The gathering of nobility was always a business that Snow found overwhelming. It was difficult enough to remember everyone's face and name after not seeing many of them for months or even years. To have to do it in formal wear was even more of a hassle to him. While he could admit to the appeal of royal garb, Snow would have gladly been dressed in a less-than-flashy tunic and rider boots. Gold tassels, white breeches, an embellished corset vest, silk capes, ascots, and sashes just felt uncomfortable to him. Every step felt like he was learning to walk again. His eyes would steal the sight of Prince Ali alongside his sister, Princess Paribanu, in their affairs at the opposite end of the court. They were surrounded by subjects of either nation.
Neither of the two had to be beside one another to understand the other's dying interest in the party. Talking of nothing but government, trade, and law in the heat of what was supposed to be a celebration was tiring. Snow wished all talk of politics could wait until after the ceremony.
Time felt like it had come to a tortuous halt. Being surrounded by the crowds grew to be suffocating after so long. He looked over among the guards, and locked eyes with his retainer, Fowler. The man nodded at him, and Snow nodded back, twice. Fowler was slow to respond but kicked himself from the wall he was leaning on and made for the center of the room.
Separate from either party, King Arthur sat beside Sultan Huran, accompanied by the vizier, Jafar, and his new Queen, Ophelia. The two men had already begun partaking in intoxication, laughing merrily as if the wedding had already happened, though it wasn't for another two days. They'd never admit it, but both were glad to be partaking in each other's company rather than having to deal with all the party guests. Yet, as happy as the two fathers were, for the sake of appearances they remained somber looking.
Queen Ophelia presented herself to be a woman of renowned presence and pose, never once letting a single wrinkle blemish her skin. She was very aware of herself at all times. A single thin eyebrow raised just enough to indicate her attention given as she gazed over the royal court. She held her wine glass with refinement, nails crisp as they tapped around the outside of the glass before raising it to her lips. Not a drop was ever allowed to stain even the edges of her lips. Despite her sharp exterior, the moment she opened her mouth to speak her voice rang with wit and charm, welcoming all within arms reach to partake in all sorts of conversation. In the few years of her being queen, Ophelia had become a well-loved and protected jewel to Stone Roll.
Ever since King Arthur had remarried, the palace blossomed with rejuvenated vigor and joy in her company. Her charisma and charm commanded affection and adoration from the whole kingdom. No one could have predicted that on the fateful winter ball four years ago, King Arthur had met his second love.
Ophelia had enchanted him from the first time they danced together. The wine had flowed as free as spring water every night since their marriage. Now with a child of their own, Stone Roll's royal family had been in the utmost celebration. Now their happy union would grow even larger with the addition of Sultan Huran's family joining them.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Fowler's voice thundered in the center of the hall. "Let us now begin our next display of fine entertainment. Is there any man brave enough to face each other in a friendly duel?" Without hesitation, either nation's bravest (or perhaps stupidest) half-drunken swordsman stepped into the center of the hall with their blades drawn.