Manfred bowed graciously once more in response to the King’s greeting. Truly, it was as easy to smile as it was difficult to keep from laughing in derision at the King’s attempt at a courteous greeting in the Reikmar tongue. The poor old ruler’s mangling of phrasing and atrociously nasal accent was grating to Manfred’s ears, which helped to keep his mind on the present, rather than linger too heavily upon the prospects even now making themselves all too pleasingly apparent to his eyes. The Queen’s greeting was but a few short syllables, yet sweeter still to his ears for her flawless retention of the language of her native land. A brief glance at the Prince revealed him to be distraught, perhaps overly so as to forget a greeting of his own, or perhaps the rumors of his person were true enough that they would not be presenting him directly at this time. Whatever the case, Manfred indicated with a curt gesture that the rest of his party should rise and opened to speak in a cool, commanding tenor: “King Eglio, of Marigliano, it is my good honor to reciprocate the Protectorates’ desire for the opening and maintenance of diplomatic channels between our two great nations, and I for this opportunity and your hospitality, we are most grateful.”<br/><br/><br/>Manfred spoke in the Tilean tongue with just a hint of his Borderlands accent, but had gone the extra effort to utilize the particular dialect of Marigliano, having practiced but a short time with the captains and officers of the vessels that were their escorts. His words flowed like molten gold to gild and glaze the listeners and onlookers. Turning now to the Prince he saluted curtly in the fashion of a Reikmar officer, “And to you Prince Gilberto, it is my honor to present a woefully belated gift in honor of your eligibility throughout the realm and a token of our hopes for the continued relations between our peoples.” The thinly veiled implications behind Manfred’s greeting were obviated when one of the women in his entourage, a gorgeous nubile thing clearly only just past the threshold of womanhood ascended the first step of the dais with a winning smile towards the prince and proffered to him a small but ornate chest, locked for now.<br/><br/>Without waiting for a response, Manfred now turned his sharp, calculating eyes upon the queen, as within the space of but a split second those eyes drank in every last inch of her, head to crown, reading her like a book long set aside and now opened to him once more with newfound appreciation and relish. His gaze was nothing short of transfixing, but lasted but the briefest of moments and never crossed the bounds of propriety. “And you, Queen Katelyn, most favored daughter of Reikmar, ceaseless font of majesty and pride for our newly great nation, inspiration to one and all, we can only express the greatness of our gratitude in the honored words our home: In Victory, Always.” The motto he spoke in the formal tongue of the old empire, though so close was it to the language of Marigliano he knew no one would notice, save perhaps a member or two of his own party, not so familiar with the Tilean tongue; and of course the Queen. It was a sentiment common throughout the Border Princes, symbolic of their struggle against the monstrous hordes they battled, but in the language of the Empire, had a more subtle meaning, specific to Manfred’s own household closer to “Always Victorious”, an expression of their insatiable will to conquer. It was all the proof she might require of his identity, as that same childhood friend who dreamed and played at being Emperor on high despite the poverty and disgrace of his once great house.