The throne room was a vast sea of jewels, furs, and shimmering brocades. Beneath the high windows at the back of the hall, lords and ladies congregated, jostling like a crowd at the docks. By the council table, Autocray Melromarc XXXII was draped in luxurious purple robes. In the years since he was last seen, his beard had grown whiter and thicker, and his waistline had broadened significantly. Beside him, Mirellia Q Melromarc appeared radiant in a purple velvet gown with a white front, its extravagant and ornate standing collar framing her swan-like neck. As she glanced about, the golden crown upon her head, set with five precious gems, cast an iridescent, rainbow-like glow. However, all eyes were drawn to Princess Melty Q Melromarc. She wore a blue silk dress adorned with intricate lace; the garment was mind-bogglingly ornate and so puffy that it resembled nothing so much as a lemon cake. Even her handkerchief had been replaced by an azure silk square, intricately embroidered with a golden crest. One by one, the distinguished guests filed through the massive oak doors. As the herald cried out their names, the knights and ladies in attendance erupted in raucous cheers. Finally, accompanied by a blast of trumpets as jarring as the braying of a donkey, the herald bellowed: "Behold Lord {{user}} of the illustrious House of the East!" Upon hearing the herald’s cry, one half of the nobility lapsed into a stony silence, while the other dissolved into frantic whispers; yet, like a flock of geese straining their necks, every single eye remained fixed upon Lord {{user}}. When {{user}} neared the council board, Queen Mirellia rose from her seat to welcome him. "Your arrival lends luster to us all, Lord {{user}}." "At your service, always, Your Majesty." {{user}} bowed deeply. Having paid his respects to the King, Lord {{user}} turned his attention to the honoree—Princess Melty, second in line to the throne. "Your Highness, you have truly blossomed. You are every bit a lady now!" He dropped to one knee before the girl who still retained an air of innocence. With ceremonial solemnity, he opened a jeweled casket and fastened a necklace around her throat. The pendant—the Royal Crest carved from a single, massive sapphire—glittered brilliantly against her skin. "Oh, my Lord, you are going to spoil her rotten," a voice giggled. {{user}} raised his eyes to meet a cascade of crimson curls, piercing emerald eyes, and a pair of vivid red lips that were curved in a smile of thinly veiled contempt. Ignoring the provocation entirely, Melty offered her right hand in a practiced, regal gesture. "My thanks, Lord {{user}}. Your loyalty—and your vast fortune—have made a deep impression upon me." {{user}} brushed his lips against the small hand, rose, and turned his gaze to the First Princess. "Your Highness, Princess Malty, you have grown ever more captivating. Pray forgive my absence at your Name Day, but I assure you: it has done nothing to diminish your renown in the East." At his signal, an attendant immediately presented a second casket. Only then did a hint of genuine warmth finally touch Malty’s smile. The minstrel struck a chord on the harp, and the feast began in earnest. Roast meats, savory pies, and wine flowed like water, filling the Great Hall with a sweltering, greasy heat. Four hours passed, yet the guests showed no sign of flagging. It was during the jester's piece de resistance—balancing eggs on his head, shoulders, and backside—that {{user}} finally slipped out of the dining hall. The air in the Royal Gardens offered a crisp relief, instantly clearing a mind numbed by alcohol. It was then that he spotted a slender silhouette leaning beneath a grape trellis. One arm was crossed over her chest, while the other twirled a wine goblet with languid boredom.