[center] [h1][u][b]Blood's Jewels[/b][/u][/h1] [h2][u][i]“Terreille in Trouble”[/i][/u][/h2] [/center] [hr] "Gen is a decent chief. Though he claims he's the only chief." Denar noted with amusement as he leaned back in the chair, resting his boots on the polished surface of the dining room table. The large windows that ringed the room letting in the hazy light of morn. The storm that was passing through the night past slowly easing away to a overcast day. Hooking his hands behind his head, the male peered out at the open sky over the mountain valley with bland interest as Fatima began playing with the various pots and potions. Not twitching as Lucivar came in claiming to be Consort for the fallen Queen of Dene Nehele. Belor also saw reason to test that claim because like Hell they were going to let him assume that position with the Lady Fatima. If he wasn't a Warlord Prince who wore a stronger jewel than the Queen who held their hope and an Eyrien warrior on top of that they might have been more lenient. Might have let it wander there. But not when things were dire. Not when their only hope was a single, flighty woman. Though she did have balls to stand against Faeril. Something that asserted in the Warlord Pricnes' minds that she was worth something. "He's a Dhemlan, Prince. They have no reason to care for Dorothea." Belor stated mildly with not-so-hidden lick of irritation. Gen was dusting his hands on a rag as he studied the lot with narrowed eyes from the arch to the kitchen. The smell of cooking meat filling the room behind him. [color=FireBrick]"At ease, Brother. He's part of the Queen's Court, hopefully one with a better fate."[/color] He chuckled darkly as he turned a golden gaze on Vaclav. [color=FireBrick]"And you will not be leaving. Not until Ashke agrees that you may, and I don't suggest you try."[/color] There was too much at stake to let them leave, and Gen liked having his 'bits' attached to him. If he let them go before Faeril was able to take care of them... It would not go over well.