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[color=808080][b]The Court of King Rowan Storvane[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]What, precisely, made Rowan the king he was? Perhaps it was his military prowess, or his ability to rule with a firm hand? Was it just his gravitas? To Duke Zaid Ganasen, the answer was simple: he was impossible to hate openly.

The King’s speech was rousing, and Duke Zaid was quick to bring his hands together in applause as his fellow lords and ladies were moved by such a personable decree. The brief, blank glance he shared with his wife, Nadira, made it clear that the words had not quite reached his heart. The upstart king of the barren northern rocks of Aethoria sent hundreds of men to their deaths with his rousing speeches, his pleas for vengeance for his poor siblings enough to stir the hearts of many peasants who thought this man could change their lot in life. They fled to the skirt of their future king because he seemed like one of them. Without friends from the other holds and a Phorian bride, he would be another bit of bloody pulp from the boots of Leoric’s unyielding lackeys. They propped him up, because he had started a fire in the people that needed to burn. Leoric was bad for business, and now that the dust had settled and it had been a great few decades, the Usurper still did not quite fit his crown.

It would have been improper to deny a King’s invitation, even as Zaid could see the writing on the wall. His heir was a letch, more prone to seducing aristocrats and merchant children than a princess. His daughter had more promise, if only because Rowan shared in the struggle of raising a fitting successor and would certainly need a competent bride if Aethoria had any hope… assuming responsibilities would not fall to the Phorian crone when Rowan eventually abdicates his title.

Zaid glanced behind to acknowledge his legitimates, who dutifully followed their father’s lead. There was a stillness behind them in the retinue of his family’s attendants that caught the Duke’s eye. Blending into the shadows of the Great Hall, with a piercing gaze settled on his monarch, Khalil seemed unmoved by the speech. He stirred only as he noticed his father’s impartial stare, slowly moving his hands to offer a few slow claps before the crowd’s fawning died. When Zaid looked away, there was a pain in his chest. It was hard to place whether the sorrow stemmed from what he had sacrificed to stand here, or that there was a deep irony that his first-born seemed to share his outlook.

As the other Lords began to make their formal introductions, Zaid turned to his wife. The Duchess did not meet his gaze, focusing on the royals with a smile that did not meet her eyes. He held out his arm, and she slowly hooked her hands into the crook of his elbow. When a few other houses made their introduction, Zaid took a step forward to make his approach clear. His steps were deliberate and firm, but his pace was agonizingly slow. A wide smile filled his cheeks as he approached, and Nadira’s grasp on her husband tightened. She knew the smile well. When they stood before the dais, she let go of Zaid so he could step forward. He tucked his arm in front of his chest and bowed deeply in supplication.

[color=696b57]”Your majesty, I shall attempt to muster what youthful vigor I can to announce my family in Master Farraday’s stead,”[/color] Duke Zaid jested, his mirthful tone masking the barb like a rose’s bud hid its thorn. He lifted his head while remaining bowed, meeting his sovereign’s eyes with his own. [color=696b57]”Your servants of the Lost Coast are pleased as ever to accept your gracious hospitality.”[/color]

Somewhere off in the wings of the hall, hidden among the shadows, Lord Farraday sidled up to his great nephew adorned in dark plate, attentive and alert at his post on the far edge of the dais where doors led to servants corridors in the corners no one ever looked. A sound stirred in his chest, something between a bemused laugh and a scoff that was too quiet to carry to the royals or the Lords at the bottom of the steps. He leaned to the side, dipping his head next to Declan’s. [color=d6d6d6]"Do I look like a fucking herald?"[/color] he huffed, face remaining blank aside from the small glint of a smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

The Captain’s lips tightened deceptively as he tried to remain composed and muffle his laugh to not draw attention. He cleared his throat, dropping his head slightly to mask his expression while rolling his shoulders and neck. [color=42557d]"Keeper of Scrolls… [i]Herald of the King.[/i]"[/color] He shrugged his shoulders, his plate armor rattling quietly from the slight movement. [color=42557d]"Fancy titles."[/color]

Dunstan laughed, quickly muffling it behind his hand and a dramatic clearing of his throat. [color=d6d6d6]"That impudence will get you in trouble,"[/color] he warned with a wag of his finger but lacked any and all seriousness to back it up. 

[color=42557d]"I have no idea what you are talking about,"[/color] Declan mused, straightening himself but unable to hide the guilty smirk that nested beneath his dark beard. 

Meanwhile, the King descended the dais like he had with all of the other Lords, arms extended at his sides in warm welcome. [color=dbbc77]"Ah, I’ve never been one for tradition. There is no reason to make the old man hoarse for the sake of ceremony,"[/color] he matched the jest with one of his own, keeping the conversation light and inviting as always. There was a small unspoken part of Rowan that felt protective of Lord Farraday, family in all but blood. And with that came the subtle necessity to defend the man through the charade of his own lighthearted tease. [color=dbbc77]"I thought more intimate introductions would be a nice change of pace, given the circumstances."[/color]

Rowan’s feet settled on the stone floor opposite Lord Zaid, offering his hand in a welcome shake accompanied with his smile that was nothing but beaming from the prospect of renewed friendships and a season of merriment. [color=dbbc77]"It is a pleasure to have you and your lovely family grace my home. I hope your journey was met with not but calm seas and strong winds."[/color]

Zaid was quick to meet Rowan’s hand with both of his, grasping the King’s hands tightly in them both and giving a firm shake. The smile never faltered, a pleasant mask that caused the wrinkles near his eyes to crinkle. His eyes briefly glinted towards Lord Farraday, offering a slight nod of jovial apology for the barb to keep the peace. When he spoke, his attention had turned to his liege. [color=696b57]”No waves nor winds would unsettle House Ganasen, Your Grace. I oft feel unsettled by how still the land feels at our estate when I have been away too long.”[/color]

Imran’s cheeks paled at his father’s jest, the recollection of earlier events of the day unsettling his restless stomach slightly. He still stood stiff and proud behind his father, his gaze briefly passing over the royal family with an alluring smile. His hands remained firmly held behind his back, waiting patiently to be addressed whilst the two men shared pleasantries. His eyes did linger a little longer on Dorian, rumors of the prince’s dalliances having reached the hallowed brothels of even the Lost Coast. When there were less prying ears, he would have to pry from the royal exactly which lecherous establishments to taste while he was there.

Zhara, meanwhile, held a tight polite smile as her eyes seemed drawn upwards to the buttresses and slender windows of the Great Hall. Her hands unconsciously smoothed down the folds of her dress, as if she were trying to smooth the fabric down like her slicked back hair. Her palms still felt raw from the amount of scrubbing she had done at her uncle’s estate to get her hands clean from years of hard work.

[color=dbbc77]"I understand,"[/color] the King replied with a sympathetic nod of his head and his radiant smile that never faltered. [color=dbbc77]"I often find myself reminiscing on my time among stone and snow, especially in this sweltering heat. But alas the Vale is my home now for good or ill."[/color]

With one last pat to the Lord’s hand, Rowan turned sideways to address the rest of House Ganasen with a warm laugh. [color=dbbc77]"Forgive us old men and our ramblings. Allow me to introduce you to my family."[/color] His hand gestured up to the dais where his wife stood, her gaze cold and unwavering as she seemed intent to look anywhere but her husband. [color=dbbc77]"My wife, Valenya."[/color]

The Queen took a single step forward and curtsied, as was expected of her, as her husband—[i]the King[/i]—would demand of her. Nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps it was petty, she did not care. She did not take kindly to him snapping at her before their company nor the way he challenged her parenting when he only deemed to step up as a father when he could be the hero. It seemed that what words left her lips that day would not sit right with him. And while Valenya was one of the few people who had no restraint when it came to openly contesting her husband, it could wait. For once he seemed far more concerned with appearances now that it did not only reflect upon him, but on their children’s livelihoods. She could roll her eyes at the irony if they were not being watched like a spectacle. 

If the King noticed or was bothered by his wife’s indifference, he did not show it, keeping his face bright and warm smile ever present. [color=dbbc77]"My son and heir, Dorian."[/color]

Having remained steadfast at his sister’s side since their mother decided to make a scene, Dorian looked over at Rhea, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before slipping him arm free from her grasp and stepping forward. With one hand resting against his abdomen and the other tucked behind his back, he dipped into a bow. The single loose brown curl brushed his cheek as he stood back upright with his usual charming and confident smile. His gaze scanned the noble family, enticed by their rich caramel skin and ebony hair that made them dark contrasts to the overly pallid offerings that loitered around the Great Hall. His attention lingered on the son, noting a telling glint behind his eyes that piqued his curiosity. A single brow rose quizzically before he returned to his place beside his father’s throne. 

[color=dbbc77]"And, of course, my wonderful daughters, Maeve and Rhea."[/color]

Both of the Princesses stepped forward in silent unison. While Maeve remained a pristine example of what a lady of her standing should be, Rhea followed through the motions as was expected, but there was a heavy somberness that dimmed the light that often sparked defiantly behind her eyes. She was not looking forward to the introductions or this gathering like her sister was, but whatever silver lining Declan had helped fasten in place was quickly washed away by her mother. At that point she wanted nothing more than to be off that dais and lost somewhere beneath the sea of the other nobles, if only to disappear out from under her mother’s piercing gaze. But she still curtsied and smiled, even if the warmth did not reach her eyes, then returned to stand beside Dorian.

Imran and Zhara did the customary bows and curtseys respectively as the Storvane's were introduced. Zaid stepped to the side with his wife, letting the spectacle continue on until all had been properly introduced. The Duke took a moment to smooth out the creases of his doublet before repositioning himself. He stood to the side, perpendicular to the dias, and motioned to the Duchess. [color=696b57]”May I present my wife, the Duchess Nadira,”[/color] he announced, his voice oozing with bravado and pride. The duchess, for her part, presented a small smile and stepped forward. She curtsied properly before the Storvane's, head bowed in the proper sign of supplication. She did not linger long, ending the motion and stepping back again to her husband's side.

[color=696b57]”My successor, Imran.”[/color]

Imran, for his part, stepped forward boldly. He pressed his right fist against his heart, extending the left behind his back. He looked down the line of Royals, his discerning gaze trying to parse the fleeting meanings behind their expressions. Dorian had met his interest, Maeve was attempting to act as a flawless statue of her station, and Rhea was… disengaged. This nearly elicited as much interest as the rumors of the crown prince, but fell short of his baser desires. He bowed deeply before the Storvane's with a pleased smirk. [color=ba8f1a]”I do hope that we shall become better acquainted, Your Royal Highnesses.”[/color] He stood up straight again, and then stepped back beside his sister.

[color=696b57]”And the pride of the Lost Coast, my daughter Zhara.”[/color]

Zhara shot a glance at her father, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly. It was always hard to discern what her father's thoughts were, but the aggrandizing of her status seemed obvious even for him. She presented herself respectfully, not daring to make eye contact with any of the royals directly as she curtsied. She was only there out of obligation, and had little interest in the games their fathers were playing. Her brother had a better chance of winning the hand of one of the king's children than she ever did. She spoke softly, as her mother had instructed on the ride over. [color=068b8c]”You honor us with the invitation, Your Majesty.”[/color]

The King smiled vibrant and welcoming as his gaze followed each introduction with a patient attentiveness and a gentle nod of acknowledgement. [color=dbbc77]"You have a lovely family,"[/color] he replied while gently clapping his hands together. [color=dbbc77]"It has been many years since I got to travel beyond the Valley of the Kings. I hope some of you might humor an old man with some of your tales during your stay."[/color] His laugh was quiet but radiant, surrounding them in the warmth he brandished with honor unlike the King before him. [color=dbbc77]"I once again thank you all for making the long and arduous journey to the capital. I look forward to the friendships we shall create over the following months."[/color] His smile softened with a small nod. 

Rowan gave the Lord a light pat to the shoulder in a final greeting before making his way back up to the dais and returning to his place beside his family. Zaid offered one final bow in polite deference, before he beckoned his family back to their spot with a wave of his hand.

As the Ganasen’s settled back into the respective corner, Zhara looked back to notice Khalil had settled himself among the sparse attendants after their initial arrivals. Missing from their number was the Corsair, Christopher Harlow. Zhara shot a confused look at Khalil, who simply shook his head and mouthed two words. [color=794f40]“Dock business.”[/color] Zhara sighed, offering the bastard a curt nod. She looked to her brother beside her, pleased to have a little bit of support at the very least.

Khalil, for his part, bore a pleasant and servile mask as he watched the proceedings with disdain. After all the Ganasens had done for Aethoria, they were relegated to little more than dinner guests for an aging king’s desperate clasp for legacy. While he rotted on a throne far too big for such a small man, the Ganasen’s worked overtime to provide his highness with the satin sheets and fine wines the royal family seemed all too happy to indulge in. They called him a King of the People, when he never suffered as they had. As Khalil stood politely with the servants of his father, denied his birthright indirectly by his sovereign’s own petty gripes, he simply smiled.

He had waited long enough. It was time to finally take back what was rightfully his.
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[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] The Royal Family [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] The Royal Family [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] [@Mjolnir][/color]
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