Selvehin was grinning from ear to ear. Had Malrow missed the miniscule barn owl stalking their procession, it's unnatural green irises retracting to jet black marbles, he wouldn’t have missed the Amiraa’s snort. The Thrindiyo Princess-Acolyte was sore from the constant company of her buoyant brother. If any of his soldiers marching asked their Lieutenant what were his current thoughts on arriving to Skalah, with much bluster on display, Malrow could not reprimand the man.

He did not bother to note the charon chiseled infrastructures as they slowly rode towards the palace. The blue edifices reverberated their mounts’ clopping hooves and gave their arrival a cool wind from the north. A great deal to his chagrin however was that the same parapets amplified the noise of the drums and singers. Malrow had learned to carry on with the roaring bite of his ears as they passed the greater gate of the palace and into the plaza. There was no barn owl on sight but his trained intuition told him to remain guarded. He couldn’t help himself nonetheless to feel awe at the ivory elephant.

He was informed beforehand of the delegates attending the Summit and like Thrindiyo, the Efan Kun Empire sent their very own Acolyte. Remarkably, Selvehin seized his manners and had princely accepted King Arleous’ greeting. Even the rare smiles the Amiraa showed were pure when she bowed to Imuto. As Fibi Enderi’s own representative himself, Malrow had to remove his helmet and bow towards the Chrav Lords and the Acolytes.

“Blessings from Enthah Icamarin and the Republic of Endaya, your graces.” Malrow curtsied with his accented Thravbon.

“Lieutenant Malrow Skiethalon, welcome back.” It was rude but Malrow had known of the High Adjunct’s interjections. The King’s half brother was rather talkative than the ruler himself and it was no surprise to hear no reproofs from either brother. But Malrow was aware of the many eyes now boring him while he stood in front of the royal family. Although his ears were still throbbing from the recent parade, Malrow knew the gathered nobles and even the Pillar-State staff had paused just to hear his reply.

“Yes, welcome back.” Prince Arlou parroted.

If his memory serves him right, Prince Arlou was sixteen springs. Garbed with the blue swaddles of the Chonerin house, the lad looked ready to take over his father’s reign. He stood taller than any of his relatives and the practice smile played on his lips said enough of his influence on the current court intrigue. But Malrow had to draw out a less dry face and nod at both the Prince’s and the High Adjunct’s prior knowledge of his presence in Chustern.

He did not like the Thravbon language so it was a relief when the prince went on, “Lady Faraforn will be delighted to see you again. If you have the spare time, I will send for you.” The prince made a small gesture to a palace staff and Malrow was quickly led away from the High Adjunct. Any rebuke from the right hand of the king was avoided. However, Malrow was keenly aware of the small tension.

There were many things that the Chonerin prince had revealed by those words alone. Had he no past experiences with the boy and the lady he mentioned, he would have been ignorant to the dance of affection and envy the prince barely clawed. Malrow continued to process what slight drama that had occurred as he went back to the formation of his platoon. Mirth was dancing in his second in command’s eyes as Malrow left the palace staff to allow himself control over his men before entering the palace steps.

His helmet still braised to his side, Malrow addressed the bravest man of his soldiers with curt rather than the boom of most commanding officers. “Sergeant Greysia. To the front.”

Immediately, the glorified officer marched towards him. Malrow knew the idiot had more observations to count. With the rest of his field mates behind him, Desrin made a toothy grin as he came forward.

“Sir?” the question was roused but there was evident expectation with his lifted shoulders.

After launching the orders, Malrow watched as Desrin made work on sending the platoon to the barracks. There were well held cheers in his soldiers’ faces while moons of foot travel were to be paid as they were dismissed. Not long after, Desrin came back with a bounce on his step and was more comfortable than the Chonerin prince could ever be.

Malrow had not mind the demeanor. It was good for people to see a Greysia less likely serious and down right rigid when they passed other delegates in the halls. When their palace guide led them to his suite, promising appropriate service with just a beck and call, Malrow softly closed his gilded doors.

Desrin was speaking in Hegladrin and was waving silver eth patterns in the air. Leaving to his work, Malrow turned to examine the plush couches of his receiving room. As Desrin was still casting from eth-hariot, seeing, to eth-koram, manipulation, Malrow went to check his rooms for possible hidden entrances, peepholes, and weapons before coming back to the mage. The casting was finished and eventually Desrin fell into the sofa. He had not escaped the toiling journey despite being a favorite. Torion was already sinking in the west and the orange light of dusk was beaming down on the arched windows. Malrow pulled the blue curtains that had finally hid them to their convene.

“Report,” Malrow did not ease the order.

With his face smashed on the cushions, Desrin muffled, “The Prince and the High Adjunct hate each other. The King doesn’t care. And the future queen of Cheron has set her eyes on you.” 

Malrow was taken aback by whatever gossip Desrin had conjured. With his hands behind him, Malrow narrowed on the collapsed lump.

Seeming to read the silence, Desrin accounted. “She was ogling from your waist and down to your shiny boots.”

Indeed, Malrow had well-polished boots but having the attention of the High Adjunct’s daughter did not bode well.