A mildly bewildered glance passed between the two humans, one a man of state and the other a man of military, before the Lord Chamberlain—ever quick on his feet in politics regardless of his opinions on the matter—piped up with a clever remark of "Well, Rashaille will be holding a festival in its borders in twelve days' time to celebrate His Majesty Roswain's sixtieth birthday.  I find it fitting that we might give your kingdom cause to celebrate on such a day as well, Your Highness, if I may be so bold as to suggest that a spectacle be made of this binding of our two lands."<br/><br/>"Yes, that sounds brilliant Neville!"  Arthur interjected, relief evident in his expression as the Lord Chamberlain's alacrity spared them both the embarrassment of needing to deliberate on the matter.  "And if I may add to the suggestion, perhaps we could leave Alreis in your care so that he might learn of your people,  Your Highness?"  A mere political prisoner in everything but name until the wedding, to some a tasty offering.  The glacial soldier's jaws clicked softly as Alreis' teeth were set on edge at the prospect of remaining here.  The climate was more to his tastes, certainly—Alreis was all but impervious to cold temperatures owing to his lineage and his training grounds—but being at the mercy of a people whose nightmares he had inhabited until recently was far from his idea of a dream vacation.  If Alreis even had a dream vacation, it was likely in some remote region tracking down his old enemy.  The stone-faced bullwhip said nothing, though; he had agreed to go along with this, however begrudgingly, and he wasn't about to go back on his word.  A man's word was all he had, at the end of the world.