Princess Eliana
I maintain my perfect posture as the herald announces the Monster Lord's arrival, my expression composed into the precise blend of polite interest and serene dignity that took years to master. Inside, my heart beats faster than propriety would allow.
Father's plan rests heavily on my shoulders. The future of our dynasty, perhaps the kingdom itself, may depend on how well I perform this evening. He made that abundantly clear during our private meeting this afternoon.
"Remember, Eliana," he had said, adjusting my tiara with uncharacteristic attention to detail, "the treasury is nearly empty. Three provinces teeter on rebellion. The Monster Lord possesses military capabilities that could restore order without the expense of raising additional forces."
"And my role?" I had asked, already knowing the answer.
"Make him see the advantages of a royal alliance. Be charming, be interested, be whatever necessary to secure his goodwill."
Now I watch as our unusual guest enters the Grand Hall, followed by creatures that defy conventional description. The Monster Lord himself is surprisingly ordinary in appearance, a man of average height and unremarkable features. His formal attire is clearly new and of excellent quality, though he wears it with the slight discomfort of someone unaccustomed to such finery. The glowing patterns visible on his skin are the only immediate indication that he is something other than an ordinary man.
His companions are as father described. A dangerous mix of intelligence and power. The lady that I was told is a hagraven especially, bears almost no resemblance to her monstrous cousin, seeming more like a queen holding court than my father. The goblin and orc are more obviously monstrous, their presence alone causing several nearby nobles to shift nervously in their seats.
Father rises to welcome them with practiced royal dignity, and I follow suit along with the rest of the court. As they approach the high table, I note how the Monster Lord walks with unexpected casualness, neither the measured stride of nobility nor the cautious step of a commoner in unfamiliar surroundings, but something entirely his own.
When they reach the dais, Father performs the formal introductions, and I smile with precisely calculated warmth as the Monster Lord turns his attention briefly to me.
"Princess Eliana," Father says, "may I present Monster Lord John."
I extend my hand as protocol demands. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to Dawnhaven Palace, Monster Lord."
He takes my hand somewhat awkwardly, as if uncertain of the proper etiquette. "Thanks. Nice to meet you."
His directness catches me momentarily off guard. No flowery diplomatic phrasing, no courtly compliments, just simple acknowledgment.
"Please," Father continues, gesturing to the arranged seating, "Monster Lord John will sit at my right hand, with Princess Eliana beside him. His lieutenants will be honored at the adjacent table."
The seating arrangement could not be more obvious in its intent. Father has placed me directly next to our unusual guest, separated from any potential competitors for his attention.
As servants pull out chairs and the court settles, I prepare the careful conversational strategy I've developed. I will begin with polite inquiries about his journey, transition to genuine interest in his unique domain, perhaps touch briefly on shared concerns about regional stability, and gradually establish a foundation for more personal connection.
But the Monster Lord seems entirely focused on my father, his attention fixed on the king's words as servants begin bringing the first course. I make several attempts at conversation, each met with brief, distracted responses.
"I hope your accommodations are comfortable?" I inquire.
"Very nice, thanks," he replies, before immediately turning back to Father's discussion of border security concerns.
"The journey from your territories must have been fascinating by air," I try again moments later.
"Yeah, great views," he acknowledges, then returns to questioning Father about trade routes through the eastern provinces.
My carefully prepared conversational gambits falter against his apparent disinterest. This is not proceeding according to plan. I have been trained since childhood in the diplomatic arts, in capturing and maintaining the attention of even the most distracted dignitaries. Yet the Monster Lord seems almost deliberately oblivious to my efforts.
I catch Cousin Amelia's eye from down the table. Her slight nod encourages perseverance. The stakes are too high to surrender to initial setbacks.
As the second course arrives, an elaborate presentation of roasted game birds arranged in flight formation, I adjust my strategy. Instead of polite inquiries, perhaps directness might better match his own conversational style.
"Monster Lord," I say, forcefully grabbing his hand in a frankly unladylike manner, "I'm curious about something. The reports mention your domain was established remarkably quickly. How does one build an entire territory from nothing in less than a year?"
This, finally, earns his full attention. He turns toward me, and I notice his eyes are actually quite expressive, showing genuine surprise at my question.
"Mostly luck and good help," he replies with unexpected humility. "I bonded with Nerk first, then things just sort of... snowballed from there."
"Snowballed?" I repeat, unfamiliar with the term.
"Sorry, it means things picked up speed really fast, kind of like a small ball of snow rolling downhill and getting bigger and bigger."
"An apt metaphor," I say with a genuine smile. "And now you command creatures powerful enough to defeat Death Knights."
He seems momentarily taken aback by my knowledge. "You've been doing your homework."
"A princess should be well-informed about distinguished visitors to her father's court," I reply smoothly. "Particularly when those visitors have reshaped regional power dynamics in a matter of months."
"Makes sense," he acknowledges, taking a sip of wine. "Though most of what we've accomplished is really because of my lieutenants. I just provide the direction; they're the ones with the real capabilities."
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His honesty is refreshing in a court where false modesty and exaggerated self-importance are the norm. As we continue our conversation through the subsequent courses, I find myself genuinely enjoying his direct responses and occasional humor. When I mention the court historian's meticulous documentation of royal bloodlines stretching back twelve generations, he quips, "My family tree is more of a family shrub, and I'm pretty sure half the branches are made up," which startles an unplanned laugh from me.
The Monster Lord grows increasingly animated as our conversation continues, his initial distraction giving way to engaged interest. He asks thoughtful questions about Dawnhaven's history, listens attentively to my explanations of court traditions, and offers surprisingly insightful observations about the kingdom's architectural achievements.
"So these stained glass windows," he says, gesturing to the towering masterpieces lining the hall, "they're not just decorative, right? They're telling stories."
"Indeed," I confirm, impressed by his perception. "Each depicts a significant moment in Dawnhaven's history. The easternmost windows show our founding by the first king, Arlen the Elder, while those to the west illustrate our victories in the Border Wars three centuries ago."
"That's clever," he nods appreciatively. "Beautiful and educational at the same time."
As the banquet progresses through its elaborate courses, I find myself less conscious of my diplomatic mission and more genuinely engaged in our conversation. The Monster Lord's perspective is unlike any courtier or foreign dignitary I've encountered, viewing our traditions neither with the assumed superiority of nobility nor the intimidated deference of commoners, but with curious interest and occasional good-natured skepticism.
When I explain the elaborate ritual of the Royal Chalice, wherein the monarch drinks first from a ceremonial cup at each state banquet to symbolize his willingness to taste potential poison before his guests, the Monster Lord raises an eyebrow.
"Has it ever actually happened? A poisoning attempt, I mean."
"Twice in our history," I inform him. "Once during the Succession Crisis of the Fourth Dynasty, and again during Lord Revenfall's rebellion two centuries ago."
"Glad I brought my own taster then," he jokes, nodding toward the goblin king at the adjacent table, who seems to be meticulously examining each dish before consuming it.
I laugh again, surprising myself with how genuine it feels. "I assure you, Monster Lord, you're quite safe from poison at my father's table."
"John," he says unexpectedly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My name's John. All this 'Monster Lord' stuff feels weird when we're just talking."
The informality is technically a breach of protocol, but something in his straightforward manner makes it impossible to take offense.
"John, then," I agree, lowering my voice slightly. "Though perhaps only when court protocol doesn't demand otherwise."
"Fair enough," he grins, and I'm struck by how the expression transforms his ordinary features into something much more appealing.
As dessert is served, an architectural masterpiece of spun sugar and exotic fruits, I realize with some surprise that I've actually enjoyed this diplomatic assignment. The Monster Lord, John, isn't at all what I expected based on the reports of his military prowess and unusual powers. There's something refreshingly authentic about him amidst the carefully constructed personas that populate the royal court.
Father catches my eye from across the table, his subtle nod conveying approval of my apparent progress. For a moment, I feel an unexpected twinge of guilt. John seems unaware of the diplomatic maneuvers surrounding him, the calculated seating arrangement, my carefully deployed conversational strategies. Yet haven't I also benefited from his directness? Perhaps there's a balance to be found between diplomatic necessity and genuine connection.
---
John
I'm honestly a little shocked at how much I'm enjoying talking with Princess Eliana. When the king first seated me next to her, I figured it was just protocol, putting the guest of honor near the royal family. I deliberately focused on the king, trying to get a read on why he'd invited us here and maybe figure out an angle on that fragment in his crown.
But then she started asking questions. Not the usual "how do you control those awful monsters" stuff I get from most humans, but thoughtful questions about how we built our territory, what challenges we faced, how governance works in a swamp full of evolved creatures. Before I knew it, I was completely engaged in our conversation, forgetting about diplomatic strategies and fragment acquisition and all the things Morrigan had coached me on.
It doesn't hurt that Princess Eliana is genuinely beautiful, with dark hair that catches the light from the chandeliers and intelligent eyes that actually seem interested in my answers. She laughs at my jokes, which almost never happens with girls, and she explains court traditions without making me feel stupid for not knowing them.
We're in the middle of discussing Crystallis's first flight with me when the doors bang open at the far end of the hall. The sudden noise cuts through the pleasant buzz of conversation like a knife, and everyone turns to stare at the newcomers.
A group of stern-looking nobles strides into the hall, led by a bear of a man with a silver-streaked beard and expensive but understated clothing. I glance at Nerk, seated at the nearby table with my other lieutenants. His tactical eyes are already assessing the newcomers, calculating threat levels and potential responses.
"Who are they?" I ask Eliana quietly, noting how her expression has shifted from warm engagement to carefully controlled concern.
"Northern province lords," she replies under her breath. "Lord Harrowmont leads them. They weren't invited to this banquet."
The king stands, his expression thunderous. "Lord Harrowmont," he calls out, his voice carrying royal authority. "This is an unexpected intrusion into a formal state function."
Harrowmont stops at a respectful distance from the high table. His bow is technically correct but minimal, just enough to avoid outright insult.
"Your Majesty," Harrowmont responds, his deep voice projecting throughout the hall. "Forgive our unscheduled arrival. When we learned of tonight's... unusual guests, we felt it imperative to represent the northern provinces' interests in these discussions."
The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. I can feel Morrigan's attention sharpening, her magical awareness extending to assess potential threats. Gorthal's metallic skin patterns pulse slightly faster, a subtle tell that he's preparing for potential conflict.
"The crown decides which interests require representation at royal functions," the king replies coldly. "Not provincial lords."
Harrowmont's expression doesn't change, but I notice his companions shifting slightly, forming a more defensible arrangement almost unconsciously. These aren't just nobles; they're experienced military commanders.
"In ordinary times, perhaps," Harrowmont acknowledges. "But when foreign powers with military capabilities are invited into the heart of the kingdom without consultation with the Provincial Council, we must question whether the crown is acting in Dawnhaven's best interests."
Ouch. Even I can tell that's just shy of openly accusing the king of treason. The court nobles gasp and murmur, shocked by the directness of the challenge.
"You overstep, Harrowmont," the king warns, his hand tightening on the edge of the table.
I notice something interesting as the confrontation escalates: the fragment in the king's crown pulses subtly, and the court's attention seems to focus more intently on him, as if the crown is somehow amplifying his royal presence. It's not obvious unless you're looking for it, but having worked with fragments before, I can see the pattern.
Eliana touches my arm lightly. "I apologize for this disruption," she says softly. "The northern lords have been... difficult since the mine incident."
The mine incident? Oh, the deepvault mines where we fought the Obsidian Enclave! The envoy mentioned that Dawnhaven’s forces were also there, didn’t they?
Before I can ask for clarification, Harrowmont's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"We come not to disrupt, but to observe," he announces, his gaze shifting to me. "And to meet this... Monster Lord who commands such interest from the crown."
Every eye in the hall turns to me, including those of my lieutenants, who are clearly waiting to see how I'll respond to this direct acknowledgment. The king looks furious at having his authority challenged, while Princess Eliana watches me with concern.
Well, so much for the simple diplomatic dinner.
