Cameron’s footsteps echoed down the halls as he and Marcus made their way to the throne room. For reasons Cameron never understood, the servant was always eerily silent in his footfalls and movement. It was as if his need to blend into the surroundings, permeated through his very physical being.

“Have you prepared yourself for meeting the delegation Master Pellyn?” Marcus asked, breaking Cameron from his thoughts.

“Not in the traditional sense, no.” Cameron said with a sheepish look on his face. “I figured I’d just wing it to be honest.”

Marcus struggled to hold down a frustrated sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “One does not wing diplomacy Master Pellyn.”

“Says who?” Cameron said, turning to look at his servant with a smarmy grin.

“Says anyone who has ever held the position.”

“Well, as a future general, shouldn’t I work on my improvisation and problem solving skills?” He cocked an eyebrow and let out a chuckle.

This time Marcus couldn’t contain it, giving a sigh that seemed to deflate his entire being. “As much as I applaud your use of logical manipulation, I must counsel professionalism in this instance. If you allow your usual sensibilities to get in the way, this could hinder Lady Miranda’s reign for decades to come.”

He stopped and stared at Cameron as they reached the throne room door, a large soapstone slab, supported by a trim of sapphires inlaid around the edges. “Please Master Pellyn, know that if any situation calls for tact and patience, it is this.”

Cameron looked back into Marcus’s eyes, giving a rare genuine smile. “I understand your concern, and it’s nice to know that you’re so worried about Miranda that you would lecture me as seriously as this.” He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder and gave a warm laugh. “Don’t worry. For all the jokes and sarcasm, I’m aware of what's at stake here. It’ll all work out. I promise.”

Marcus was speechless for a minute looking a bit sheepish as he struggled to craft a response before his mouth opened.

“Well… that’s great to hear Master Pellyn. I appreciate your candor and willingness to listen. It’s refreshing to know that you're aware of the weight you hold. I won’t hold you any longer.”

Cameron smiled, walking to the front of the door, before turning back to the man and giving a nod. The doors flung open, an echo quieting and conversation that was being held behind it. Cameron took a deep, slow breath, then a step forward, crossing the threshold.

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“Why good morning father!” Cameron shouted, his voice echoing throughout the chamber, ensuring all eyes were on the pair “And assorted boot-lickers! How’s tricks?”

Marcus’s face fell, pinching the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh, as he followed behind his charge, closing the door quietly behind him.

On first inspection of the throne room, it seemed rather out of place, compared to the spanning opulence of the palace itself. There were no inlays of gold or ornate tapestries. In fact, the “Throne” room was lacking in the said piece of furniture that derived its name. Instead, it looked more like a war room, bare-bones and with a distinct lack of frivolity, save for a balcony that ran the length of the room on one side, looking out against the ocean. King Augustus Pellyn stood at the end of a large conference table as he held court. The table was a dark stained mahogany, imported from the mother world. There were small screens set into the wood, spaced out to give each person sitting a personal data repository point. Two small banners, bearing the Pellyn family seal hung limp in the air as Cameron entered. His smile dropped to a smirk as he looked at the strangers seated around the table. Two men in robes sat on one side, one balding and pudgy, the other wiry and weasel like, yet both wearing the same scowl of someone who had just stepped in something that most certainly wasn’t chocolate. The woman sitting opposite them was the complete opposite, a young, pretty face with a pair of green eyes stared at him in amusement, a smile peeking its way across her lips. Her shoulder length red hair hung down in ringlets, with a business suit, that didn’t help to hide her curvy figure. Suddenly Cameron was aware of what Miranda had meant in the square. He was going to get along with her just fine.

“You’re late.” A deep, commanding voice said, breaking Cameron from his reflection and fantasy. His eyes turned as he looked at his father. He easily stood a head taller than Cameron, built more like a fridge than a person. He was also bald like the pudgy man, but with his lean, angular face accented with a long, braided beard, and a set of robes that barely contained his massive frame, that was where the comparison stopped.

Cameron inhaled sharply, bracing himself for the tirade that was coming. “I was… indisposed of. I got lost.”

“In a bedroom or a bottle?” Augustus retorted, still not breaking eye contact or showing any sign of emotion.

“Would you be more or less angry if it was both? I need to know if I gotta lie or not.”

This caused another set of reactions from the strangers, with the men letting out a disgusted gasp at the violation of etiquette, and the woman letting out a small giggle that drew a smile to Cameron’s lips.

The King closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, motioning for his son to take a seat at the opposite end of the table. “Sit and be silent.” He said with a growl as he turned his gaze to Marcus, who approached and kneeled without a word. “Where did you find him, Marcus?” he asked, his tone softer, and respectful.

“In the Lowlands my lord.” Marcus responded, not looking up, “At a tavern operated by an old comrade of mine. He was there all night as per his report, I don’t believe he caused any trouble.”

“That’s a first.” Augustus scoffed. “Very well, please prepare the guest quarters, when you’re done, head to the private port. We have one last visitor yet to arrive. I’d like you to greet him personally and bring him here.”