The palace that dominated the uptown district of Curlow shot wildly into the sky with tall stone spires that sat securely on top of the older thick brick fortress that the palace was built out of. Built brick by brick by Roland and his companions all those years ago the fortress palace underwent countless renovations and additions by nearly every king since it was erected, giving it a vague mismatched visage, but held enough decor in statue, fountains, and stone murals crafted by both nameless and master artists that most didn’t notice at the first glance. 

	Inside the palace of Curlow the interior architecture and continuous decoration scheme completely contradicted it’s exterior jumbled form. The walls were an explosion of color and emotion, boasting a neverending mural depicting Charlins greatest moments and tragic histories. Every so often a tall rectangular window intersected the mural with soft beams of moonlight and the dark scenery of the sleeping city.

	Despite the relaxed state of the capital, the palace was still very much awake as a few visiting Boyars and minor nobility chatted idly in large circular lounging room. The door was washed with the light of the stars through windows that dominated the richly muraled walls. An acute smell of flowery perfume occasionally wafted and swirled around the senses, but was quickly dissipated by the serene night breeze that whispered through a few open windows.

The rich governors and aristocrats reclined on cushioned backless couches while they persuaded each other on how to go about politics in this day and age while others spewed gossip inbetween mighty chomps of sandwiches and chunked cheeses, or sips of milk and wine.  Benoroux himself sat reclined on one of the couches as Stephan sat himself in a large cushioned chair that seemingly engulfed him in it’s cotton and large size right next to the newly appointed boyar. 

It was from that vantage point Stephan pondered the series of events that had led him there.  To any rational observer he wagered it would have been absurd, a captain who had fought a war against Justinianism sitting in the palace of the religions largest supporter.  Not only that but for the moment Stephan was quite unrepentant, he was a Yuwanist and he had done his duty.  Benoroux had shown him the wars of the past may have never been needed, that Justinians were not indoctrinated fools. Yet Stephan still believed that for whatever had led him here, he was once a soldier and he had followed his orders when he was, that he had no regrets about.

Truly a curious thing then, for him to be where he was since he defied orders.  Often Stephan found himself questioning his own actions, but for the moment he almost found a logic in it all.  If he hadn’t taken Ricken his sisters death would have been meaningless, if he had kept running he would have died and in doing so taken Ricken with him.  Perhaps the storm which shoved him to Charlin bay was a blessing, perhaps he was always to end up in Charlin eventually.

Beyond Stephans musings the two remained silent as they listened idly to the conversations of others and thought on their day at the festival. Occasionally a stare would reach one or the other from some of the nobles, but so far their short relaxation came uninterrupted by the prying gazes of the others. Eventually however, this pattern was broken when the Boyar of Zintine, a castle to the far south, spoke up, “where is Dernov?”

A uncomfortable chill clawed at Benoroux, causing his ears to perk at the question. His face remained stoic and unaffected by it though, and he gave his answer almost condescendingly, “dead.” 

“Why?” by now a few more nobles had turned their heads towards the conversation, pulled in by their curiosities they refused to bring up earlier out of nervousness.

“He was without honor, and killed by my hand in righteous duel,” Benoroux glared at the man, clearly not wanting to discuss it further. 

	The boyar of Zintine, Trensxil Monirov, was a younger man, perhaps half Benoroux’s age. He wasn’t the most handsome man but was well known in battle as well as in politics. Although Benoroux personally chalked up the younger nobles fanatic fundamentalism and over confidence to his spoiled upbringings and age. Whatever reason propelled the young boyar to his frustrating nosey attitude seemed to jerk and shake him into action, despite Benorouxs glares as well as some of the more intelligent and understanding boyars small grumbles of discontent at the whole business. 

	“I heard he was protecting Justinians name from a boat of Yuwanist bastards, and you saw fit to cut him down,” Trensxil muttered, almost completely to himself, but just loud enough for everyone to hear.

	Most of the boyars started to criticize Trensxil’s sharp accusations, advising him to keep to himself. Some even rebuttled by bringing up Trensxils naive policies. However, there were some who agreed with Trensxil, and they in turn debated with those who defended Benoroux. Soon the entire room went from idle whispers to rumbling arguments and poking fingers.

	Trensxil seemed to glow at the scene, his face lighting up with content as he sat in the flood of arguments, his eyes not breaking from Benoroux. 

	“How could you,” He hissed, “After all those years of progress in the wars, kill a Justinian over a bunch of Yuwan criminals.”

	A croaking laugh sprang from Benoroux, interrupting all of the debates but the most furious and ignorant. Benoroux leaned on his arm, propping himself up from his couch, “Progress? You forget yourself boy, I was there, you were not. I fought by the side of now long dead Justinians, and I felled my share of Yuwanists. I did so not because of their faith, but for Charlin and duty, just as on the day I killed Dernov!”

	All eyes turned to Benoroux as his voice lifted and his finger jutt out towards Trensxil, “just as on the day I killed my nephew, I did it not for faith or ideals, but for Charlin, and my duty as an honorable son of Roland!”

	Trensxil seemed physically hit by the old mans unexpected speech, withdrawing himself from the debates with a pouting indignity. Those who supported Benoroux seemed rallied and simply cheered at the words of Ben, while those who didn’t were too ashamed to admit it now, except for the most ignorant.

Benoroux turned his old face to Stephan, his ancient ears drowning out the jeers and cheers of the other boyars as he mumbled under his breath for only Stephan to hear, “politics, can you blame me for refusing the position when my brother died?”  

Stephan had kept silent to minimize his presence in the arguments but at Benoroux’s comment he replied with an equally hushed voice, “Not at all, should I ever have to partake in the game of politics I wager it would not be long before I slipped off into the night and ran with little more than the shirt on my back.”

Now looking around Stephan remembered Benoroux’s speech, he said he had fought didn’t he?  Of course Stephan had suspected that, a man of Benoroux’s age and position would surely have fought.  Curious, that after so many years Stephan would call a man he might once have killed a friend.  The thought brought back memories of when he was second on his old mans ship, of battles and triumphs and of that eventual, inevitable, defeat.  

He looked back to Benoroux.  Yes Stephan had lost a father then, perhaps it was fate that Ricken might gain a man worthy of such a title now.  Of course the thought faded and Stephan set his gaze back to the room only to find that little had changed in his period of reflection.  Politics indeed.

	The soft wooden door to the chamber creaked over slightly and a small black cat darted into the room silently. It’s paws made neither a sound or scuffle, but when it leapt onto the horderve table, it sent a few empty plates clinking to the ground. Shortly after, the wide eyed cat froze with it’s large yellow eyes focused on the door as little Ricken came trotting in with his arms outstretched and a big mischievous smile on his face.

	A few of the boyars chuckled at the sight while others questioned the origins of the random toddler. All whispers and chuckles were silenced as the door now swung open and princess Rachox Galenon came scurrying in, nearly tripping on her long slender lavender dress as she was bent low with her hands ready to scoop up young Ricken. She arrested the young toddler and swung him gently onto her hip, scanning the room with her big green eyes.
The nobles all gave some formal greetings, standing up from their chairs and couches until she too took a seat with the little boy on her lap. The cat slyly leaped onto her lap as well, where Ricken babbled almost sensical Charlinite words while wrestling the cats fluffy tail. 

“Did my boy get out of the wifes hands, fair princess?” Benoroux chucked, leaning towards Stephan and whispering, “or maybe she already nagged him into running away.”

“No,” the princess confessed with her dazzling smile and soft voice, “I was visiting when this little charmer swept me off my feet and convinced me to play, only to leave me for the kitchens cat.”

She faked a frown and began to run her fingers through the boys hair, roughing it up.

Stephan took a moment just looking at the boy, he seemed so different now.  Perhaps it was a real family, perhaps it was just company.  Whatever it was he seemed happy now and was speaking, two things Stephan had hardly seen on that long trip.  Still, the fondness of cats wasn’t anything new, the ships cat on the [i]Empty Horizons[/i] has spent many an unwilling hour being mauled before.  Stephan did wonder what happened to that cat, was it deported too?  The thought of a cat in tiny [url=https://media.licdn.com/mpr/mpr/shrinknp_750_750/p/7/005/096/085/26e9442.jpg]shackles[/url] brought on a hearty smile and small chuckle.

Still, it was best his, and the boys, origins remained a question in the minds of most and Stephan opted only to nod to Benoroux and give Ricken a small wave.

{center] --------------------------- [/center]

Eventually the duo made their way back to Benoroux’s private temporary quarters, with the princess trailing along happily next to Ricken. The room matched the rest of the palace interior perfectly, with wide spacious rooms, and a dominating bed that rested by a large rectangular window. 

A foreign Otnemarcas stick of incense burned slowly by the glass. The soft lily smell tickled the nostrils of the group as they opened entered the room. Benoroux scratched his nose at the smell. 

“My wife always enjoyed foreign culture,” Benoroux idly mentioned as he waved the others to come in.

A larger woman entered the room from another door that lead to the bedroom, cheeks flushed and hair grey. 

“Talking about me again are you,” the wrinkled woman accused, a sharp tone took to her words, a tone that made Ben cringe.

“Yep,” Benoroux said while rubbing his temples. Ricken and the princess slipped playfully by Benoroux as the older man walked over to a chair by the bed and plopped into it was a thud, “everyone, this is my wife, Xerella.”

For all the responsibility he had shoved upon the woman it dawned on Stephan that between the long days of work and business of recent days he hadn’t said more than a curt hello to her in all the time he had been in Lrev.  It was with justified apprehension, given her reputation, that  Stephan dared to speak a proper greeting, “Hello Xerella, I hope the boy has treated you well yes?”
 
“Of course he has,” the woman scoffed, seemingly more at Benoroux than the question, “I only wish my husband brought him sooner, I love having the little ball of energy running around.”

The princess chuckled from the corner of the floor while little Ricken tugged on her hands, “oh I can see why.”

The woman folded her legs under herself as she leaned against the wall, with Ricken playing with her long black hair. Neither the words regal, or the words formal described the princess or the scene. While Xerella scolded Ricken for messing up Rachox’s hair, Benoroux scolded Xerella for scolding the boy for having fun, and eventually the two lovers bickered among themselves while Ricken continued messing up the laughing princess’ hair.

Rachox pointed at Stephan, her hair fanning behind her as the boy held it high above his own head, giving her the look of some strange foreign queen, she flashed her usual friendly smile as she spoke, “you there, where are you from?”

Stephan pulled on his collar nervously and replied as politely as he could, “Well, the Dominion, Princess.  The south, Ka’lae specifically.”

For all it was Stephan wondered why telling strange people on the street was an easier task than telling a princess.  He thought on it and quickly decided it was because people on the street had significantly fewer armed guards.

The princess snickered as the boy dropped her hair into her own face. Ricken lifted her hair above her face again and her green eyes dug into Stephan, and her voice was a low hiss “you know, Dominion citizens aren’t taken to very nicely around Charlin.”

“I bet you’re a yuwanist too,” she said furrowing her thin brow as if she was upset, and a small smirk curling the corner of her lips in secret, “and you didn’t even call me by my full royal title!”
 
	Stephan was beginning to get more nervous then, while the lack of armed guards nearby did put him at ease he cast an uncertain gaze on Benoroux before refocusing and stammering, “Well you, well yes, I- I’m quite sorry for that.”
	
Rachox’s hiss turned into a playful laughter as she tried to gather her hair from the young boy and her green eyes flashed with her bright smile, “I’m just kidding. You seemed nervous, and I couldn’t resist.”

A long sigh of relief broke from Benoroux as well as Stephan.  Reasonably assured he would keep his head firmly attached to the rest of him  Stephan replied, “Ah, I see.  You don’t seem particularly surprised though, most seem to be considerably more… Startled?”

“My dad and my uncle would probably be,” Rachox confessed, “along with most of Charlin.”

“I don’t go around places very often,” She scrunched her lips up in thought as she tickled Ricken who found a comfy spot on her lap.

“I suppose that makes me… naive?”

“Optimistic and fair,” Benoroux corrected the princess, “forgive my interjection your highness, but I just saw it differently.”

“It’s okay, Benoroux. I find you a fresh breeze among stagnant and stale old people who hate everyone,” the princess said, destroying whatever poetic saying she was going for by conceding to whatever came to mind first.

Stephan chuckled at that, though really he had no right to.  His own hair was almost entirely grey by this point and he had the nagging feeling that old referred to him now.  Regardless he replied smiling, “He’s right though, too many people are too quick to harsh judgment these days.  Among a great many I have met since coming here you Princess are perhaps the least trying.”

“Thank you,” Rachox smiled, “unless that was a hidden lazy joke!”

Her finger pointed in accusation as she raised a brow, only for the young Ricken to grow jealous and cover her eyes with his own little hands as he giggled.

She groaned, “what time do you sleep!”
Ricken just laughed at the lady and plopped back into her lap. Rachox just shook her head at the little one. 

“What brings you to Charlin, not the hospitality I hope,” the princess questioned Stephan. Benoroux glanced over at the Dominion sailer with calm eyes and a reassuring nod, as if to dispel any bars that the two would normally hold on such questioning. The princess was trustworthy, and honest Benoroux knew that. 

Stephan acknowledged the nod, but he was still. apprehensive.  He knew it was going to come out to the royalty of Charlin soon enough and he knew it was best the Princess was the one it would come out to, yet it had been a very long time and even Benoroux knew long held secrets liked to remain so.  With a deep breath Stephan started, “Not the hospitality indeed.  The truth of the matter is sitting on your lap Princess, it is the boy.  While the explanation as to how it all happened may be a matter for another time I can tell you that while I may be his true uncle, the real father is Tetan Serin.”

It was Rachox’s turn to stammer as she combed her finger though the boys hair , “T-Tetan, king of the Dominion?”

Benoroux nodded at the shocked princess, “now my adopted son, by the wishes of the honorable uncle.”

“You see your highness,” Benoroux continued, a sense of duty seemed to saturate the old mans words, “that boy is now a Charlinite, and I would hope he is free to live a full life as one, as long as he chooses.”

The princess looked down at Ricken, crescenting a smile “of course he is free to do so, the little charmer.”

“But I want his protection as well,” Ben said, a serious tone in his voice as he nodded at Stephan, “with your agreement he is to be kept unknown to the Boyars as long as possible, and by your grace I wish him to be recognized under my name legally and purely in the eyes of the royal blood.”

Stephan nodded his agreement and added, “It should be known there are other concerns too.  Tetan is not the man he pretends to be, I have no doubts some agent is working to locate me and the boy at this very moment.  The law of Charlin might be binding here but I doubt Tetan will be so accommodating.”

The princess rubbed her temples and closed her eyes tight. Her face looked stressed and in thought as Ricken tried reclaiming one of her hands. 

“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly, ‘this sounds like a big issue and I’m not sure where I play into this.”

“Excuse my boldness, but you are the Regent,” Benoroux offered, cringing at his own words, knowing the stress they were causing.

Rachox groaned and leaned her head back against the wall, “take Ricken as your son, I don’t know what to say past that. Damn politics and all that. Perhaps you can talk to father when he gets home?”

Benoroux shot a wrinkled smile, knowing this is where it was going to end as far as the princess was concerned, “of course, your highness.”

[hider=Events]
The princess knows!
Some Boyars are dicks
Some Boyars are pretty chill
Stephan sharted
Who can blame him, it was pretty intense stuff
Stay tuned
[/hider]