Her Rightful Place

37: The Emissaries

"Ah, Your Excellency, good of you to return so quickly," Xavier greets the Duke of Pelanshire with a haggard expression as the Duke and Enzo enter the Hall of Private Audience where the Prince has been conducting yet another meeting with the Queen's Royal Advisers. "Though I hope that your speedy return does not indicate that ought is amiss in Vyrunia?"

"Not at all, Your Highness," Jerôme replies smoothly. "The matter which you sent me to observe has been carried out with all the usual pomp and circumstance and ceremony, and the Princess is one of the finest specimens of all a woman ought to be I have ever had the privilege of meeting. Time well spent, indeed, of which we may converse later. For now, though, I am certain you have more important matters to occupy you, and I apologize, gentlemen, for the interruption."

The Royal Advisers wave off his apologies.

"No need to apologize. We needed a break, anyway, and His Highness did specifically request to see you as soon as you arrived," Lord Randolph excuses him.

"The usual business, please," Xavier instructs Jerôme, who bows slightly with a roll of his eyes. A man far less intelligent than himself could guess that he is to rescue servants again.

"Of course, Your Highness. How is Her Majesty today?" the Duke inquires, to ascertain the urgency of this latest commission.

"As belligerent as usual. Make haste." Another bow, and the Duke exits, leaving Prince Xavier burning with curiosity about his friend's time in the Vyrunian court but obligated to continue discussing weighty matters of state, namely the guest list for the Midsummer's Eve Ball.

"Obviously all the Mordalcean and Vyrunian nobility and royalty will be invited. But inviting people from other countries poses quite a conundrum," one Royal Adviser begins, reopening their discussion from before the Duke of Pelanshire's interruption. A chorus of groans and muttered agreements swarm through the room.

"Traditionally, all the royals of the continent have been invited," the eldest Royal Adviser points out for probably the fifth time that afternoon.

"But given the business Her Majesty hopes to accomplish with the Vyrunian monarchs at this event, it would be most unwise to invite certain persons from particular countries," someone else retorts with exasperation.

"Gentlemen, please," Xavier sighs, massaging his temples. "Do any of you, perhaps, have a list of these 'certain persons from particular countries' that it would be most unwise to invite? Mayhap something can be arranged--"

The door to the Hall of Private Audience suddenly slams open, causing Xavier to abruptly end his discourse as he and the Royal Advisers leap to their feet, ready for trouble. To their surprise, it is not Queen Bêtel who enters, but rather a quintet of black-robed men, the leader of which is prodding the chin of one of the Queen's butlers with a wicked-looking scimitar.

"Khandazarian scum," the adviser next to Xavier mutters under his breath. Fortunately, the black-robed invaders do not hear him.

"We are honored by your visit, Emissaries from Khandazar, but I must request that you release that poor servant--unharmed--before any formalities can be exchanged or business transacted," the Prince addresses these most unwelcome guests. The black robed intruders hesitate for a second before the leader lowers his scimitar and the butler dashes out of the room without so much as a backward glance. "We thank you, gentlemen, for your show of mercy. To what do we owe the honor of your presence, particularly in so unorthodox and unprecedented a manner?" Xavier's slightly dry tone is the only indication that he is less than pleased, to say the least, with the foreigners who have interrupted his meeting.