The October Banquet – [IC][SIGN-UPS]

[Tyrnica]

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"A story of intrigue, diplomacy and completely unwarranted international banter."

7:50 AM 29 October 2017 (approx.)
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[Tyrnica]

I
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Royal Gardens, Ruuskindär Palace
6:22 AM, 29 October 2017

It was a cold autumn morning, the mists and haze of October dimming the streetlights in the greyness of the dawn. The cobbles and the alleys of the capital hid behind the fog, wrapped in cloud and condensation while silhouetted vessels drifted softly along the river, behind islets and under bridges. Droplets of water fell from the slate rooftops, splashing lightly against the stones.

The city was bequeathed in silence and smog alike, the early morning commute making little difference to the quiet streets along the river.

Catherine strolled through the gardens with little haste; it was still early in the morning, and she knew that none were expected to arrive at such a time. She weaved her way between the trees and shrubs, edging around dripping icicles and frozen webs, blowing clouds of mist with every breath. The Queen had no particular desire to be freezing in the royal gardens at six o'clock in the morning, but she it had been thirty minutes since anybody had seen Frederick and she knew – all too well – of his habit of falling asleep when it was the least convenient for everybody else.

She was trying to recall the route to her husband's favoured location – which was much harder to locate before the sun rose, it seemed. It was difficult enough to navigate the sections of the palace that included paths, but Frederick's riverside retreat was well away from the cobblestone paths that interconnected the sizeable estate. Fortunately, a light snoring could be heard through the trees and she followed the sound straight to the banks of the Auhrer, where – as expected – the Tyrnican monarch was dead to the world, despite the import of the coming daylight. Catherine let a small laugh escape her and sat down next to Frederick, staying silent for a moment.

"Frederick," she spoke softly. "Wake up."

He stirred and said something unintelligible, as if to attempt to dissuade his wife from interrupting his slumber. Catherine shook him lightly by the shoulder until he opened his eyes and stretched his arms above his head, rubbing his bleary eyes. It was a wonder that he had settled into such a deep sleep after just half an hour, but she supposed that it came down to his ridiculously inconsistent sleeping pattern.

"Morning," Frederick mumbled, greeting Catherine with an awkward kiss on the cheek as he emitted a deep yawn.

The Queen smirked slightly and returned the gesture, straightening what she could of her husband's dishevelled apparel. "Good morning," she replied. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"It would have been better if somebody hadn't woken me up after twenty minutes," he said. "And it might have been a little more comfortable if it wasn't on a wet bench."

"That's nobody's fault but your own. I can't understand why you would even consider sleeping out here," Catherine said, eyeing him critically and preempting his next words. "Don't tell me that you 'like to think,' either. The least you could do is let somebody know so that I don't have to bother waking up and dragging myself out here to rouse the magnificent King Frederick from his slumber."

The defiance went out of Frederick's eyes at those words – he'd known Catherine long enough to realise that arguing would be fruitless, and that extreme cases of extended resistance could lead to serious injury.

"Would you like to go back inside now?" Catherine inquired, her tone implying that it was a demand, not an actual evaluation of Frederick's opinion on the matter. "You'll have to get ready and make sure everybody is around by the time the first guests start arriving, no?"

"I suppose," Frederick replied reluctantly. He'd wanted to enjoy some fresh air before spending what would likely be a long day welcoming the visiting parties, and half an hour seemed like entirely too short of a timeframe. However, Catherine did have a point – the first of the guests were expected to show up at around ten o'clock, and it was already quarter past six, which left little time to coordinate those that were tabled to be present at the welcoming committee, which included some people that he knew were unimaginably incompetent at getting to anything on time.

With a very audible groan of displeasure, Frederick stood from the bench and swept off the dewdrops and leaves that had settled on him during his short rest. He ran a hand through his hair, which had started to show the first signs of grey in the past year.

"Shall we go?" Frederick asked of his wife, extending his hand for her to grasp.

"Preferably," she replied, taking hold of his hand and pulling him back the way she came, eager to return to the warmth of the heated palace. She found the gardens pleasant enough during the day, but she resolved to let somebody else search for Frederick the next time he went to sleep on his bench. It didn't help that she hadn't thought to dress as warmly as one should, since she'd assumed that he would only be checking something in the general vicinity of the main cluster, not dozing off next to the river.

As they walked back in the direction of the royal residence, Catherine began to entertain thoughts of how the Banquet would turn out. There was not a very large attendance of guests, so the strain on the household and estate would not be too harsh – however, such an event would require hard work nonetheless and she'd always preferred to take an active role in the preparation of things that went on in her own home.

"Have you gone over the dietary requirements for the guests with Simon yet, Frederick?" she asked, turning to look at the king, who seemed to be much more conscious than he was just a few minutes beforehand.

"Yep," he replied quietly, "we've assessed where the food comes from and replaced a few suppliers. What we've got should be acceptable for most of the guests, and we'll just serve other food when it's not."

"Good. Have there been any transport changes from the attendees?"

"No, not from what I've heard. Everything seems to be alright," Frederick said, sounding quite proud of his ability to keep everything together.

The Queen nodded once more, settling into a further silence and continuing to think about the Banquet – what if something happened? Would there be enough to do? Would the guests like each other? The questions ran over each other in her mind until she couldn't really process the thoughts properly, so she decided to silence her own mind and enjoy the stroll.

"You know it's faster back to the palace if you cut through the gardens?" Frederick said with a bemused expression, breaking his wife's reverie. "The paths have taken an indirect route ever since grandmother redesigned them in the fifties."

"Then why aren't we going that way?" Catherine asked, somewhat irritated that they'd taken a longer and slower way back when they had so much to do in such a short time.

"You're the one who came this way," Frederick replied. "I'll race you back," he said with a grin, letting go of the Queen's hand and bounding into the trees with what she thought was far too much vigour for a middle-aged man who had been asleep on an uncomfortable bench not ten minutes past.

"Get back here, Frederick!" she shouted, laughing as she followed him into the shadowed grove. Their clamour disturbed the nesting birds in the trees, sending the avian wildlife into the clouded Vovayan skies, dimly lit by the early morning sunshine.

[Tyrnica]

II
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East Wing, Ruuskindär Palace
6:38 AM, 29 October 2017

Lord Chamberlain Dalgaard was not in a particularly pleasant mood. For the past two weeks, he had been working night and day, forgoing sleep and socialisation to ensure the efficient preparation and execution of the Banquet. He had assessed every single royal department in what seemed to be a futile and ultimately pointless attempt to make the Ruuskindär Palace acceptable for the high-ranking officials and associates that would be staying within its walls. His work, however, seemed to have been entirely in vain, judging by the state of the outer hallways, which looked to be quite below his preferred standard.

Dalgaard's meticulous ways had earned him a favourable standing in the eyes of the king and his family – his subordinates, though, seemed to be less appreciative of his micromanaging eye. Servants scurried into adjoining rooms to escape from the Lord Chamberlain's glare as his brisk pace carried him down the halls, his attention focused on Ansgar Koehne – arguably his second-in-command – who was currently directing the relocation of an ancient and limitlessly valuable tapestry to the vaults, where it would be stored until the Banquet was over.

"Koehne!" snapped the Lord Chamberlain, still twenty metres away from his colleague. "Why is this section of the Palace dirtier than a Blaykish alley?"

Ansgar turned around in shock, taking his hands away from the ladder and almost sending his two workers and the four-hundred-year-old tapestry crashing to the floor. "What are you talking about, Simon?" he demanded angrily. "I've had this hallway mopped, vacuumed and dusted three times over because of you. It can't get any cleaner than what it is."

"Doesn't look like it, Koehne," Dalgaard replied, "I don't care if you have to clean it three more times. It had better be up to scratch by seven o'clock, and if it isn't then it'll be your head on the chopping block."

The Lord Chamberlain glowered at Koehne for a moment, gauging whether or not to keep berating him. Fortunately for Koehne, however, Dalgaard marched on without a further word, leaving Ansgar to finish moving the tapestry. The stress looked like it was getting to Simon, who could be annoying but not usually so harsh when it came to his management duties – nor so disdainful of Blaykish alleyways. He peered down the hallway towards the manager of the royal household and shook his head tiredly, resolving to steer clear of Dalgaard for the duration of the Banquet.

Simon, by this point, had turned two corners and walked down a set of stairs, swiftly winding through the passages he'd familiarised himself with over the past decade. He was aiming for the central mass of the Palace, trying to find the largest grouping of his staff, who were currently tasked with preparing the main hall for the arriving parties. In doing so, he almost ran directly into the King and the Queen – who were, for some inexplicable reason, covered in leaves and were slightly dishevelled. Simon raised an eyebrow, but quickly neutralised his expression. Wherever they'd been and whatever they'd been doing, it wasn't his business to know.

"Apologies, Your Majesties," he hurriedly said, adopting his calmer, subservient façade. "I was just ensuring that the staff have successfully completed their tasks for today and that the Palace is of the standard that it needs to be."

"Of course, Simon," Frederick said, smiling. "We'll be getting ourselves ready soon. I assume that you'll be doing the same?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty," the Lord Chamberlain replied, checking for creases in his own outfit – which, admittedly, was not as line-free as he'd hoped. He would likely have to change outfits before the official reception in the main hall.

"Well, we won't keep you," the king said, nodding to Simon as he moved past, beckoning Catherine to follow. "We'll see you there!"

For a moment, Simon was somewhat puzzled. He hadn't expected such a simple word in passing at such a crucial time, and for a moment he considered running after the monarch to discuss the first day of the Banquet, but he supposed that the king would have talked if he'd had any desire to do so. He glanced down at his watch, and decided to skip his visit to the main hall. For all of his obsessive checks and tight schedule, Dalgaard did trust his employees and decided to devote his time to personally ensuring his own appearance was acceptable. It was quarter to seven in the morning, and that left them with just over three hours to ready themselves for ten o'clock – the beginning of the Banquet.

[Vervillia]

The Royal Vervillian Jet, four kilometres above Vovaya Kronor, Tyrnica. 7:08 AM

'Of course. Of course, something goes wrong.' Émeric Calvet, the Vervillian Minister for Foreign Affairs, was pacing the length of the jet, fuming and occasionally taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes in disbelief. 'What idiot mixed up the flight details for the Vervillian Delegation? Who? It's absurd!' he roared across the plane. Laura Coscarelli, the Duchess of Saint Albert, sat with her eyes closed, fingers pressed against her forehead, opposite her husband, Florentin Rouselle, the Duke of Saint Albert, who was committing his famous childhood crime of chewing his nails. Jean-Luc Lemaire, Prime Minister of Vervillia, was frantically tapping at his phone in an attempt to amend the situation. Meanwhile, the two of the Gardes Royales were engaged in an hour-long chess game, with the other three men enthusiastically spectating. The Duchesse finally spoke up; 'What's wrong with the private airport solution? We simply call for the convoy drivers to get to another airport, and then take a drive through the country to make up for our early arrival.' Calvet responded, 'Madame, don't you think at least one person will notice the Vervillian Prime Minister and Royals bumbling through the countryside? And forgive my rudeness but, what will the entire international community think when they see the Vervillian limousines splattered with mud?' The Prime Minister intervened; 'I'm sure the Tyrnicans won't take it as an insult if we tour their capital for a few hours before arriving at the Palace.' Calvet, in a rapid change of formality, replied;
'Are you kidding? Jean, we have to put diplomacy first! Not the blasted coffee shops! Call a few taxis for us and then we can forget this happened.',
'Fine! I'll do that, and we'll sit trying not to get recognised.'
'And then get into the official convoy at the airport. It's certainly not the best course of action, but we don't really have any other options.' The flight attendant, now scarred from Calvet's shouting, told the pilot the new route.

Half an hour later, the jet had finally landed into a small, rural airfield usually reserved for flying lessons but now booked for the arrival of the leaders of Vervillia. The Delegation exited the plane down a ladder, much to the protest of the Duke's faltering knees. Unfortunately, the thirty-two thousand Mark gold necklace and twenty-nine thousand Mark cashmere suit intended as gifts for the Queen and King of Tyrnica respectively also had to be taken down the ladder and were cautiously lowered down by the Gardes Royales to the shaking hands of the Duc and Duchesse. When the three taxis arrived, one driver impulsively pulled out his phone to take a photo of his passengers but was forced to stow it away by the Prime Minister himself. The Delegation had agreed that any media awareness of the situation would be diplomatically disastrous.

Once the unofficial convoy set off, the Duke looked out the window, across the dew-covered fields and islands of mist that blocked any possible sighting of the capital. 'Don't be worried, minou, if those two can run a country they can certainly reorganise our itinerary.' In a rare occurrence, Florentin spoke up 'Oh no, I'm fine, I was just reminiscing the last time we visited here. I think 2010, for some diplomatic summit, when Lemaire was just elected.' Laura made a sighing noise, 'Do you remember that Veal Tortellini? I went down to the kitchens to congratulate the chef on that.' The two shared a spirited laugh. On the other window seat, Jacques Batteux, the youngest of the Gardes Royales, was eagerly planning a midnight wander of Vovaya Kronor. He had never left Vervillia before and was going to take this opportunity to explore as much he could.

A car behind the Duc and Duchesse, Lemaire and Calvet were engaged in a furious debate against the surprisingly political taxi driver, who had the privilege of being in the same car with two prominent foreign heads of government. In between the trio of shouts was Marc Bonnaire, a Royal Guard, deeply resisting the urge to throw himself out of the car. In the last car, three Gardes Royales were intensely monitoring social media on their phones, for any signs of the Royal Vervillian Jet turning up in a remote part of the Tyrnican country.

[Blayk]

Léopold

Le Château Chaudoir du Vovaya, 6:40 AM
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Léopold, King of Blayk stood in silence at the foot of the great room’s colossal Gothic window, watching the steady traffic of boats on the Auhrer, a small part of a daily routine from the early days of his reign when Le Château Chaudoir du Vovaya had become a home away from home for Léopold, a place where he could forget about his responsibilities as King and just live free.
Those times were long ago.

Letting out a sigh of longing the King removed himself from the window, pulling at the bottom of his suit’s jacket. Léopold then made his way across the eerily silent hall to the living area of the villa, on entering he found himself greeted by two men, Sergent de Lance Amarjeet Singh and Garde Yannic Charpentier. The former was an old friend of Léopold, the two men having served together in the Blaykish armed forces. The latter however was a name and face new to the King, being Prince Albert-Louis’ choice of guard. The two guards wore the undress uniform of Garde du Nord, navy tunics, blue trousers with a black service cap, or in Amarjeet’s case a black turban.

He joined the two men in indulging themselves with a hot coffee, much needed for the men grown accustomed to the far more hospitable climate of their homeland. The three were silent for a few moments as they enjoyed the warmth of their drinks before the young guardsman broke the silence.

“I never imagined that the Auhrer was so big. I mean I knew that it was far bigger than the Auvonne but seeing it in real life…” he looked up his face not attempting to hide his disbelief. “Our rivers are but streams in comparison.”

The remark prompted a smile from the King, before he could reply however the rich voice of the other guardsman filled the room.

“Aye, but our Montigné makes their Stierstandt look but a village!” the guard exclaimed, producing an audible laugh from the King.

“You haven’t changed a bit have you Amar?” Léopold thought back to the friendship he had forged with the Sikh man all those years ago, before he had become King. He thoughts turned to Yannic’s original statement. “This is your first time in Tyrnica is it not? I thought much the same as you on my first visit, it has a certain rugged beauty to it once you get past the initial awe of it all.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing this rugged beauty you speak of, your majesty.” replied the guard before finishing off his drink.

“I do believe you mean you’ll enjoy seeing some ‘rugged beauties’ at the banquet, Yannic.” said a new figure appearing in the rooms doorway.

“Albert about time you joined us, I was beginning to think you might’ve drowned in the shower.” remarked Léopold, flashing his signature mischievous smile for a brief second, a sight becoming ever rarer with his age.

Albert blatantly ignored his cousin’s remark, clearly too occupied with briskly making himself a hot drink to stave off the cold autumn morning. “I suppose we should be off to breakfast no?”

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Ruuskindär Palace, 7:50 AM

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The group of Blayksmen arrived on the steps of the Ruuskindär palace proper, the Gothic architecture a stark change from the traditional baroque styles frequented in Blaykish buildings.

“I’m afraid this is where we part ways for now.” said Léopold turning to the guardsmen. “We’ll see you in the main hall in, say two hours? Amar you should know your way around the palace grounds, give Yannic a tour if you would, no use having a lost guard roaming about the place.”

“I’ll see it done, your majesty.” replied the Sergent, before heading off on a tour of the grounds, the junior guardsman in tail.

The King gave him a nod in response. “Albert, follow along close. I don’t need you getting lost either.”

“You are aware I’m not a child anymore?” Albert rebutted to deaf ears as the two moved through the long corridors of the palace.

The Chaudoir cousins came to a stop in front of a large wooden door, which the King pushed open with little courtesy, entering one of the palace’s private dining quarters.

[Kyrenaia]

Aurelia, in Audrache Harbour.
Princess Aurelia bint-Damir smiled as she looked at the scenery around them: Audrache Harbour, a beautiful place, if a bit colder then what she was used to - yet closer to the climate she was born in. She was not a full-blooded Kyrenaian, but a half-Selkie, actually born in Seabhcóir.
Colder then Kyrenaia, that was for sure.
She stood on the Sun Deck of the Yacht Aurelia, her father's most favourite vessel, named after his daughter, namely her, and lend to her for a very special mission. Fearing, that he overworked himself as Lord-Commander of the Navy, Razia Sultana affected that her eldest son, Crown Prince Ilia ibn-Razia, Aurelia's uncle, would make a diplomatic trip to Tyrnica to attend a banquet for diplomatic purposes, Aurelia's father putting his favourite yacht under his daughter's command to transport him, her and another attendee from Kyrenaia there.
Said other attendee was Princess Fara bint-Dardan, Princess of the Ilkhanate of Megido, and Aurelia's (dare she admit it) best friend. Fara was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk the earth, if one asked Aurelia, but she would admit to being a bit biased. She had olive skin, like it was typical for Kyrenaians, the curves and, as well as people of far ruder disposition would note, quite a rack. The Princess, starting with her days at the Haram Girl's Academy and continuing it now as she attended university, was a sportswoman, mostly a swimmer, but also quite good in equestrian sports. Her face was noble and sharply cut, her striking red eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, her head crowned by short, blonde and natural hair. Aurelia watched her, who she was dressed in a simple, white blouse and a knee-length skirt, a jacket half opened, as she stood by the gangplank leading ashore.
Aurelia herself could pass as her sister, if they wanted, sixteen of age herself and very well developed for that age, even if not as good as her best friend (a constant cause of frustration whenever the two of them went swimming together), her skin a bit lighter then Fara's, her eyes light blue sapphires. She had her blonde hair long and open, the breeze over the harbour playing with the combed, but not styled strands. Much like Fara, she was a sportswoman, too, although she was an equestrian sportswoman, trainer of the HGA's Mounted Archery Squadron - and quite successful, too. Aurelia wore a blouse and pants, a jacket over it to ward off any cold breezes, so far without any need to, which was why it was open.
Suddenly, there was someone putting a hand around her shoulder and asking her: "Beautiful vista, isn't it?"
The voice was smooth, a bit like velvet and Aurelia only needed a short moment to see, that her uncle had come up to her. He was a tall man, broad shoulders, well trained and every bit the naval officer he was, having reached the rank of Rear Admiral before he was appointed as Lord-Commander, following centuries of tradition. He had much of his father, Aurelia's grand father, including the white hair and steel-grey eyes, as well as his love for the seas. Much like the Aurelia was her namesake's father's favourite vessel, she was his favourite vessel too, yet he refused to buy one just like her, mainly because she was special to him... much like his niece, who he loved dearly, which was happily returned. He wore a business suit, jacket open, formal, yet not too formal for their trip inland.
"It is.", Aurelia replied and gave the Harbour of Audrache a long look. It indeed was beautiful here, despite it being a busy harbour of a metropolis. The Aurelia felt right at home. They would have loved to make the trip inland by using the rivers to head upwards, sailing their vessel to Vovaya Kronor and the Palace of Ruuskindär, but that was impossible due to infrastructure and while the idea of heavy lift helicopters had sounded amusing, the practicality of that was doubtful to say the least. No, they decided to travel to temperate Audrache (instead of to colder Valcårwik up north) and from there to Vovaya by charter plane. "Aldhiyb would love it here."
"Maybe. But it's colder then Utica.", her uncle commented with a smile. Fara left Kalak, her pet Caracal, at home, so it was only fair, that Aurelia left Aldhiyb, her pet Sand Wolf, at home - besides, both of them, as much as their mistresses liked each other, hated their counterpart, the mere smell on clothing causing them to be less then thrilled. Beneath them, Fara was still waiting at the gangplank and tapping her foot, time running out. "Come, let's get underway!"
Aurelia nodded. "Coming.", she said and followed her uncle, first to the Bridge Deck, then to the Promenade Deck, to the gangplank aft, where Fara and their luggage waited.
It was not much, the Kyrenaian Princesses didn't need too much material for formal occassions by culture, but some of the crew still volunteered to carry the bags to the car for the beautiful Princesses (one may wonder why...), while Ilia had refused to let anyone but himself carry his bag. The Princesses, however, had happily taken the help - they were strong, sportswomen and more then capable of carrying their bags, yes, but if someone offered to do that for them...
"There you are.", Fara greeted with a smile, "Ready?"
"Of course.", Aurelia answered, speaking for herself and her uncle. "Let's get this on the road!"
And indeed, although the flight would take longer from Audrache to Vovaya instead of from Valcårwik, they were ready - in a few hours, they would arrive at the Palace, clad in Informal Attire, leaving the levels of escalation open for the more formal occassions of their visit.
If their port of entry was any indication, they would see a wonderful country along the way.

[Izzyshipper]

The Princess Isabella had many virtues, her mother mused, yet punctuality was not among them. The two royals of the House of Maddox had rented a room in the city capital for but a few hours, reasoning the few hours they had between arriving in Tyrnica and then the Palace would be more than enough for the two women to prepare themselves. However that seemed to be the case for only one of them.

“Isabella Theresa Anne,” Sophia, Queen of Izzyshipper hissed as she entered the Princess’ room for the fifth time and the only noticeable change that had seem to occurred was the amount of gowns strewn around the room, “If we are late because of your ... whims of fashion it will not go well for you, besides didn’t you already have a dress picked out?”

Isabella’s expression remained unperturbed, lifting a dress over her body and smoothing the wrinkles put with the flat of her hand, “That was before I noticed it was so foggy,” Isabella replied, throwing the dress onto the bed and lifting two dresses in what looked like two identical shades of green. “Duck-egg blue in this light would simply wash me out,” the Princess continued as she gave the two garments a penetrating look of scrutiny, before catching the sight of her mother in the mirror and a look of horror overcoming her face. “Mama! That’s what your wearing – Oh I’m going to have to rethink everything now, we’ll clash horribly.”

“Isabella I don’t care if your wearing a sack, we’re leaving in half an hour and if your not ready I go without you.”

Isabella sighed, “Barely enough time to get ready for an informal supper never mind a State Visit.”

“I’m sure you’ll persevere,” Sophia said amused as she left her daighter’s room, intending to summon the car.

“As always people have such faith in my talents,” Isabella mourned as she got to work

.

~*~

Merely thirty minutes later the royal duo where seated in the back of their transport to the Palace, Isabella looking suitably resplendent in a dress of emerald green (not as resplendent as she would like, she continued to grumble) while she fastened the clasps of the golden earrings she had picked out. Queen Sophia wore a gown of lapis blue, the tresses of her auburn hair styled in an elegant knot – perfect for her diamond tiara to sit upon it.

“Do you know much of Tyrnica?” Isabella said, hearing the satisfying click of her clasp fasten.

“Not a huge amount,” Sophia replied, gazing at the scenery that whizzed by - Vovaya Kronor was much different from Vinera, her own capital, yet like any major city on the modern era their where inescapable similarities, as well as the sheer vivacity of so much life packed into one place. Sophia had always loved as a child staring out the windows of the Majestic Palace, watching the scurrying figures go by one by one as she would imagine what errands they where running. Yet, she contemplated with a wry smile, it had been so many years since she had done that.

“Yet Izzyshippper has been somewhat absent from the world stage of late and i f we are to reclaim what was lost we must make friends anew.” She finished, a perfectly manicured fingernail running along the ridge of the lacquered box in her hand – a gift for the hosting King.

As the car entered the gates of Ruuskindär Palace it slowed to a halt, Sophia sighed softly before assuming a dazzling smile as she stepped out the car, her daughter following soon after as they waited to be greeted.

[Kaschen]

Prince Rafael adjusted his cufflinks as he stepped off the plane, before turning to help his fellow passenger. Alberta did not need help, but appreciated the gesture as she took the hand offered to her. It was a symbolic anyway. Not that either of the two thought about it, it was the usual custom after all, and it had become a habit.

"So, my dear, this is our destination, this is Tyrnica" the Prince looked around and took in the view. It was an airport, that pretty much looked like every other airport he had seen.

"It is just the airport, Raffi. We still have to get to the villa" responded the countess, as she looked through her handbag. She pulled out a mirror, but still seemed to have not found what she sought. It was no doubt this frustration that was the source of her annoyed response.

Her companion, however didn't seem to notice, rather he was occupied in a search of his own. Prince Rafael 's apparent indifference did not bother Alberta as she checked herself in the mirror and remarked, "I must have left it in the luggage, let's hurry up and get to the villa so I can unpack."

The countess' s requeat was unnecessary, as the Prince was already searching for their car. He had arranged for one to meet them, but the jet had arrived early.

"Here is the car!" Alberta said pointing to a black luxury car approaching from the other side of the jet.

"I see it Albi" answered Raffi as he approached the auto. The driver popped out, and after a confirmation of identities, the Prince opened the door for Alberta, while the driver loaded the trunk. The pair sat down in the car. Tired from the flight, Rafael closed his eyes, while the countess peered in her mirror and attempted to improve her appearance.

[Vionna-Frankenlisch]

James

---

The King of Vionna-Frankenlisch, James, the First of that name and the eleventh monarch of the House of Turrell, had enjoyed a luxurious journey. It had begun at Frankenlisch International Airhub the previous afternoon and had since crossed most of the Europan continent as well as several major seas before reaching where he stood now. James looked forward to seeing the Ruuskindär Palace, it certainly had a more exotic name than his own Imperial Palace and he had no doubt that it was just as extravagant but he enjoyed the feeling of visiting new places, especially ones as beautiful as palaces.

The car that carried the King was decidedly overextravagant for a simple automobile, the inside was bedecked with a minuscule coffee table holding an array of fine liquors, along with a tiny flatscreen television tuned to a weather forecast. The unenthusiastic frown of the forecaster was quite apt, it was frightfully cold and the drizzle of rain had left a miserable overhang of silverish clouds. The car turned a corner and began traversing a long road towards Ruuskindär Palace, behind him the car carrying the two Von Babenburgs trailed along.

---

Hannah

---

Hannah sat in a car of similar style to King James'. Next to her, sipping a dark brandy, was her brother Duke Wulfram in his dress uniform. The car in front, carrying His Imperial Majesty, the King, peeled off to the side and came to a halt, a footman approaching to open the door allowing King James' exit. The Duke of East Wolfswood's car did the same and Hannah and her brother stepped out of the vehicle, making their way towards King James and following him gracefully towards the palace, hoping for some acknowledgement of their arrival.

[Tyrnica]

III
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Vönigkrein Dining Room, Ruuskindär Palace
7:50 AM, 29 October 2017

Frederick grimaced and closed his newspaper with a sigh, looking critically at the picture of the Palace on the front page. He hadn't really thought that the Banquet would go without media attention, of course – that naïvety had been eradicated within the first five years of his reign, but one could certainly hope. Fortunately, he and Simon had already established that nothing with cameras would get past the gates to the property and they'd upped security to make sure nobody could sneak in from the riverside, the easiest way to get into the Palace without walking right through the front door. They never usually had any trouble with trespassers, but with numerous international delegations in one place, you could never be too sure.

Admittedly, Frederick was still tired, even after his early morning nap by the Auhrer. Maybe he should've taken the hint when Catherine went to sleep at ten o'clock the night before, but Simon wanted to completely reorganise half of the entranceway and he'd made the stupid decision of staying up to help. He knew that Simon could function on only a few hours of sleep, but he certainly could not. That being said, though, he was the only one at the table and he hadn't seen the other three since he came downstairs half an hour ago.

"Hurry up," he heard Catherine say as she came down the stairs, urging William and Lillian on behind her. "Sorry, dear. A certain young lady was taking far too long watching the parliamentary debates."

Lillian rolled her eyes, looking at her father for support. "Kristen told me to watch it! Besides, Will was watching it too."

"True," her twin said, grinning. "She was right, too. Seeing the look on their faces was well worth the wait."

Their mother glared at them and turned to Frederick, silently ordering him to react. As if to save him from deciding whether to scold the children, the door to the suite swung open to reveal King Léopold and Prince Albert-Louis of Blayk – looking fresher, brighter and far better dressed than Frederick. He stood up to greet them, but Lillian was quicker off the mark, flinging herself across the room in two bounds.

"Uncle Léo!" Lilly cried, throwing her arms around the Blaykish king. "It's good to see you!"

"Morning," William said cheerfully, nodding to the monarch who had been engulfed by Lillian's eager embrace before addressing his companion. "Albert!" he said, extending his hand to the prince two years his senior. "How long has it been? Ten years, now?"

"Good morning, gentlemen," Frederick said with a wide smile, moving over to the doorway to greet them. "I trust you both slept well?"

It was the typical exchange of pleasantries, and Frederick was starting to wonder if his daughter would ever detach and give Léo a chance to actually talk properly when Catherine called out from the kitchen.

"Are any of you going to come and eat or do you just plan to stand out there for the next two hours?" she quipped, opening a drawer and gathering up six sets of cutlery.

"We'd best get in there before she starts shouting at us," Frederick said with a wry smile. He ushered the Blayksmen into the kitchen, allowing the twins to pass him before he walked in himself. He swept his eyes along the countertop to the trays of bacon, eggs and toast that the kitchen staff had cooked up, silently thanking them for making sure the food got up there before the guests did.

"Help yourselves, everyone. There's drinks in the fridge, and glasses in the cupboard," Catherine said. "Let's not get the wine out just yet, though," she added with a smile. Frederick rolled his eyes, feigning disappointment before filling his own plate. He nodded to Léo and Albert, motioning for them to do the same. He was eager to catch up with the two Blaykish royals, but he hoped that the chefs had cooked enough food for the six of them – after working for all of Saturday and getting just five hours of rest, he was damn near famished.

[Tyrnica]

IV
_______________

Great Hall, Ruuskindär Palace
7:52 AM, 29 October 2017

It seemed that the stress of the Banquet was starting to take its toll on the Lord Chamberlain. Simon knew that he definitely shouldn't be having three cups of coffee in under an hour – especially after Frederick's insistence that he cut down on the hot beverage – but he couldn't help it. Standing to the side and watching the final preparations without actually being able to do anything to help (or hinder, as it were) was infuriating.

"Simon!" Ansgar shouted from across the hall, quickly striding over to the Lord Chamberlain. "Drink that coffee quickly. The delegations from Izzyshipper and Vionna-Frankenlisch are already here."

Dalgaard stared blankly at his colleague for a moment, unable to comprehend the words he'd just heard. "Now?" he said, checking his watch. "It's not even eight o'clock. Why have they arrived so early?"

Ansgar only smiled in response, shrugging his shoulders. "No idea. There weren't any advance phone calls or messages, so maybe they just decided they wanted a private tour of the Palace," he speculated. "Looks like we're almost done here. I can handle the guests if you'd like."

"No, it's fine. I can show them to their rooms and show them around the Palace while you finish up. I'll be back by the welcoming ceremony," Simon said, downing the rest of his coffee and shouting to several of the employees on their break. "All of you! Come with me. We've got a job to do."

The workers rolled their eyes, silently falling in line with the Lord Chamberlain's long strides as he walked towards the main entrance at the end of the hall. They'd learnt to stop arguing with Dalgaard's commands years ago, and it was always a good laugh when one of the trainees thought they could talk back. They had no idea what they were doing and why it was during their break, but they were the ones being paid to take care of the royal household and they couldn't really complain.

While the group were whispering with each other regarding their expectations for the Banquet and whether they'd be able to get their hands on any eligible bachelors and bachelorettes, Simon's head was craned upwards towards the ceiling, trying to make sure that the staff had properly cleaned the rafters. He thought he could see a cobweb or two amongst the intricate architecture, but he couldn't be sure. Besides, it wasn't likely that the guests would be trying to point out the minor flaws in their preparatory abilities, so he could rest easy.

As he reached the main doorway leading out to the cobblestone boulevard, he stopped and took a deep breath, steadying them before he nodded to the doormen. The doors had barely swung open when Simon stepped into the cold autumn air, assuming a kind and approachable façade in order to properly accomodate the guests. He took note of the two parties standing in front of him and counted a total of twelve, including security. It wasn't preferable, but it was manageable.

"Good morning and welcome, ladies and gentlemen!" said Dalgaard, unashamedly adding some theatre to his words as he walked down the steps. "It is an honour to welcome you to the Palace of Ruuskindär, and to the October Banquet.

"My name is Lord Chamberlain Simon Dalgaard, and it would be my pleasure to show you around the Palace and help you familiarise yourself with the surroundings until the official welcoming ceremony at ten o'clock." Simon said, nodding to the men and women accompanying him. "Please, allow the staff to take your luggage – fear not, they shan't have to hold onto them for very long. We'll start by visiting the guest rooms – where you'll all be staying – and then move onto the public spaces in which you may find yourself over the next three days."

As the employees begrudgingly moved to collect the luggage from the royal delegations, the Lord Chamberlain tried his best to maintain an open smile. "If anybody has any questions, please do not hesitate to ask. I am, of course, here for your benefit," he said, before turning around to reenter the Palace, gesturing for the guests to do the same. "Shall we?"

Without awkwardly waiting for a response, Simon began to walk back down the corridor, all twelve guests plus luggage in tow. "As you can see," he began, "the architecture of the Palace resonates with that of the capital as a whole, if you chanced to look out of your windows as you were en route to Ruuskindär. Various building regulations and executive orders in Vovaya's history have ensured that the city retains her historical essence, as if frozen in time."

"The Palace itself has evolved and shaped itself over time, preserving almost none of the original structure. However, the numerous designers and architects tasked with repairing and upgrading the property have always endeavoured to make the changes as unnoticeable as possible. Near the kitchens, there is a series of photographs that illustrates exactly how much of it has changed over the years, if you should happen to find yourself in that area," Simon said, monologuing in an attempt to make the walk from the entrance to the guest bedrooms at least somewhat bearable.

Much to the Lord Chamberlain's pleasure, there were but a few workers remaining in the great hall, setting up proper seating for the beginning of the Banquet at ten o'clock. "This is where the welcoming ceremony will take place," Simon explained, sweeping his arm in the direction of the central area as they skirted to the left of it. "You'll all have the opportunity to introduce yourselves and be introduced to all of the Tyrnican officials, as well as each other. Afterwards, independent tours much like this one will take place and the guests can choose to spend the rest of the day however they would like."

"Here's the staircase we want," Dalgaard said, one foot on the first step before he turned around. "This particular staircase is the one that leads to the west wing of the Palace, which is where most of the living quarters are. The staircase on the other side of the dais leads to the east wing, which contains a variety of function and miscellaneous rooms. For now, we'll stick to the west."

Once he reached the top of the stairs, Simon waited for a moment to allow the guests time to catch up with his unnatural pace. Unfortunately, they also had to wait for the Palace's employees, who seemed to be having difficulties in carrying the luggage of the guests. Simon raised an eyebrow quizzically, wondering if the visitors had packed half of their own royal wardrobes or if the staff were just overreacting. With an unnoticeable shrug, Dalgaard continued to walk down the main corridor and a number of minor halls, mentally ticking off each of the room numbers before he got to the ones he was looking for.

"Ah, one of my favourites," Simon exclaimed, looking to Queen Sophia and Princess Isabella. "This is where you'll be staying, Your Highnesses. We'll leave your luggage here and you can get settled. Your guards will be close by – the room right next door," he continued, looking to the two security guards with a smile before turning to the Vionna-Frankenlischian guests.

"Your rooms are just around the corner," he said, directing the remaining eight foreigners to an adjoining hallway. "Your Imperial Majesty, the central room will be home to Duke Wulfram and yourself. The room to the right will belong to Lady Hannah and Lieutenant O'Hara, while the room to your left will house two of your guards and the room directly opposite your own will accomodate the remaining two. I'll be back in around an hour, so feel free to acquaint yourselves with your quarters while I'm gone. If you'd like any food or refreshments, you can order them directly from your rooms."

Inclining his head and smiling, he walked back around the corner and briefly knocked on the Izzyerian door, telling them the same thing. As he strolled away, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. That had been quite a stressful experience. He wasn't sure how he had planned to show them around identical Palace rooms for two hours, so it had been a stroke of minor genius on his part when he suggested that they get comfortable with their living spaces. Now, he had an extra hour to spend before he continued the tour. Personally, Dalgaard thought it was a perfect time for a cup of coffee.

[Kyrenaia]

It was a bit after eight o'clock in the morning on the 29th day of Octobre, as the private jet they had leased arrived in Vovaya - of course, they could have taken a jet belonging to the Flight Readiness or travelled here directly by jet from Kyrenaia, but that would defeat the purpose of the relaxing trip for Ilia.
Her uncle, Aurelia had noted, had been very happy aboard the vessel, relaxed, letting his short hair down as well... she heard him laughing a honest laugh for the first time in a long time. So far, it was a successful trip, their primary objective not yet completely reached and working on the secondary objectives.
That included her Uncle on the horn with the Foreign Office, informing them, that they were to please inform their gracious hosts via telephone, that the Kyrenaian Delegation had arrived at the airport, currently sitting in a small café in the facility and drinking some tea (although it was a café, Kyrenaians were tea-drinkers, not coffee-drinkers, thank you very much), while the Crown Prince made his call. It was interesting to see how easily they got under without escorts or things making them stand out in the crowd, a feeling, that the young Princess were comfortable with.
Aurelia's uncle, on the other hand... he was Lord-Commander of the Navy, a Rear Admiral by his own achievement. He was used to command and control, calmness... the airport went onto his nerves, he would honestly admit, which might reflected in the conversation with the Foreign Office and Vizier Hassan ben Sahid, which ended a few moments later with polite, yet distinctive words of goodbye.
And then, he breathed out.
"Alright, you two.", he said and stuffed his phone away - prepaid, not worth anything, his more important ones were back on the Aurelia. "We'll finish our drinks and then we're on our way. I don't know, how long the taxi trip is, that will take us to the Palace, but I hope, that we'll arrive before ten o'clock."
Translation: Drink up, grab your bags and off we go., Aurelia thought, before she indeed drank up. Fara wasn't any slower and soon, they were on their merry way again.
Via a taxi, taken from the stand - sure, some might say, that it was not appropriate transportation for a Crown Prince and two Princesses, but they had two things not accounted for: One, there was no Kyrenaian Embassy in Tyrnica, so no Embassy Staff to send a driver and a car to take them to their destination, which made an easily available driver with knowledge about the location only one choice, namely a taxi driver. Two, the three and especially Aurelia wanted to see a bit of the country, while they were there and while it surely would be enough opportunity, this was the only opportunity to do so 'incognito', so to speak, unofficially.
It indeed was a wise decision: The closer they came to the city centre, the more Aurelia felt reminded of her own country of birth, which was frozen in time as well, architects and preservists in Tyrnica going to great lengths to preserve the architecture and art of their home - and doing a great job with it. A bit like Seabhcóir, yet totally different...
She loved it.
There was also a third reason, if one asked Ilia. The Royalty of Kyrenaia was, despite being absolute, not the state, but its first servants, so to speak, so they needed to act independently and strong in their every day as that was the first step in nurturing a strong character. It was not unusual to see a Kyrenaian Royal carrying his or her own bags (or at least one), travelling without entourage and other such things, not because they didn't have the ressources to afford it, but exactly because they had the ressources.
It was paradox to many foreigners, but it worked splendidly.
Later, they arrived at their destination: The Ruuskindär Palace.

[Vionna-Frankenlisch]

Wulfram

---

"We are... Sharing a room, Sire..." Duke von Babenburg said, confused and surprised, "I'm sure I can get the arrangements corrected if you'll only give me a moment."

The King, however, retained his often jovial manner. "It's no matter," He said, waving his arm across the spacious central chamber, "There's plenty of room, and the beds are far apart. I trust you're not partial to... Extraneous activities?"

Von Babenburg reddened at the very idea, "Of course not," He snapped, "Er... Sire." Behind them, Lady Hannah laughed.

"And you, young lady," King James exclaimed, "Go and see to your chambers with Lieutenant O'Hara. Go, both of you." The pair quickly entered the room next door at their King's command and James turned his attention to the four soldiers behind him and the Duke. "Gentlemen, I will allow you to decide which men will go to which room, but, don't let me catch you arguing."

---

Hannah

---

The bed was absolutely luxurious, sheets of silk and finest linen, the comfiest pillows Lady Hannah had ever felt. She lay back and sank into the covers while Lieutenant O'Hara got a feel for the rest of the room.

"This is quite the room," O'Hara said, looking at Hannah cheerfully, "Better than any barrack room, huh?"

"I still would have liked to stay in one," Hannah replied, essentially grinding her back into the bed, "I want to know what they're like. I'm going to be a soldier one day, after all."

"There's no need to make decisions like that now, Hannah," the Lieutenant replied, "You're only sixteen..."

"And you're eighteen! You chose at seventeen, that's only a year off!"

"That was different... I did service, can you imagine what a poor farm girl from Erin would think when told she could be a career officer? I was overjoyed, I couldn't think. I had to accept."

Hannah was surprised, "Are you saying you wish you hadn't?" She asked, seemingly out of genuine curiosity rather than arguing.

"I don't know, not that it matters." Answered O'Hara, "I have three more years of service before I can leave the Army honourably. Hannah... If you're that intent on being a soldier, you'll find out what it's like soon enough."

[Ezhara]

Online Conversation between the Ezharan Leaders, October 28
"Mascots of Ezhara," Maxwell's post began, "We have received a recent foreign invitation for a Banquet of sorts, and as such, I am requesting that we send a pair of us to the event. Sounds like it shall be an interesting spectacle indeed. I shall be awaiting volunteers for this." After writing this, Maxwell got up from his spot at the computer and went to go fetch a bottle of wine and a notebook, the latter of which was a script for a recent play that he was a part of. While leader and the current epitome of Ezhara's actors, he greatly preferred to be humble, often not taking a main role in his productions unless it was critical to it.

After a few minutes of waiting, two notification pings sounded on his computer — one from the pseudonym of Eliza and the other with the username of Phoenix. In other words, Senala and Maxwell's good friend Theron had sent their responses, and he smiled at the fact the latter had sent a message. After all, the two men had known each other since childhood, having stayed at each other's sides throughout their whole lives, all the way up to their roles as the Mascots of Ezhara's cities.

"Sounds wonderful!" came Senala's reply, "I'll go!"
"Likewise," stated Theron's simple statement, "When shall we leave?"
"It begins October 29," responded Maxwell, pulling down his face mask to take a sip from his wine, "So, tomorrow. I presume you can charter a method of travelling to there?"
"Of course!" Senala sent, "I believe my private pilot has been itching for something to do for a few weeks by this point."

---

October 29, Airport of Femasa
Senala was indeed able to successfully contact her pilot after the conversation, who had come by the next day some thirty minutes before either Senala or Theron were ready. "It is almost disturbing how much you love your job," Senala commented, readjusting the scabbard on her large red gown, which surrounded all but the front of her legs and some of the top of her body in a shroud of fabric. Meanwhile, Theron wore a simple suit that had orange-green gradient feathers on the shoulders and wrists, while his choice of lower-body clothing was his usual white pants, with the normal dramatic details to it that he often wore it with.

"Anyways, let's get a move on," commanded Senala, quickly marching towards the exit of the airport terminal, the pilot and Theron briskly following her. After a half minute of walking, the trio finally reached the plane of Senala's pilot, who proceeded to run in past the two leaders, the copilot also entering the plane with him. Said plane was a simply vehicle — painted the same red as Senala's gown and seemed to be able to carry some ten people in great comfort. By the time Senala and Theron got in, the pilot and copilot already seemed ready to leave and were only waiting for the two to enter. Once they did enter and also closed the door, the plane took off in the direction of Tyrnica, wherever that might be.

October 29, Palace of Ruuskindär, 9 AM
After their pilots landed their vehicle, Theron and Senala promptly took a taxi to a place just close enough to the Palace of Ruuskindär to not arouse suspicion from the driver but in walking distance (five minutes or less). If any location in walking distance of the palace would be enough to cause suspicion, then the two Ezharans would actually explain they were there for the October Banquet; otherwise, they claimed that they were there for a business meeting of sorts. During the taxi ride, the two gazed in appreciation and a sort of happiness out the windows at the architecture the city. So it seems, they greatly enjoyed the attempts the Tyrnicans made to preserve their culture.

After a few minutes of walking, Senala and Theron finally arrived at the entrance to the Palace, somehow not having taken any luggage along, for whatever reason. "Since we'll be staying here for a few days, don't you think we should have brought some luggage with us?" Theron pointed out, as the two entered view of the palace.
"I'm sure they have laundromats and such," replied Senala, fiddling with her scabbard in agitation, for whatever reason, "Well, I can always brea- nah, just kidding."
She smiled gleefully before continuing. "But good point, I'll get Maxwell to get another guy in with luggage. How did we even forget?"

Now in front of the palace, the two waited to be greeted in, somehow failing to notice any guards in the general area. Senala was considering unlocking her backsword, but then decided not to take the risk that a guard might misinterpret her attempt to get her weapon out as that of one with malevolent intentions.

[Izzyshipper]

Sophia admired the interior of the Ruuskindär Palace with something of a professional eye, it was somewhat inevitable after years of visiting various palaces that one developed something of an eye for architecture. Of course, all Kings would deny it but everybody wanted to have the best palace - otherwise what was the point? Sophia was mildly disappointed to see the Palace was at-the-least equal in stature to her own, alas. Noticing the delegation from Vionna-Frankenlisch with King James at it's head from the diplomatic briefing she had memorised previously she inclined her head respectfully, "Your Majesty, a pleasure to meet you," She said with a small smile as Isabella dropped into an elegant curtsey beside her.

"Likewise charmed, your Majesty," came the silken reply of her youngest daughter, once more dipping a curtsey to the Duke of East Wolfswood, "Although your Grace does well not to be outshone, despite the dazzling beauty of Lady Von Babenberg." Isabella's eyes twinkled with a slightly amused warmth as she rose to her feet, declining to curstey to the young woman however. She had been unsure if the heir to a Client-Kingdom outranked her so deferred as politeness but the Archduchess knew where she stood with the young girl.

Sophia opened her mouth to continue but was interrupted by the footsteps of the oncoming Lord-Chancellor, closing her mouth she raised her hands in mock defeat. "Alas, I cannot go on, I hope to speak to Your Majesty later."

As they where greeted Sophia's keen eyes noticed the look of reluctance grace the staff's expressions as they went to collect their luggage. Sophia was, thankfully, a tall woman so had little trouble discreetly turning her neck to see the small mountain of bags that had been piled up beside their car. Sophia's eyes widened in alarm as she shot her daughter a suspicious glare. The Princess however merely looked slightly concerned, clearly fighting the urge to direct the staff in the correct order and manner to carry her belongings.

Sophia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, she was not puritanical or austere by any stretch herself yet even still she questioned her daughter's taste for finery. While a certain degree of presentation and dignity was essential for any Royal, Isabella's love of opulence went above and beyond. Sighing she listened to the tour of the palace with polite interest yet found little appetite for it - although she did notice a rather fetching fresco that would look rather fine back home.

Eventually led to their rooms, Sophia thanked the Lord-Chancellor but was less than thrilled at being addressed as "Your Highness." If her own Lord Steward of the Household had made a mistake with a royal guest he would found himself quickly without a position. Yet she ignored the annoyance and entered their rooms for the upcoming days, placing the gift for King Frederick on a table before looking for her daughter.

Sophia was unsurprised to see her rifling through her newly unpacked belongings with an almost forensic scrutiny. "Goodness Bells, how much did you pack?" Sophia asked, she sat on the edge her bed. She bobbed up and down a few times to test it in what she hoped was a dignified manner - although rather doubted it.

"Well you said to pack light," Isabella replied with what Sophia hoped was feigned obliviousness, yet was spared finding out by a small knock on the door. Isabella turned on her heels to answer the polite interruption, opening the door to reveal the Lord-Chancellor once more. After he delivered his message Isabella motioned for him to stay for a moment, "Thank you, Lord Chancellor, your care has been exemplary the moment we arrived. Could you pass along my thanks to the staff who carried my luggage? I'm aware it was a bit of a weight, but if you could ensure some wine and beer made it their way I would be grateful. Just send the bill to myself and my Mistress of the Household will settle it back home."

Closing the door and resuming her meticulous rearranging of her garments Sophia couldn't help but smile. At least her daughter knew the importance of making a good impression, at any rate.

[Dahon]

October 29, 2017, 8:12 am.

An anonymous Tyrnican villa, Ruuskindär Palace grounds.

***

Kojima Izumi, forty-fifth Yakumokami and current Keeper of the Purple Throne, was busy reading a book -- a rare Dahoni Japanese translation of Calderon de la Barca's La vida es sueño she borrowed from the Kanamekami, to be precise (a fact that did not fail to surprise her when she learned of its existence in Kaname Sumire's possession) -- when the news that she had been waiting for at last arrived, in the form of someone knocking at the door.

After getting a vocal go-signal from the kami, a visibly shivering young soldier in beige-hued cold-weather wear walked in, closing the door behind her as she went. Noting with some surprise the kami's posture and clothing or the dearth of both -- half-lying, half sitting over an uncomfortably small sofa some distance away, a featureless white chemise draped over her tall body was all she wore, in bold defiance of the weather outside -- she nonetheless bowed then straightened herself up to give her report: "Your Highness, as of 7:53 am, the Izzyerian delegation has arrived here at the Palace. Confirmed to be Her Majesty the Queen Sophia and her daughter Princess Isabella."

"Good. Were there any other royals accompanying them?"

"Only some military escorts."

"Excellent," Izumi quickly noted, "and the letter?"

"Submitted through subordinates to the Lord Chamberlain, with your express orders that their... well, they make themselves comfortable first before coming here."

"Which would be nine o'clock. Very well. That is all. Thank you for your time. But before I dismiss you... could you pick that pitcher, table over there?"

***

Meanwhile, not far from the villa she and her mother were occupying, a bobblehat-wearing Kojima Kinojo, clad in a plain knee-length clime-defying blouse ringed with a camouflage-colored scarf (the latter she bought upon arriving at Tyrnica) was in a spur-of-the-moment excursion along with two military escorts (for their part more sensibly clothed in cold-weather gear), using her great height to her advantage, peeking over hedges and fences, intent as she was to break the ice with at least one delegation -- the Yakumokami can be a bit difficult in conversation, after all -- before the banquet started.

After some time spent in largely fruitless searching, she was close to giving up when she spotted someone -- no, two people, maybe more, at least one in a glen plaid jacket with matching grey skirt of make uncertain; it was so hard to tell in the early morning mist -- alighting from a car whose presence let alone noise she didn't sense, by all appearances going to one of the villas she had looked at and given up for empty earlier.

Trying to catch their attention, she shouted in her best English then strode over quickly to them, outpacing those of her escorts in the process, her words evidently not in the best diplomatic taste for her first overseas sojourn: "Ooooooooooi! W-welcome! Here for the banquet too! Cold weather today isn't it?"

[Zukovina]

Muncitorii International Airport
10:30 PM, 28^th of October 2017

---

It was a cold, yet calm evening in the Ljudskostov district. A thin layer of fog hung lazily in the air above Muncitorii International Airport, permeated only by the constant slight drizzle. The grey unassuming concrete buildings of the airport were illuminated by the high powered spotlights that were dotted around the terminal. Periodically, an odd vehicle or employee would dart into view, and then disappear almost as quickly. To an outsider, this airport could appear deserted, or even derelict.

However, it was not. No one was travelling through this slightly crumbling hub of Zukovinan travel as it had been closed for just over half an hour in anticipation of the arrival of the Președinte - as was tradition. Be this as it may, the airport was hardly busy at the best of times, with most Zukovinans being unable to afford even internal flights. Muncitorii's emptiness on this damp and misty October day may well have appeared to a foreigner as an almost poetic symbol of Zukovina's diplomatic isolation which it had endured for the past 10 years. In fact, ever since the ‘Revolutie Glorioasa’ and the execution of the entire Gergő royal family, Zukovina had been shunned by the international community. No trade, no travel, no nothing. And Zukovina had suffered as a consequence. Nowadays, Zukovina was a long way from the fury and fervour of that revolt, just over a decade ago. But the architect of the revolution remained, and he remained in power.

Emil Dragomir, the Președinte of Zukovina, sat in the expensive presidential limousine in complete silence. The uneasy silence hung in the air like an unwelcome smell. He sat alongside his son, Iacob, who was absentmindedly flicking through an official diplomatic dossier of nations attending the banquet and Mihail Sala, a close friend of his and the Consilier Principal of the People's Council. Mihail was reclined in one of the limousine's comfortable leather seats, half asleep and breathing heavily. Emil sighed and couldn't help but fear this was a consequence of his old revolutionary comrade having overindulged in one of his famous 'liquid lunches'. He could only hope that Mihail would be able to keep it together for the duration of this trip - he'd need all of his guidance if he was going to be able to schmooze all these bourgeois monarchs and pacify the Zukovinan people in their incessant demands for an end to isolationism.

The car pulled to a stop, just off the main runway. Directly in front of the limo, a black private jet sat still, its engines roaring. Almost immediately, an unseen and unheard attendant opened the car door, filling the vehicle with the scream of jet engines. This burst of noise awoke Mihail from his alcohol-induced slumber and he began to frantically collect his paperwork and stuff it in his black leather briefcase. Emil tried to avoid looking at him, but couldn't help but shoot him a disapproving look. Iacob, amongst all this chaos, remained calm. A small smile danced across his lips, before he disguised it to avoid another lecture from his father about governing being 'no laughing matter'. Iacob recalled a particularly embarrassing incident when he got 'friendly' with a girl he met at one of Ljudskosto's many bars. How was he to know that her father had been (before his mysterious disappearance) a well known advocate for political reform? He remembered his father screaming at him, red faced with his beard shaking furiously, about how he was a 'disgrace to the Dragomir name'. Iacob hadn't forgot that and he certainly didn't intend to disgrace his father's name again at this event - quite to the contrary.

Emil got out of the limousine first, holding his navy peacoat close to him as his dark blue patterned tie rippled furiously in the wind, and stomped towards the plane. The Președinte had a knack for managing to terrify and fill people with awe in equal measure and Emil was pleased to notice the looks of reverence the airport workers gave him. Boarding the jet, Emil admired his reflection in the polished hardwood trim, ruffled his beard to displace a stray hair and took a seat. Following his father, Iacob walked towards the jet. He strolled easily, commanding respect with his dignified gait. Taking a seat behind his father, Iacob began to carefully reconstruct his jet black pompadour, an unfortunate casualty of the windy walk to the plane. Lastly, Mihail Sala slowly and with great effort, boarded the jet. Both Emil and Iacob noticed how rough Mihail looked and both blanked his feeble attempt at a conciliatory smile. Mihail heaved his bulk into a seat and then, no sooner than he was seated, the jet began to taxi towards the runway. The Zukovinans were going to Tyrnica.

[Kaschen]

The pair from Kaschen turned towards the young lady addressing them. The Prince replied instinctively to the informal greeting with his customary "Morgan," which he quickly followed up with a more formal "Thank you, um, yes ve are here for the fest. I am Hereditary Prince Hereditary Prince Erdman Rafael of Baerengruen, and this is Countess Alberta to, I mean Countess of Niederberg." As was introduced, Alberta offered her hand and then Rafael followed suite.

The Special Ambassador was reserved and formal, but relaxed, his companion was however, smiled warmly and answered Kojima's question about the weather.

"It is a bit chilly, but this is typical of Kaschen weather, sometimes it is much colder."

"We are also dressed for the veather. You vould be varmer if you had autumn clothes" added the Prince in the direct manner typical of his countrymen.

[Izzyshipper]

Sophia had allowed herself some brief moments of relaxation, elegantly curled up on a chaise lounge as she clasped a cup of peppermint tea in her hands. She sighed in contentment as she sipped the sweet liquid, the heat of the vessel seeping into her palms as she felt her muscles relax slightly. Her moment’s respite was interrupted however as Isabella glided into the room, clutching a piece of paper in her hand. “A message, Mama,” Isabella said handing the envelope and letter opener to Sophia.

“Who from?” Sophia said curiously, sliding the steel in the small gap and slicing along the fold to gain access to the contents within, “I don’t recognise the seal.”

“Someone from the Chamberlain’s staff,” Isabella replied, taking a seat in the chair opposite Sophia, “Although the origin of the message comes from Queen Izumi of Dahon,” the Archduchess continued, crossing her legs before sliding them underneath the chair. Isabella didn’t bother to ask what was inside, knowing her mother would reveal it if she chose to and any inquiry Isabella made would make little difference.

Sophia paused as the blade sliced effortlessly through the paper, leaving but a corner uncleaved. “Dahon? You mean where that –“

“Yes, if memory serves her brother if I’m not mistaken,” Isabella replied as the corner of her lower lip curled into a faintly amused smile.

“I see,” Sophia replied, resuming the motion with the letter opener with a particularly sharp thrust and sliding the sheet of paper inside onto her palm. The Queen’s nostrils flared slightly at the memory as her eyes moved left and right, quickly reading the elegant script inscribed on the pristine paper.

“I have been invited to an audience and refreshments with the Queen,” Sophia announced, folding the letter and placing it on the table beside her cup.

“Why?” Isabella asked surprised.

“Presumably to discuss that disgrace of a Prince,” Sophia snorted as she got to her feet, walking over to the mirror to fix any loose strands of hair that had escaped from the elaborate knot she had had it styled in. “And to minimise any shame that clings to their House from the incident. Regardless best see what they have to say. Call the guards from their room, will you?"

“Trust the Dahoni so little?” Isabella asked amused as she got to her feet to attend to her mother’s request.

Sophia laughed in response, “Not so much, but heed this advice Isabella if you ever find yourself married to a King. A Queen does not ever waster an opportunity to make an entrance.”

~*~

The walk to the Queen of Dahon’s villa was rather pleasant, the tawny coloured wolf-fur of her coat doing a rather fine job of keeping Tyrnica’s harsher Winter chill away. The two solider’s behind her marched a half pace behind her, their eyes unflinchingly looking ahead as they followed their mistress’s gait flawlessly. Sophia glanced down to check the watch fastened to a delicate gold chain around her wrist, noting the time as nine o’clock exactly. She smiled slightly at the pleasing punctuality as they passed the gate which the Lord Chancellor had informed them marked the Dahono's residence for the trip. Admiring the building as they walked down the path, Sophia stopped just outside the villa where one of the Queen’s own soldiers stood. The sharp crunch of gravel meeting boot sounded behind her as the two escorts slammed a foot each down as they stood to attention.

“PRESENTING,” Felix – the taller of the two men – shouted, “Her Most Gracious Majesty, Sophia the First Known, Queen of Izzyshipper.”

Once finished the Queen fixed the Dahoni guard an impassive look, “Tell your mistress the Queen of Izzyshipper is here.”

[Vionna-Frankenlisch]

James

---

"Ring for breakfast, would you, Wulfram?" King James said, as a kind order rather than a question. He smiled at the Duke who went off to ring for a servant of some kind to receive their orders for breakfast, the pair having not eaten since dinner the night before.

James himself sat down at a wooden bureau in the corner of the room and unpacked a string-bound pile of documents to begin work on. Amongst them were execution warrants of the type only valid after being approved at the highest level, a group of serial arsonists in Vladamirska setting fire to Molvanian buildings just across the border and a mass killing on a farm in Helmfirth. "It makes us all look rather barbaric..." King James said to nobody in particular as he signed the papers and sealed the criminal's fates. There was a pack of bread-and-butter letters from a group of distant relatives that attended the King for dinner several evenings before. James sighed as he began to work on a set of almost identical replies, a task that would doubtlessly take until his breakfast.

---

Hannah

---

There came a knocking at the door. "Enter..." Hannah said, groaning as she dug her back deeper into the soft sheets. She looked up slightly as the door was opened and her brother walked in. "Brother..." She greeted.
"His Majesty has called for breakfast, what would you like?" Wulfram asked, producing a tiny notebook and pencil from one of his inner pockets.
"Schwessian Sourdough and Waffles." Hannah snapped back without thought.
Her brother sighed, "They won't have Schwessian," he replied.
"Hardbread, then." The young lady corrected.

"Lieutenant?" Wulfram asked O'Hara, "And yourself?"
"Oh..." The officer fumbled to her feet and fittingly fumbled her speech as well, "Y'grace I- Umm..."
"She'll have the same as me." Hannah interrupted, out of her vision, O'Hara shrugged her shoulders.
"Very good," Wulfram said, "They might be a while. They have to prepare mine and His Majesty's. And they haven't even come up yet to hear what we want."