The Dusanian royal palace was open and airy, though equally well protected. Its pillars and walls were embossed, works of art alone, and their floors etched with gold leaf against marble. It was more meant to release heat during the warmer months, going along with their partial tropical, partial desert climate. Silk curtains billowed from open archways, streamers of flashing indigo, a color of welcome.<br/><br/>King Jausemir had received him in the reception chamber. A mosaic ceiling overhead, the King himself draped over his dominion, wearing a long embroidered silk tunic in white to match his alabaster skin. With his pale hair to go along with it, he was an ethereal sight. Tall and regal, young for a King, but not so young as this man before him, surrounded by his fierce-looking retinue. The King stood to his full, towering height. Not a man of bulk but certainly one of presence.<br/><br/>“On behalf of Dusan, we welcome you,” King Jausemir spoke, his hands opening in greeting. “Come, let us regard you with some Dusanian hospitality. You have traveled a long way,” Jausemir spoke as he led them from the throne room. “I won’t keep you too long. We’ve a banquet planned but only after you’ve had a moments rest and reprieve. I will send someone personally to see that accommodations are suited.” An escort was ready to lead them to a wing of the palace that had been set up for their esteemed guest. Not much had been changed in their décor except a few additions that might have reminded their guest of home. The same vibrant colors, hand-stitched carpets, and many comfortable places to lounge. A table that was set with a pipe and some of their sweet smelled tobacco. Another table laden with drink, some Dusanian wine and three tall pitchers of cool water. Around it trays of lighter finger foods. Flaky pasties. Sweet drizzles of fruit. Dried and salted fish. Fresh fruit. Raw nuts, shelled and unshelled.<br/><br/>Servants milled about quietly but they were different from their slaves. Blending in, wearing more modest, plain clothing.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>They were a bit earlier than expected. Duke Sarhet wasn’t sure if that was because they were efficient, or eager. He hoped a bit of both.<br/><br/>Sarhet was dressed in fine linen trousers and a breathable long sleeve shirt of indigo with white embroidery. Over that, he had a matching shawl tossed half-haphazardly around him. For his feet, when he was trying to be decent, he wore properly laced boots but it was perfectly acceptable to go barefoot through most of the castle, especially in a social setting. He wasn’t as tall as his brother and shorter in stature than most Dusanians. He was not thin, or whispy, but someone of a light bulk, muscled like a swimmer. His hair was a mild brown, graying underneath at the temples, brushing his shoulders. Not the platinum color of his brother, but he'd never been the pretty one. Perhaps in comparison to some people, his face might still have that androgynous look that was common of Dusan. To him, and all the beauties he'd known, he felt he was a bit dull, not that he minded. He was not vain as a result, and often people found his humble nature agreeable. He had lines around his eyes that would speak for his age, and patience to back it up, coming forty-two in the summer.<br/><br/>He knocked on the door and when he was given permission to enter he inclined his head in due respect though he wasn’t fully aware of their customs for these sorts of things. A man followed behind him. He was a bit taller than the Duke and stood proudly, shoulders drawn back, not curled or slouched in his posture. A curtain of dark brown hair, eyes to match and exposed tan skin, free of scars or blemishes. Vibrant emerald silk hanging low on his hips, folded and laid over in their preferred slave fashion. No shoes. Little care of modesty. A seasoned slave in his prime and one that had served the Duke for a long while. They’d spoken in private about Taiga’s arrival. He’d been chosen because Sarhet trusted him. Knew that he was strong enough to handle a foreigner, yet soft enough to be compelling when he wanted to be. Not that he worried too much. He had been told the Xishan didn’t openly engage with men. He didn’t offer any of his women because surely they would end up underutilized.<br/><br/>“I am Duke Sarhet Lana Hailasinth, brother to the King. He has trusted me to represent him and to oversee your time with us, Khan Tiaga of the Xishan.” Sarhet greeted him first and then he set his slave up to take over the exchange.<br/><br/>“I offer you one of my very own slaves to help you transition smoothly into our country. A personal favorite,” he explained, wondering if that would be enough to see him from grievous error. He didn’t lay things out plainly for this young man. Dusanians mostly spoke between the lines. Always testing. Both he and his slave knew the risk. Some of the Xishan slave practices were barbaric by their standards. If he implemented a warning he might not know the true nature of this man and though his brother was welcoming, Sarhet was wary about getting in bed with the Xishan.<br/><br/>“He can show you to our baths if you’d fancy yourself one.”<br/><br/>The slave stepped forward. He did not lower his dark eyes but instead held the gaze of the man he was to serve. They were not taught to avoid eye contact. To do so would have been considered an insult; something deceptive. It was natural and the slave was relaxed and comfortable.<br/><br/>“My name is Eras,” he introduced, a perfectly lilting roll to his ‘r’. “It would be my pleasure to serve you.” Not the whole truth of it but he was curious. It wasn’t so often that he had opportunity to heavily interact with someone so foreign.