King Everburn gave a nod, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Well then. Lord Harriot, Princess."

  A brief pause. Then, with the air of a man who had just remembered something vastly more important, he added, "If you'll excuse me, I have... pressing matters to attend to."

  And with that, he turned on his heel and strode into the great hall, leaving behind an awkward silence and the faintest hint of urgency in his step.

  This left Lord Harriot standing in the courtyard, still basking in the grandeur of his arrival, his confidence unwavering. Princess Everburn stood opposite him, hands csped before her, waiting.

  "Ah, of course," Harriot said, breaking the silence, "a grand introduction warrants a grand gesture!"

  With a flourish, he turned to one of his retainers, who quickly stepped forward, struggling under the weight of a gilded chest. The poor man nearly buckled as he set it down, his breath escaping in a quiet wheeze. Harriot ignored this and, with all the ceremony of a battlefield triumph, swung the chest open.

  Inside sat an ornate, jewel-encrusted… something.

  Princess Everburn blinked. "What is it?"

  Harriot grinned. "A gift worthy of your station! A masterwork of the finest artisans in my realm! Behold—a ceremonial helm of sapphire and gold, inid with the history of my noble house!"

  It was enormous. Heavy. Decorated to the point of impracticality. A relic meant for dispy, not for war.

  Everburn studied it for a long moment. "...It’s very blue."

  "Indeed! The blue represents wisdom! The gold, strength!"

  She gnced at him. "And the weight?"

  "A testament to the burden of leadership, of course!"

  There was an awkward pause. Princess Everburn nodded once, slowly. "I see."

  Lord Harriot, sensing his gift was not receiving the admiration he expected, cleared his throat.

  Thankfully, Qyngmi, ever perceptive, intervened. The elf took a step forward, his movement swift and effortless, his fingers working like magic. With a dramatic flick of his wrist, a bouquet of dark, delicate flowers materialized seemingly from nowhere, pced directly into Lord Harriot’s waiting hands.

  "My lord also picked these for you," Qyngmi said smoothly, his voice carrying the perfect blend of sincerity and mischief. "He’s not the type to usually show off his sensitive side."

  Lord Harriot, to his credit, recovered quickly. "Ah—yes! A token of my esteem." He held them out to her, standing a bit taller.

  Princess Everburn took the bouquet, inspecting it with an unreadable expression. "These are Bckthorn Lilies," she said. "They're very rare. But also poisonous."

  Qyngmi beamed. "My Lord’s idea exactly! Something for your war apothecary. Like I said, he doesn’t often show his sensitive side."

  Lord Harriot nodded sagely, as though this had been the pn all along. "Naturally. A warrior's gift for a warrior princess."

  Princess Everburn turned the bouquet over in her hands. "How thoughtful."

  Qyngmi smirked, folding his hands behind his back. "Isn’t he just?"

  Princess Everburn’s gaze flicked briefly to the elf standing beside her suitor.

  “It’s… curious,” she mused, “that you keep an elf in your retinue. They’ve all but vanished from these nds since my great-grandfather decred war on them.”

  Lord Harriot smirked, entirely unfazed. “Elves are like bears,” he said. “Usually, you go into a forest to kill them. Occasionally, though, you bring one home so it can do tricks.”

  Qyngmi, still perfectly poised, smiled in that way people did when they were holding back the desire to commit a crime. “I resent that, sir,” he said in pyful offense. “Bears hibernate over the winter. And I haven’t taken a day off work in my life.”

  A few of the gathered attendants in the tense courtyard failed to suppress quiet snickers, their amusement barely masked by their attempts at decorum.

  Lord Harriot grinned. Like he was pleased that one of his men was winning over a crowd he intended to command.

  Princess Everburn, however, was unmoved. “Lord Harriot,” she said, her tone clipped but not unkind, “your journey has been long. You and your men are welcome within my father’s halls. Our staff will show you to your quarters so you may refresh yourselves.”

  Harriot inclined his head, still smiling. “A most generous reception, Your Highness.”

  “Additionally,” she continued, her voice never breaking from its cool, practiced cadence, “we’ve received paperwork that requires your attention—accounting, infrastructure projects, and other obligations that cannot be neglected while you are away from your nds.”

  The flicker of annoyance in Harriot’s eyes was brief, but she caught it. No doubt he had envisioned his arrival as a tale of grandeur, one he would tell at feasts and boast about in court. Instead, he was being handed ledgers and tax assessments before he’d even set foot inside the great hall.

  Still, he recovered quickly, offering another grin that was just a bit tighter than before. “Of course. A lord’s duty is never done.”

  “Indeed.” Princess Everburn didn’t give him the satisfaction of a smile in return. Instead, she gnced toward the keep. “Our chefs are preparing dinner. I will see you again there.”

  And with that, she turned and strode away, crimson gown sweeping behind her like the final stroke of a signature. As she left, almost as an afterthought, she passed the bouquet of Bckthorn Lilies to an attendant. Another moved to collect the helm Lord Harriot had gifted her.

  As the princess disappeared into the castle halls, Harriot watched her go, stroking his golden beard as if the motion might steady his nerves. This first meeting hadn’t quite been the fairy tale he’d imagined.

  Qyngmi stepped up beside him, his gaze following the golden helm as it too was led away. “Would you like me to juggle the cutting knives at suppertime? That’s always a crowd pleaser.”

  Harriot smirked. “She is a challenge, is she not? But nobody ever said the riches of the crown were won without struggle.”

  With that, he turned back to his men, cpping them on their backs, already boasting of how much they would eat, drink, and make merry in the halls of Everburn Castle.

  Qyngmi, however, lingered. He had made Lord Harriot ugh, as always. Entertained them, as expected. But he was not one of them. Instead, he let his eyes wander, taking in the silver trimmings of a nearby fountain, the rich tapestries dyed in pigments worth a small fortune. Such wealth, all just out of reach.

  “Yes,” he murmured, to no one but himself. “The riches of the crown.”