The heavy rains had ceased for a time, allowing fragrances of the flora around Three Towers to infiltrate the mighty structure. Edmund Vidokar had looked down at the letter from King Merin. He loathed the man and had not seen him since the last time they argued and if he saw him again it would be too soon. Breathing in the aroma, it cleared his mind slightly as his gaze averted to Sapphire Eye with its numerous fishermen working its pristine waters. His eyes undeterred as footsteps encroached closer to his chair.  The heavy steps filled will the light clangs and clunks of metal upon the marble balcony. Stopping next to Edmund, emitting an aroma of sweat as two men now looked over the massive sprawling lake.
 
“It seems that we’re hosting the young lord Llewelyn Ap'Arthmael.” Biting into a bitter wedge of foreign cheese. Washing the sour taste with a sweet red wine, before his company Ser Lormen Vickers had spoken aloud.
 
“A shame about his father, if anything the people of the Ap’Arthmael are a diligent and steadfast lot. Your daughters are devout priestess or too young for marriage, leaving only one. The gods are a cruel lot to pair the young lord with Richelle. Perhaps his family’s knack for patience will yield to your daughter’s iron will. She is currently on route as for your demand”  Lormen exhaling slowly, taking in the lakes gleaming beauty. 
 
“Richelle will do as I say regardless.” Grasping his amber topped cane, pushing down to lift himself, walking slowly to the balcony edge. His limp had grown considerably in the passing few months, with possible gout to make the situation worse. Edmund being too proud would never let a soul see him weak and infirm. His friend and commander of the guard walked with him, trailed only by a lighter set of steps in the distance.
 
As a break in Richelle’s mid-morning training session, she climbed the tower to her father’s private terrace as per his summons from Ser Vickers. The reason for the summons had eluded her though. Banditry had been at an all time low and there were no vassal houses squabbling. Perhaps it was business regarding the king. As rare as that was though, the notion was dismissed. 
 
“I have arrived. What need do you require of me father.” Richelle arrived at her father’s private balcony. Finding her father Edmund and Ser Vickers at the edge. Taking only a few steps after speaking.
 
“By King Merin’s decree, we are to host the young high Lord Llewelyn Ap’Arthmael for a time. It is the intention of the king to intertwine the great houses together. It seems you are the only one of my daughters that is qualified.” Edmund saw it clearly hit a nerve with Richelle, waiting for her to lash out at him.
 
“When the thunder god Korman comes down and kisses my ass.” Lashing back at her father without regards of the repercussions. It felt like a knife had been taken to her soul. She’d decided never to marry, a fact she’d made very clear since an early age.
 
“YOU WILL DO AS I DAMN WELL TELL YOU!!!!” Edmunds' voice roared enough that the peasantry outside the gates heard and cowered. Slamming his fist into the stone of the balcony with a force that it made his daughter feel as if she were a child again. “You can act, behave and dress as you normally do. But if he does take fancy to you and if I come to an agreement you will marry the man. Is that understood?” Edmund stood quietly at the edge, his fist still unmoving from the stone.
 
“Yes, father.” His voice brought back the memories of utterly powerless Richelle had been in her youth. Clenching her fist, it hurt seeing how her father had bashed at the stone.
 
“Good, now see everything is done to make sure a man of Llewelyn's position is aptly taken care of. Nothing spared, he is our guest. Also, a dozen Thunder Knights to escort him from the city gates to our castle. Understood?” Squinting to Richelle conveying the message clearly. Edmund hated to repeat himself.
 
“It will be done father, as by your will.” Taking a bow and leaving quite promptly to allocate the resources of her father’s house to accommodate the High Lord of Ap’Arthmael. It was this moment that Richelle truly hated her father. Only going this far out of respect and fear of him. It seems her destiny was already written for her. 
 
“Ajruna please help me.” She murmured going back down the stairs. Attending to the matter of accommodating what might be her future husband.