The prince studied the person before him. He knew not his name, but guessed from the sigil of silver coins on a midnight backdrop that it was someone from House Quinn. Brogan watched the spectacle with expression of annoyed disinterest. Their language was flowery and strange--every gesture a pretense, every word a formality. He had not been in Warrhon for over an hour, and already he found the people here to be pompous and manipulative. He knew what was in the box before they opened it--maybe not in form but in function. It was meant to sway him into liking them more, and he steeled himself toward it. Whatever trinket they had brought him would do nothing for them.

The box opened to reveal a massive black sword. The prince's eyes widened. Without speaking, he lifted the sword from its lavish chest and gingerly held it. The prince admired its craftsmanship, tilting it to glisten in the windowed atrium. Black steel shone in the filtered afternoon sunlight. Part of him had expected the blade to be purely ornamental--and it was ornamental: the hilt was engraved with his emblem, inlaid with colored glass, opal and gold. Yet the sword was balanced, sharp. He then gripped it in one hand, getting a feel of the weight and percussion of the weapon. "This is a good sword," he finally said, his previous distrust all but forgotten.

Brom nudged him with one elbow. His little brother was right, Brom could not always speak in his place; but the young Arten was a man of action and not words. Instead of voicing his gratitude, Brogan removed his old weapon from its sheath and placed it into the chest. In its place, he put the gifted black sword. "And every good sword must have a name. I will call it Nightsbane, and it will crush my enemies... Our enemies." Brogan dipped his head in respect to the Broken King.

He then addressed the princess. "Yes, make yourself comfortable. The trek here was long. I will rest in my quarters before the feast as well." He turned to look at his half-brother, Grey. "I expect you have been here long enough to know the castle, brother. Show me the way." The Stolen cast a weary glance to his cousin, Ruarc, having no desire to bear his half-brothers' presence any longer than absolutely necessary.

"I will show you to your rooms, my princes. Please follow me."