[r] lotus (bloom)

[Isabela]

Isabela leaned back in her uncomfortable throne, waiting for the Plegian ambassador to arrive. The throne room wasn't an extravagant ordeal -- Isabela (and, indeed, most Feroxi) had no patience with the overly formal 'rules' of the casual court.

She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the iron seat, thinking about the contents of the pigeon-carried message. Plegia's new queen was infamous, of course, alongside the violent civil war that was rending the nation in half.

The official word was that the ambassador was coming to 'discuss relations between the two countries.' Isabela had a feeling, should Plegia have its way, Regna Ferox would be more than just related.

But putting her doubts aside, she glanced up when the large double doors swung open.

Without preamble, she said, "Give me your name and why you're here."

Ansehelm

[Ansehelm]

Flanked on both sides by his personal retinue of bodyguards, Ansehelm stood firm before the imposing steel double doors, his calm and collected demeanor unshaken by the impressive structure. While the tactician was unfazed by his surroundings, his guards certainly didn’t share his steely nerve; every last one of the soldiers kept their eyes fixated straight forward, trying and failing to keep their unease hidden. A disappointed sigh escaped the Plegian at the sight of his guardsmen cowering like startled kittens. Due to the war situation, Maeve was unable to spare any of the Plegian military elite to accompany Ansehelm on his journey, leaving him with a squad of wide-eyed novices to waddle after him. It almost felt like he was there to babysit them. He closed his eyes pensively, his eyebrows furrowing as a hint of worry crept onto his face. Hopefully this basket of pups wouldn’t end up hurting the West Khan’s perception of their nation.

Ansehelm’s mouth momentarily twitched into a disgusted sneer. In his mind, he saw Regna Ferox as a nation of brutish cavemen attempting to assert their dominance through posturing and whacking each other over the head with clubs. The thought of being looked down upon by such people infuriated him. He cast a distasteful side-glance at the Feroxi guards standing on either side of the sealed entranceway. As much as it displeased him to be in such company, he knew he had to stay on his best behavior if he wanted these negotiations to go well. He would have to bite his tongue until then.

The Plegian diplomat was jolted out of his thoughts and thrust back into reality by the sound of the heavy doors swinging open before him. Ansehelm’s eyes narrowed. It was time. As his guards began to step forward, they were immediately stopped as the tactician held his hands out, in a cease-and-desist motion. He glanced towards them over his shoulder, glaring coldly at the inexperienced soldiers. “Stay here,” he commanded harshly. “The less attention you draw to yourselves, the better.” The group was more than happy to oblige, shrinking further back away from the doorway as Ansehelm clasped his hands behind his back and strolled into the Khan’s chamber, a look of fierce determination etched into his face.

The West Khan’s throne room was a far cry from the embellishments boasted by that of the Plegian Royal Family. The rigid, unforgiving throne that served as the room’s centerpiece was very befitting of the woman that sat upon it; while Ansehelm had never personally met her, he had heard many whisperings of the West Khan’s unbending will and harsh demeanor. Despite his personal feelings regarding the Feroxi people, he felt a begrudging feeling of respect towards her. He had always thought well of those with unyielding resolve, a trait that the West Khan could certainly serve as something of a poster child for.

“Khan Isabela,” Ansehelm declared in greeting, giving a slight bow in the Khan’s direction. “My name is Ansehelm.” The tactician straightened up once more. “I suppose you could say I am the right hand of Queen Maeve of Plegia,” he resumed, taking a few steps closer to the Khan’s throne. “She has sent me here today in an attempt to foster relations between our nations…” He gazed unwaveringly into the eyes of Isabela; his cold, empty stare almost resembled the eyes of a dead man. He wanted to make it clear to her that he was unafraid and unwilling to back down until his goal is met. “We believe that establishing an alliance of sorts would be highly beneficial for both of our kingdoms.”

Ansehelm’s eyes narrowed as he awaited her response, continuing his unflinching eye contact with the Khan. He knew he would have to do some convincing if he wanted to get Isabela on the side of the Plegian court. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Isabela