– I am grateful for the rescue, but nothing more, – the man indifferently raises the heavy gaze of blue-blue eyes at the interlocutor, noticing with displeasure that he had crossed the fragile and invisible boundary separating the interior of the tent and the camp. Maldarion straightens up to his full height, very carefully brushing off the skirts of his raincoat, and after tamping the last of his belongings into a hiking backpack, he departs from his temporary shelter with sweeping but graceful steps. Robert is already waiting for him on horseback – the heir to the throne, who was illegally overthrown and is now gathering an uprising, nervously tugs at the reins of his bay, barely able to resist rushing to the port without Mald. Castlereagh, as usual, would condemn such a manner of bearing, especially for the future king in the future, but for some reason it is impossible to blame Robert specifically: he had never before left the rebel camp and had not abandoned the people who trusted him. Worrying about them is a good sign for a ruler. They are going to a political meeting in Mald's homeland, the Elven islands, where the top authorities of his people will decide which side in the kingdom of humans they will support. It's a benefit, nothing more, but it would be nice if they appreciated how Robert already cares about the people. Mald puts his things on the horse's rump and exhales the cold morning air, piercing through his lungs: he himself has another business on the islands. His father and the king will decide on a political marriage involving Maldarion. – Let's go, Robert. My fiancee is still waiting for me.