along the way, gnarled old trees for miles; feared the Dragoon’s would have me sleeping in a cave!”

You try not to let your smile falter. “I’m pleased our accommodations are becoming for someone of your...station.”

He snorts, clearly a little loose with drink. “As am I. Your Highness, I must say, but She is an attractive one. A good enough reason to overlook my own children, then? They’re both of age now, you know, and our families…” He slurs off, rolls a potato around his plate with a toothpick.

“Lord Dragoon caught my attention some time ago, Vincente,” Vaughn says coolly. “Well-studied, {if mage = true} a gifted mage {elseif hunter = true} a gifted hunter {else} a gifted combatant {endif}, a compassionate leader, and a diplomatic marvel. These lands run as well as they do solely because of Lord Samantha’s efforts. I’ll not have you insinuate it’s anything to do with something as banal as looks.”

You maintain your polite demeanor somehow, but throughout Vaughn’s impassioned retort your face warms to the point of burning.

DuVonte sniffs. “Indeed. Well, as impressive as all that could be considered...a Northern royal? In the capital? That’s flirting with barbarism.”

You feel Vaughn flinch, and clear your throat. You’re not immune to the Kingdom’s perceptions about your lands, but you are more used to them. You smile, even laugh. “We do like our sticks and wood up here, Lord DuVonte, it’s true. Castle Knothole only built its sewers four years ago, and still I see servants sometimes taking soiled buckets out of the rooms of my guests.”

“Ha!” He laughs, grins, wags his chin at Vaughn. “I told you.”

“But such slow adaptation of modern technology has allowed my lands separate marvels; the marvel of, say, those miles of trees you mentioned.”

His laugh stymies. Vaughn tilts his head to look down at your face.

“Our practices allow for planned culling and years of regrowth, a near flawless system that has created a near interminable wealth of usable hardwood for centuries. So that when we do need to build sewers, or those many hovels, well, we have the resources. Resources we could share, perhaps -- in trade agreements -- with regions whose woods have long been deforested.”

DuVonte stands taller. Considers you. “Are you saying you’re interested in opening trade with us?”

“I’m simply saying there are advantages to a Northern-allied {if male = true} Partnered King.” {elseif female = true} Queen.” {endif}

DuVonte nods for a long while. “Well.” He half-bows to you and to Vaughn. “In any case,” he mumbles, clearly still thinking about the vast wealth of trees in your land’s great forests, “it was a pleasure to have met your acquaintance at last, Lord. Perhaps we’ll speak again in the future.”

“Perhaps.”

DuVonte departs with his plate of potatoes, and Vaughn turns to fully take you in. “I’ve heard the rumors about your ships,” you say, “and about the DuVonte’s mismanagement of their own lands. There can’t be ships without wood, and it’s inevitable that you’ll need more, and that he’ll need to build them, and that my lands will have to supply the resources. This way, maybe it seems like I’m doing him a favor.”

“What did I call you?” Vaughn muses. “A diplomatic marvel?” He takes your hand, running his rough fingers along your knuckles.

“Something like that,” you say, and the way he chuckles in response churns butterflies in your chest.