Madeline d'Moustiers enters the Hall of Roses through the great doors to the south.

Rixenda Basnage enters the Hall of Roses through the great doors to the south.

Ryd enters the Hall of Roses through the great doors to the south.

Laurel enters the Hall of Roses through the great doors to the south.

Dusant enters the Hall of Roses through the great doors to the south.

Dusant limps heavily in, his mouth down-turned.

Madeline d'Moustiers is standing and chatting in a friendly matter with several Immortals. As a matter of fact, she appears to be surrounded by a swarm of them. The dress, perhaps?

Rixenda Basnage is standing off to the side, alone.

Kallien d'Comparde stands near Rayonde speaking quietly with him.

Dusant says to Ryd, in an undertone, "It has not been improved by absence."

Philippe Bourdon enters the Hall of Roses through the great doors to the south.
Laurel takes a place towards the side of the room, near to the front, a page enters and stands next to her whispering a couple of words and then looking around the room.

Ryd smirks and says quietly, "Few things improve with time, except you and wine."

Dusant coughs out an uncharacteristic laugh. "Which must mean that I am a good blue cheese."

Rayonde n'Crillart nods at something Kallien says and turns his head when the younger man indicates. He nods again and says something quietly, his eyes briefly glancing at Philippe.

Rixenda Basnage continues her quiet inspection of the clothing worn by everyone at court. She makes no attempts to seek out anyone's company.

"It was you, wasn't," Dusant asks Ryd, "with whom I entered into that wager regard the lady's, er, hair color?"

Achard XIII lolls on the throne, a bored expression on his face. Occasionally he makes a show of amusement at something one of the dignitaries around him says, but he only truly seems to be paying attention when either the Cardinal or the Captain of the Immortals is speaking.

Madeline d'Moustiers laughs brightly at something said by one of her swarm of admirers. The sound carries quite well, even over the din of all the other conversations.

Ryd with a smile and a slight laugh, "Yes..." then halts as the King enters.

Dusant says, "You and Bourdon--haven't seen him in quite some time. Heard he was promoted, though"

Cardinal Gisboneaux stands near the king's right hand, occasionally leaning over to whisper to him. His face is usually a blank mask, but occasionally a slight hint of a smile turns up one corner of his lips.

Ryd nudges Dusant slightly, "Bourdon is that man over there?"

Dusant toys absently with the knob of his walking stick. "I hate a wager which does not come to fruition. Here--shall we wager on something tonight?" He glances in Philippe's direction. "Yes. One of the Cardinal's Hounds. Good despite it, though."

Philippe Bourdon finds a spot along the wall with a clear view of the door. He tugs at the uncomfortable collar, and glances around the hall.

Ryd with a quick look around, "And what do you propose for a wager?"

August d'Quatreville stands on the king's left, his eyes scanning the gathering mass of courtiers and visiting dignitaries.

Rixenda Basnage gives a nervous glance towards where the King and Cardinal are, but keeps herself quietly in her corner.

Laurel looks around the room with a slight smile, settling her eyes on Madeline for a moment the smile turns to a grin. She looks back towards the King and makes herself a little more comfortable, then whispers something to the page who almost blushes then nods.

Dusant lowers his voice further. "Either that that ..." He indicates Madeline with his glance. "... woman, will reveal more of herself than she intends--or, at least, more than most would say is proper. Or that the King will ... hm. What would be most diverting?"

Madeline d'Moustiers laughs again and waves as one of the Immortals is summoned off by a superior. She gives her attention to the remaining men around her, fluttering her eyelashes and winking at one of them.

Kallien d'Comparde sniffs and raises a fine kerchief to his lips. His eyes pass over where the Cardinal's Lieutenant stands and smiles grimly as he sees him.

Dusant says, "Let us wager as to the king's hair color on the morrow, following the Open Court, shall we?"

Ryd with a look at both the woman and the King he says, "I'll take the woman showing more than is proper." He winks at Dusant. "You pick the hair color, and shall we keep to the same outcome of our previous wager?"

Laurel appears quiet at ease as she speaks to various courtiers who come and go making small conversation. The page stands attentive the entire time.

Dusant runs a finger along the strap of his eyepatch. "I confess, Dalinson, I do not quite recall what that outcome was. I fear I've been wagering perhaps more often than is strictly necessary. But I say his hair will be blue by tomorrow evening. How could it be otherwise?"

Philippe Bourdon keeps his place along the wall, splitting his attention between the crowd, and those arriving.

Ryd chuckles, "I'll take the bet, and the winner calls the woman." He coughs into his hand, "That should remind you of the wager."

Dusant nods somberly. "Of course. A very curious penalty--it must have been Bourdon who thought of it. Then you wager we will see pink tonight, and I wager blue tomorrow. Excellent."

Ryd mocks a toast in Dusant's direction and then turns towards Madeline and smiles, "I certainly hope that one of us shall." He nudges his companion slightly.

Courtiers, noble hangers-on, and foreign dignitaries continue to crowd into the hall.

Madeline d'Moustiers continues with her flirting with the men around her. Her attention flits from man to man, never settling on one for more than a moment. Still, they all continue to hang around, and only those who watch for an extended period of time will note that for the most part the teasings and conversations sound more like familial ribbing than serious attempts at bedding.

Achard XIII shifts on his throne, stifling a yawn. He snaps his fingers at a lieutenant of the Queen's Escort to summon him and then exchanges a few words with the fellow. The king's young face darkens with anger and he dismisses the man with a sharp gesture of his hand and a waspish expression.

Dusant puts his walking stick down hard on the slipper of a courtier who crowds too close. "Pardon me," he says politely, at the man's yelp, then turns back to Ryd. "I'm afraid my memory is beginning to leave me--so few familiar faces do I see. Who is that lady there?" He nods vaguely across the room. "Do you know her?"

Kallien d'Comparde ignores the majority of the occupants of the room. His eyes glitter coldly whenever they settle upon Philippe though.

Cardinal Gisboneaux watches the exchange between the king and the Queen's man, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. He exchanges a glance with the Captain of the King's Immortals.

August d'Quatreville returns the Cardinal's glance, frowning slightly.

Laurel continues speaking to those that arrive, greeting them and talking idly. She watches the room and positioning of those who have made their way to court. She look at one of the men that approaches and nods again, kissing him gently on the cheek then speaks to him for a moment before he takes a place just behind her.

Philippe Bourdon doesn't seem to notice looks from anyone. His eyes scan the hall briefly before he turns his attention back to the door.

Madeline d'Moustiers glances towards where the King sits. Her eyes glance over him but briefly before she turns her lips up into a smile when she sees someone else by him. She laughs at something whispered in her ear, her skin flushing a charming pink in color and then she turns back to her small group of admirers.

Rixenda Basnage stops a page as he passes and as she speaks she withdraws a small card from her purse. She directs the boy towards a Lady half way across the room from her and then watches his progress.

Ryd shrugs, "That is the same wretch who snuck in through the back door," then with a bit of a laugh, "Oh, you mean Lord Renee...well, I can't remember from where, but he does look slightly like a woman." Ryd smirks wickedly then looks around and catches the attention of one of the pages who appears to be wandering around but without current direction, "You." He motions for the lad and then says something for which he gets a quick shake of the head. Ryd repeats the request and the page nods, then leaves the room. Turning to Dusant he says, "Sunflowers for the lady should be a nice touch, don't you think?"

Cardinal Gisboneaux's cold gaze sweeps across the hall and settles on Philippe Bourdon. They narrow for a moment in recognition and then the Cardinal gives his new Lieutenant a subtle nod of recognition.

"Or her," Dusant says, pointing toward Rixenda with the knob of his walking stick. "There is a homely woman--the only kind--who dresses as though she understand that earned effort is worth far more than born grace. A plain lady who attempts to please is the--hm? Sunflowers for which lady? Lady Renee?"

Laurel notices the interaction with the Cardinal and his man, she smiles noticeably and then says something to the page who nods to her.

Rixenda Basnage watches as the page delivers the card she sent with him. The Lady who receives it turns her gaze towards Rixenda and she frowns. Still, as much as she appears unpleased with the idea, she reaches into her own purse and sends the page on a return trip with her own card.

Ryd chuckles, "Not unless Lady Renee's pink will win my bet!" Then he looks at Rixenda, "My Lord, I'm most certain that I have no idea who that woman is."

Achard XIII sits up straighter in his throne and barks something nearly audible at the pages arrayed before him. The pages leap to attention and at that cue a pair of trumpeters sound a strident blast to silence the hall.

Philippe Bourdon catches the Cardinal's look, and instantly stands a little straighter. He bows his head in answer to the nod.

Dusant begins to respond to Ryd, then falls silent at the sound of the trumpets.

Madeline d'Moustiers nods as most of her admirers scurry off to their posts at the sound of the trumpets. She remains standing where she was, her attention on the throne where the King sits. Or, at least on someone near him.

Wilhelm enters the Hall of Roses through the great doors to the south.

Cardinal Gisboneaux walks a few steps closer to the edge of the dais and calls out in a clear, mellifluous voice, "Greetings, Lords and Ladies, to this historic event: The first Open Court of King Achard the XIII. May it be the first of hundreds he sees while gracing the Sun Throne!"

Cardinal Gisboneaux waits for the courtiers' loud agreement to quiet before continuing. "The king, may he be blessed, has granted me the honor of orchestrating this public audience in accordance with the ancient traditions of Ardainne's incomparable monarchs. In accordance with that tradition, the first act of this court will be the presentation of newly titled lords and ladies to His Majesty."

Achard XIII shifts in his throne, obviously bored, and begins to make subtle eyes at a young lady on the front row of the gathered courtiers.

Dusant casts his cold eye over the Cardinal with unconcealed dislike, and tries with limited success to put a pleasant, happy expression on his face. His lips twitch upward, but soon fall.

Standing somewhere in the middle of the assembled dignitaries, Count Wilhelm y'Kronist has chosen an out of the way place to observe the proceedings. He nods his head slightly at the words of the Cardinal but keeps mostly silent.

Philippe Bourdon takes a few steps into the crowd, and turns his attention to the dais.

Cardinal Gisboneaux takes out an archaic looking scroll and begins reading names from it. As he reads each name, a lord or lady approaches the throne, makes a leg, and announces their name and the title that they have ascended to. The king smiles and nods to each and mutters something polite. At last the Cardinal calls out, "Devereaux y'Dusant!"

Ryd looks over at his companion and says quietly, "Have I been calling misled by your name My Lord?" He studies him gently.

August d'Quatreville startles and frowns as the name is called out. His brow beetles into a frown as his eyes find the man that name belongs to in the crowd.

Dusant casts a hopeless glance at Ryd, straightens his spine, and approaches the throw, with very little aid of his walking stick. He makes a leg to the King. "Devereaux y'Dusant--upon the death of my elder brother Guirnad." He straightens slightly unsteadily, and looks as though he's just bitten into a particularly sour lemon.

Madeline d'Moustiers glares opening as Dusant makes his way to the throne. She rests a hand on the arm of one of her remaining admirers and whispers something harsh to him as she points to where Dusant stands.

Achard XIII eyes the sour-faced count as if he is not certain how to categorize him. He waves a scented handkerchief below his nose for a moment and then says, "A death in the family, then? We offer you our condolences, of course, but also our congratulations on your ascension to title. Our court is . . . ornamented . . . by your presence and we hope to see more of you in the future, Count y'Dusant."

With little to comment about Dusant, Wilhelm merely watches the procession with a looked of obvious detachedness about him. Both arms rest behind his back, hands clasped together, in a very militaristic pose. His back is as straight as an arrow, so as not to show any disrespect or bad form by slouching. The expression that his features assume is that of someone tasting a delicacy for the first time: slight interest, slight fascination, slight boredom.

Laurel raises and eyebrow slightly as she straightens to get a slightly better view. She then turns to the page and whispers something which causes him to shift his weight on his feet.

August d'Quatreville eyes Dusant from behind the throne with a grim but otherwise unreadable expression on his face.

Dusant lowers his head respectfully, possibly to partially hide his expression. "If it as an ornament that I can best serve you, Sire, then I shall endeavor to prettify myself accordingly." He stands, head lowered, clearly hoping to be dismissed without further ado.

Ryd watches Dusant with interest, smiling as he shakes his head slightly.

Rixenda Basnage watches the proceedings with interest, even if she does so from a distance.

Achard XIII purses his lips for a moment and then shrugs, making a dismissive gesture with his handkerchief. "Very well, then, we will no doubt be honored by your efforts at refurbishing yourself. Good evening, Count." The king then turns to greet the next new noble called out of the crowd by the Cardinal.

Dusant backs respectfully away, pale as though he'd endured some horrible torment, and limps through the crowd as silently as possible back toward his place near Ryd.

Cardinal Gisboneaux calls out at least a dozen more names before closing the scroll and announcing, "By tradition, the king will now entertain requests to pass titles, duties, or sinecures from one personage to another, either directly or by means of inheritance. Will the Viscount Rayonde n'Crillart approach the throne?"

Rayonde n'Crillart has been standing near the front of the crowd and has his name is called he approaches the throne. Kallien follows several steps behind him and both pause at the same moment to make a leg to the king.

Ryd pats his companion on the back, "Well, there is even more reason to fill the evening with limitless bottles of wine."

Laurel turns and nods to the page who says something quietly to Laurel. She responds with a nod back and then turns her attention forward.

Dusant nods at Ryd. "The evening, the night, and most of the morning. What I need is a platter-faced woman with sufficient energy to tire a regiment." He glances toward Rixenda again. "She looks familiar, but I can't place her."

Philippe Bourdon narrows his eyes as he finally catches sight of Kallien. A frown works its way onto his face, as he watches quietly.

Ryd tries desperately to stifle a laugh.

Achard XIII glances from Rayonde to Kallien, a somewhat puzzled look on his face. He looks down at a note here-to-for hidden in the palm of his hand and then looks a little more confidant. "Lord n'Crillart, it is your wish to transfer your heritable title to this man, Kallien d'Comparde?"

Laurel turns abruptly and frowns in Ryd's direction then turns her attention back towards the King.

Wilhelm turns his head and whispers something to one of his assembled servants, who shakes his head feverently and with obvious confusion. Sighing, Count y'Kronist turns back to the proceedings.

Cardinal Gisboneaux raises a brow slightly and scrutinizes Kallien closely.

Isolde enters the Hall of Roses through the great doors to the south.

Rayonde n'Crillart bows again to the throne and speaks in a clear tone that carries easily throughout the Hall. "Sire, it is indeed my desire to do so. I am no longer a young man and my wife was recently slain. She was my last hope for an heir of my blood. Kallien is her brother and I feel he will do an honorable job running my estates as his own. I had wished for his blood to mingle with mine through his sister, my beloved wife. Providence deemed it not so." His head dips briefly and then he glances back towards Kallien who steps up to stand beside Rayonde and gives a leg to the throne once more.

Madeline d'Moustiers watches curiously, but generally divides her attention between scowling at where Dusant stands and watching someone near the throne intently. She occasionally whispers something to her group of admirers, but nothing loud enough to be overheard.

Achard XIII frowns and reflexively raises his handkerchief to his nose. "Slain, you say? Your wife was slain? By whom?"

Leaning his head towards Isolde, Wilhelm speaks as silently as possibly, his expression as constant as ever. "'Tis quite interesting, if I canst but maketh such a decision by myself."

Rayonde n'Crillart say with a mournful expression on his features, "Sire, her murderers were never caught. Though the Companies did what they could. I but pray they meet their own just reward someday and pay for the innocent blood they have spilled." As he speaks Kallien looks suitably mournful as well, although it does not stop him from admiring one of the ladies standing close by.

Amidst the whispering crowd Laurel turns to the page and whispers something to which he nods at her and they engage in a moment of conversation. Then they grow quiet and she returns her attention to the thrown.

Rixenda Basnage bites her lower lip and pales slightly. Backing up some she places her back against the wall and shakes her head as she reaches, with trembling hands, into her purse to withdraw a small vial.

Philippe Bourdon sets jaw and glances down at the floor of the hall.

Ryd leans over to Dusant, "Ah, court." He sighs slightly.

Dusant mutters to Ryd. "My brother was slain as well, and I can't tell you how pleased I am, Dalinson, that the King didn't enquire further." He considers his own statement. "That sounds perhaps a trifle darker than intended. Ah--look at my pink lady--" He indicates Rixenda. "She trembles. Did you see? Quite becomingly."

"Mmm. We see." The king shrugs his boyish shoulders and says, "Well, the King of Heralds could find nothing in this Comparde fellow's bloodline to prevent his ascension, so if it is truly your we wish we shall affix our seal to your petition and his birthright will be secured."

Ryd looks over at Rixenda for a moment, "I saw and did not find it becoming at all." He shrugs slightly, "My flower boy should arrive just in time for the end of court and perhaps the lady would see me to her..." he becomes quiet again as the King speaks.

Nodding her assent, the lady y'Kronist leans slightly towards her husband and murmurs quietly. Her cheeks are flushed as she surveys the court, sparkling eyes belying her intrigue.

Rayonde n'Crillart inclines his head and says, "Your Majesty is too kind and both myself and my heir give our greatest thanks to you for what you do." The heir in question draws his attention away from the lady he was admiring to appear suitably thankful.

Rixenda Basnage shakes something from the vial into her hand which she then quickly swallows. Her expression turns almost fearful as she glances towards the throne once again, but she recovers the color to her skin quickly enough.

Cardinal Gisboneaux nods to himself and whispers something to an aide at his side, who makes a note in a ledger bearing the Cardinal's arms.

Wilhelm moves his head back up so that he can view the proceedings fully. As cold as ever, he reaches one hand up to brush a stray lock of hair out of his face, the violet-blue catching the light and gaining a bit of a momentary sheen. It is, however, one of his rare movements and within seconds the Count y'Kronist has returned to his silent observation.

Dusant raises an eyebrow at Ryd. "There--again with this mysterious lady of yours. Who is she? And if you have sunflowers planned, I hope she looks better in yellow than I."

Ryd chuckles slightly and speaks in a low voice, "Why for the Lady who attracts those men's attention, and the opportunity for me to win our bet of course." He winks at Dusant.

Achard XIII shrugs and stifles a yawn. "As you wish, then. May you both find pleasure in it." He then waves his handkerchief in dismissal and glances meaningfully at the Cardinal. "What must we . . . what is next on our agenda, Your Eminence?"

Ryd stares straight forward with no expression at the thrown.

Cardinal Gisboneaux raises an elegant brow and announces, "His Majesty will now receive petitioners with matters they feel require royal attention." He begins calling out names of lords and ladies who approach in turn, each voicing some concern in short speeches. Some receive little more than a yawn and a wave from the young king, while others seem to capture his attention, meriting notes being made by the clerk at the foot of the king's throne. At last the Cardinal calls out, "Wilhelm y'Kronist!"

Laurel turns to the page and cocks her head slightly to one side, they whisper for a moment and he nods to her. She turns again and stands quietly, watching for the man to speak.

Letting out a slight sigh, Wilhelm nods to Isolde. "It is our time." He says, before striding from between the crowd and moving towards the throne. When he is at an appropriate distance, Count y'Kronist slowly sinks down onto one knee and bows his head. "Your Majesty." Rising again, he makes a slight noise as if to clear his throat. "Your Majesty, assembled Dignitaries... What I come before you to speak of is a matter of the gravest concern."

Isolde stands at ease, her hands folded behind her back and her attention focused lively upon the throne. As her husband's name is called, however, her expression sobers to one of earnest determination, and she approaches the throne beside her husband, performing a deep curtsey as he bows.

Dusant leans closer to Ryd. "Ah. The northern Count. I've heard of him. Can't manage his own lands, or some such, and hasn't the wit to do as I do: hire a steward and let him steal what he will, so long as he never breathes word of a problem within my hearing."

Achard XIII leans forward slightly on his throne, his interest at piqued. "Grave concern? Graver even than altercations over timber rights? May the Redeemer grant that it is, for we are nearly expired from excitement to this point."

Ryd smirks slightly, "And that is why you are now Count, so that you can effectively manage even more."

Rixenda Basnage shows little interest in the goings on by the throne now. Her attention is focused instead on something or other by the main door.

Cardinal Gisboneaux clears his throat and gives the king a meaningful glance.

August d'Quatreville raises a gloved hand to cover a chuckle.

Dusant says, "Indeed. If only I were a Duke, it would open entire new vistas of grave concern for me to ignore."

Madeline d'Moustiers gives the briefest of glances towards the throne and to the pair now before the King. Her eyes sparkle for a moment as she stares opening at one of the men near the king. A soft elbow in her side from one of her companions drags her attention away and she colors at something the man says, although her reply is too soft to be heard.

"What many of you may not know, though of course Your Majesty, in your vast wisdom will be aware of, is that I hail from the Nord. We have long lived in peace and relative harmony. They were the best of the days I have known in my short life. Now, however, that peace is shattered..." He pauses for a moment for emphasis, letting the silence hang in the air.

Ryd chuckles at Dusant then with the silence he quiets himself, "Oh, this is going to be quiet entertaining I do believe." He smiles at Dusant and crosses his arms, turning his full attention to the man speaking.

Laurel raises a brow with piqued interest and takes a step forward in the crowd motioning for the page to follow.

Rayonde n'Crillart has turned his complete attention to his new heir whom is doing his best to entice a young lady closer. The two men exchange quiet words before the younger pouts and turns his attention to the throne along with Rayonde.

Cardinal Gisboneaux frowns slightly and raises a brow. He turns to the aide at his side and whispers something. The aide flips through pages of notes and then jabs his finger down on a page, holding it up so the Cardinal may read. His Eminence nods once as his features settle into an emotionless mask.

Achard XIII leans back in his throne nodding thoughtfully and waving a hand for the Nord count to continue.

Isolde stands quietly, for the moment permitting Wilhelm to do the speaking.

Dusant nods to Ryd. "If the Nord entertains the young King, as you expect to be entertained, I have no doubt he will find himself elevated above all others. The King is in need of a spot of entertainment, I suspect."

Ryd lowers his head and his shoulders shutter, obviously he is laughing as quietly as possible, "Count Dusant, I am speechless, and that is quite an accomplishment. Though would you like to wager on that entertainment?"

"My city of Kronist built itself many a generation ago upon the foundation of the ship and the sea. Mariners risked their livelihood on charting the coasts so that now we might provide Your Majesty and the Lords and Ladies of the Kingdom with that which they require. What was once good news of prospects in foreign lands have now turned into speeches of foreboding, of warning, and of fear. Every day I receive word of the blankets of soldiers that now do occupy the borders of Ostmark, like a hawk waiting to swoop down upon its prey..." The Count y'Kronist moves his body to the side to carry his voice to the nobles, and shakes his head slightly as if in regret. Hands still clasped behind his back, he continues. "But what of this, you ask? Should not the Nord know its own defense well enough to hold back these aggressors? Therein, Your Majesty, lies the true gravity of the matter."

Dusant says, "Of course! If the Nord count entertains you, I wager it impossible that he fail to entertain the King. Is that acceptable? If I lose this wager, I will--well, what do you ask of me? And if you lose? Then you must attempt to secure the introduction of that lady--" He indicated Rixenda. "--to me before the Open Court closes."

Achard XIII frowns at the mention of "blankets of soldiers" and glances up at the Cardinal, who raises a hand in a gesture of confusion. Shrugging, the king returns his attention to y'Kronist.

Madeline d'Moustiers lifts a gloved hand to cover the yawn that escapes her painted lips. A slight roll of her eyes indicates to her companions her lack of interest in this topic. Instead the group eases back from the crowd to stand near the back of the hall where they engage in quiet conversation with much quiet laughter and pointing of fingers.

Ryd raises a brow at Dusant, "That is most acceptable. If you should lose, then I shall be appointed your counselor....and if I lose?"

Laurel takes another step forward and then stops, turning to the page they engage in a lengthy conversation of whispers.

August d'Quatreville studies y'Kronist gravely, his eyes searching the Count's face as if trying to wring the man's character from it.

"Your Majesty, Nord is no longer a coherent entity. The many lords and ladies of the land do consolidate their holdings as if they were merely trinkets. When touring the province by carriage, I did find that many of the roads turned into filthy pools of mud, or others simply disappeared when the ground beneath had changed. Local barracks have been turned into the institutions of the culinary arts, or, even worse, simply left to fall to pieces!" There is fire in his words, the fire of a man truly inspired by what he speaks of. However, he does not allow the emotion to choke him up and instead maintains a steady tone of voice. "How can we hope to put up a defense against the Ostmark, one must ask themselves. What I ask is why we must put up this defense at all! The answer has been known by our own Duke for a time long enough. It is the question of the Reformists who do enter into our lands and seek our shelter."

Dusant shifts more weight onto his walking stick, and nods. "You'll introduce me to that plain woman who trembles and has what I am convinced is brandy in that vial she sips. The one wearing pink. But you must tell me if you are amused, for your amusement is the foundation of the wager. You must be amused, and His Majesty not."

Cardinal Gisboneaux's eyes turn momentarily frigid as he y'Kronist mentions the word "Reformists."

Ryd with a smile, "It is most certainly agreed, though I'm positive I shall lose at this rate!"

Laurel takes another step forward and nods to the page who turns and quickly leaves the room. Her gaze fixes upon the speaking count.

Rixenda Basnage stops a page who is passing by and hands him a card of hers. She leans down to whisper to the boy and he darts off through the room towards a couple at the other end.

Achard XIII frowns and holds up a silencing hand to the Nord Count. "Do I understand you to say that you believe the Duchy of Nord to be in a state of disorganization, Count y'Kronist? Have you raised your concerns with Duke re'Nord?"

Philippe Bourdon listens quietly, looking from man to man as they speak.

Laurel raises a brow and turns toward the Count, awaiting his answer.

"I have three times sent messengers to his person, and three times have I received nothing. I believe that the Nord is in danger, Your Majesty, and I wish only to see that its people suffer the smallest of disruptions from the peril that faces them. They have already felt the crushing weight of taxation too much for them to bear, taxation that no longer pays for the soldiers that will defend them, for the roads they travel, and for the Duchy that they find their living in. I come before you, Your Majesty, to beg that you impart some of your hallowed wisdom upon us, so that we might resolve this situation with words, not swords." Wilhelm bows his head low to the King in a gesture of utter respect, his eyes flashing with the earlier passion of his words.

Isolde, her face composed, raises her voice slightly to address the King. "Your Majesty. The sorrowful facts are that the strong leadership, which Nord so desperately needs in this time of trial, is sorely lacking. Indeed, my lord and husbands speaks plain truth when he says that the Duke re'Nord seems to have absented himself from the governing of our county. The people suffer, your Majesty, for they have little solace from grief when their liege lord forsakes them thus." Her eyes, earnest and beseeching, seek the King's for a moment before she lowers them humbly.

Achard XIII straightens in his throne and studies y'Kronist's face for a long moment, shifting his gaze only when Isolde speaks. After a moment he turns stiffly to Laurel and says, "Lady d'Nord, are we to believe that your father has absented himself from the rule of his duchy in the face of blankets of Ostmark invaders?"

Dusant looks a question at Ryd. "Not amusing yet, I must say. A well-enough spoken plea, if a bit impassioned for my tastes. But the boy King--the young King, that is, seems to have his ribbons a bit tight tonight, so perhaps you will win our wager."

Cardinal Gisboneaux shifts his attention from y'Kronist to Laurel, his face still expressionless, but his eyes glittering like those of a falcon with a juicy hare in sight.

Laurel stepping to the front of the crowd and bowing to the King she stands and smiles, "It is a pleasure to see you again Your Majesty." She turns then towards the Count and his wife for a brief moment and then says, "Upon their accounting it would appear so, though that would be in stark contradiction of the facts." She shrugs slightly and then continues, "Perhaps the Count has been traveling through the backroads of Nord, whispering rebellion against his Liege instead of where he belongs?"

"Your Highness, I do give my apologies for my wife's words, to the Lady d'Nord. I speak not to accuse our lord the Duke, for I am but a humble man and cannot claim to have wisdom greater than his own. All I have said is what I have done, and I can say or do no more. It is for Your Majesty to judge." This time, Wilhelm bows to the King, then to Laurel. His hair falls about his face during both motions, but returns to its normal position obediently. His expression remains that of someone completely detached from the situation, reserved and without a hint of judgment.

Ryd laughs slightly, "Oh, you may win yet, and I dare say that I'm actually hoping you do. I might just enjoy this for months to come." He nudges Dusant and smiles as the Count speaks again.

Isolde's face flares crimson, but she bites her tongue and does not speak.

Dusant looks with interest at Laurel. "Another child! Why, she and the Countess together--and add His Majesty, too--cannot be more than fifty. I am withered with age. No, no--but you are right. This does grow more amusing. Tell me, between the Duke's daughter and the Count's wife, which do you prefer?"

Achard XIII leans forward on his throne, waving his handkerchief reflexively under his nose. His eyes glitter with vague amusement. "Well, if you are not accusing your liege of allowing his demesne to fall into wrack and ruin, what is it that you wish us to judge, Count y'Kronist?"

Ryd motions towards Laurel, "Definitely the daughter. She is quite capable of holding her own before the court and His Majesty, the other, well while I am sure she is spirited," he smirks at Dusant, "she no doubt doesn't contain the stamina necessary to satisfy my tastes." He winks and turns his head forward.

Rixenda Basnage smiles at a returning page who hands her a small card. She places the card in her purse and then returns her attention to the throne, although her eyes hold little interest for the goings on.

"I wish you only to judge my words, but to look into them as well. Should I be wrong, then 'tis a useless plea indeed, and I would feel happier to be in error in this situation then to be correct." His tone is as relaxed as his expression, without any of its former passion.

Dusant looks consideringly between the two women. "Well, no man could argue that the daughter is more beautiful than the countess. No--if any such thing can be objectively certain, it is that. The countess shine, whereas the duchess merely glistens. However, is beauty the only measure? I think not--even an ornament of the court such as I thinks not."

"Hmm." The young king turns to the Cardinal and asks, "Is this true, Eminence? Are blankets of Ostmark soldiers waiting on the border of Nord to invade?" He turns back to the Count y'Kronist and says, "And what was this mention of Reformists in Nord? They are causing trouble there?"

Cardinal Gisboneaux smiles slightly, toying with a heavy medallion bearing his arms as he waits for the Count to answer first.

Laurel smiles slightly as the king speaks to the Cardinal, pausing for a moment she looks over towards the Count and his wife.

Ryd with a grin says, "Well, certainly there is more than looks. But if I wanted a puppy I would find one, instead I would choose a woman who could inspire me to greatness." He smiles wickedly and says quietly, "Or achieves greatness on her own for me to enjoy."

"They cause as much trouble as heretics can cause, Your Majesty. They are the reason Ostmark feels such ingratitude as to bring its men to bear. A plague upon our lands, truly, and one that would best be removed... That is, if the opinion of my person is to be counted." Wilhelm brings his hands to his front, clasping them together as he speaks. It gives him a more personal feel and removes some of the distance that came with his words.

Isolde raises her gaze in time to catch Laurel's eye coolly, nonjudgmentally. After a few thoughtful moments she looks away, back towards the throne and the King.

Philippe Bourdon glances around silently, and moves closer to the dais to hear better.

Dusant shakes his head sadly. "Nonsense. What one wishes in a woman is a person so nondescript as to cause no commotion, so plain as to be pleased with any attention, and so retiring as to issue no demands." A passing expression of sadness moves over his face. "And when one finds such a woman, one would be the greatest fool to lose her again."

A wave of grumbling agreement sweeps like a slow tide through the hall and many voices can be heard muttering about the plague of Reformists and how Ardainne could profit from their eradication. A counter tide immediately surges in reply and many voices can be heard arguing over which is more evil, the Reformist or the degraded Orthodoxy. Voices begin to rise in conflict until the Cardinal snatches a halberd out of the hands of one of the king's pages and slams its butt loudly onto the dais three times rapid succession. "Silence! Your king has not granted you leave to speak, nor has he asked your opinion on this matter!"

A sullen quiet gradually settles over the hall.

Throughout all of this, Wilhelm remains silent, waiting for the king to speak.

Ryd shrugs, "That may be what..." stops abruptly as the Cardinal speaks.

August d'Quatreville shoots a warning frown at y'Kronist.

"Nothing," Dusant says, in a voice little more than a whisper. "Makes me wish to speak louder than hearing the priest call for silence. If I were a braver man ..." He subsides to silence and glares toward the dais.

Madeline d'Moustiers whispers something almost silently to one of her companions and the both must look down suddenly to stifle the faint sounds of laughter. The others around them from their group move forward to hide the two laughing from sight of the throne.

Achard XIII sniffs at his handkerchief a little nervously and waits for the gathered courtiers to quiet. "It is not our place to decide what beliefs are heretical and what are not, Count y'Kronist. We rely on the wisdom of the Father Church to guide us in such matters and its representative -" Here the king gestures with his handkerchief to Cardinal Gisboneaux, "-has not yet counseled us towards a harsh stance towards these schismatics. The Cardinal has, however, at my direction, set about relieving any pressure Ostmark may feel due to the rebellion in their Nordmarche by seeing to it that no arms or treasure crosses from Nord into the Ostmark rebel's hands. Is that not so, Your Eminence?"

Cardinal Gisboneaux bows deeply and replies in a resonant, confidant voice. "It is just as you say, your majesty. The Duke of Nord is not, in my opinion, to be blamed because the Emperor of Ostmark pretends to find provocation where there is none."

An Ostmark diplomat stiffens and blusters a bit, but does not interrupt.

Philippe Bourdon blinks a bit in surprise, and moves to the edge of the crowd around the dais.

Wilhelm bows deeply to the King. "I apologize, Your Majesty, for being so presumptive as to speak such words. I must express my deepest gratitude for your aid in this matter, and I hope that it has spared the Kingdom needless bloodshed because of what the Ostmark feels is unjust. I will no further take up your time, Your Majesty." He bows again, but waits to be dismissed by the King before moving in any direction.

Laurel looks up at the King and says, "Your Majesty, as always you have my family's service." She bows and then turns towards the Count, "Perhaps we should speak before I send word to my father, at least he'll have some time to ensure that the road you take to his estates isn't too muddy for your tastes." She turns back towards the King awaiting a formal dismissal.

Dusant leans closer to Ryd. "I cannot bear the priest's voice. If I do not leave at once, I will do something foolish. You must tell me who wins our wager, Dalinson, and I will, of course, honor your decision."

Ryd nods to Dusant, "Tomorrow, then, the Orbs."

Dusant nods. "If you don't immediate spot me, look for the man who has been there since tonight, drinking himself into oblivion." He attempts to subtly move toward the exit, though with his limp and his glower, he's not entirely successful. Still, he soon slips out.

Dusant leaves the hall through the great doors to the south.

Achard XIII nods slowly to both Laurel and Wilhelm, his face clearly showing his inward conflict between amusement and anger. He dismisses Laurel with a courteous nod and turns back to Wilhelm with a somewhat strained expression on his face. "We do not dismiss your concerns out of hand, Count y'Kronist. They will be investigated, by the Cardinal and . . . I believe it would be wise for M. d'Quatreville to look into the matter as well. The more eyes, the more may be seen, after all." That said, the king makes a dismissive gesture with his handkerchief and takes a goblet of wine from one of his pages and takes a deep drink.

Wilhelm bows again, then turns sharply on his right heel and begins to walk back down into the crowd of nobles, to his former position. His expression is, as always, an unreadable and cold mask.

Cardinal Gisboneaux eyes the Count coolly. "Yes, y'Kronist, we certainly must look into these accusations of yours. I will send an invitation when I am ready to receive you at my hotel."

August d'Quatreville bows to the king. "I am yours to command, your majesty."

Isolde executes a smooth courtesy and turns away, following the Count back into the crowd.

Achard XIII puts the wine back on the platter and then releases his breath in a long sigh. "What is next, Gisboneaux? I am growing quite weary."

The cardinal tears his gaze away from the Nord Count's back and leans forward to whisper something in the king's ear.

Laurel bows again and goes back towards the crowd, pausing to speak with someone in the front row.

Achard XIII's face breaks into a smile. "Oh, yes! I had nearly forgotten! Lady d'Nord! Please, attend upon us again. We have an announcement that we have no doubt you have been waiting for with some trepidation and delight!"

Laurel pauses and smiles, then turns back towards the throne, "Your Majesty," she blushes slightly, "You do me the highest of honors." With that she walks towards the thrown and takes a knee."

Rixenda Basnage slips towards the door and makes her way from the hall, her face pale once more and her hands trembling. She casts a last glance towards the throne and then flees to the outside of the palace.

Rixenda Basnage leaves the hall through the great doors to the south.

Rixenda Basnage has left.

Achard XIII stands and announces loudly, "It pleases us greatly to announce that we are able to honor the Duke of Nord's request that his eldest daughter be wed to a foreign lord."

Ryd noticing Rixenda he turns and follows her from the building.

Ryd leaves the hall through the great doors to the south.

Ryd has left.

Achard XIII beams down at the kneeling Laurel. "And a foreign lord whose stature suits such an excellent example of Ardainne's noblewomen: Duke Bohemond re'Murcheadh of Almery, cousin to the Queen of Almery, and commander of that kingdom's naval forces!"

A round of joyous exclamations and loud applause circles the hall.

Laurel smiles brightly, her chin high as the King speaks. "It pleases me greatly that your Majesty has honored me with his blessing." She beams a smile, "I shall forever be your Servant." She stands and looks around the room, a bright smile on her face.

Achard XIII adds his own applause and smiles gallantly. When the room begins to settle again, he gestures to the Cardinal and says, "That will be all, Eminence. All this work has left us vaporous. Dismiss the court." So saying, he sweeps out of the hall, escorted to the private areas of the palace by his personal guard of Immortals.

Cardinal Gisboneaux bows deeply to the retreating back of the king and then straightens, calling out in a clear, strong voice, "Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. This audience is at an end."

Laurel smiles and makes her way into the crowd of people, stopping frequently to be congratulated. Her eyes bright she talks to each person, slowly making her way into the center of the room.

Without saying a word to the maids, his wife, or anyone around him, Count Wilhelm y'Kronist turns quickly and moves through the nobles, the servants forming a triangle in front to open a path for him.

Philippe Bourdon watches as the audience ends, and glances back, scouting a path for the door.

Cardinal Gisboneaux watches the Count leave, a calculating expression on his face.

Wilhelm leaves the hall through the great doors to the south.

August d'Quatreville strides off in pursuit of the king.

Isolde leaves the hall through the great doors to the south.

Laurel smiles and continues talking then makes her way towards the exist.

Laurel leaves the hall through the great doors to the south.

Philippe Bourdon watches for another moment, and starts to file out with the crowd.