The throneroom of the royal palace of Miragliano was a sight to behold, with its marble floors and columns in the old imperial style, silk pennants of the noble houses flying next to ornate and gilded tapestries depicting the triumphs and glories of the province over the centuries, including the most recent victories that had established Miragliano as its own kingdom following the fall of the old order. Now it was the model of peace and prosperity for the region, a shining beacon of what could be achieved when tradition and honor ruled across the realm. Strong borders and well guarded roads meant that the wealth of the region was secure and could flow freely at the port cities, all the more lucrative thanks to their expert merchant fleet and newly consolidated royal navy. The people of Miragliano had always been affluent and cultured, but this new gilded age had brought wealth and extravagance not seen in living memory and the evidence was all on full display nowhere more than the royal court. On any given day the courtiers and aristocrats flitted and gossipped in luxurious silks and decorative fashions, but on this day, all were assembled around the thrones in full regalia to receive guests of royal invitation.<br/><br/>The envoys of the border princes had always been welcome in Miragliano, and a lasting alliance had been forged all too recently in the troubled times of civil unrest. However, now that the squabbling princedoms had been unified under the Reikmar Compact, there had been some unrest and concern throughout the realm. The newly christened Reikmar Protectorate was potentially the single greatest military power since the fall of the old empire, long had the various nations which made it up defended themselves against the dark denizens of the eastern wastes and wilderness. Unified under their own leadership for the first time in their collective history, it was not clear who would now benefit most from this protection, or whether they might even turn their eyes and armies back towards the civilized lands of the west, bent on conquest and dominion. Miragliano stood but a mountain pass away from the Protectorate, but also had the closest ties by blood and tradition to the old border princes, and now it would be seen if those ties would bear fruit, as a party of Protectorate agents and representatives was eagerly awaited by the king, queen, prince and heads of every noble house to discuss the opening of formal diplomatic negotiations.<br/><br/>The Reikmar diplomat had chosen to arrive by sea, taking but a single ship to be escorted by a dedicated fleet of Marigliano in a show of good faith (the Border Princes having never been a great maritime power). Now, their arrival at the palace was heralded by much pomp and circumstance as every head turned, every neck craned, and all eyes watched the twin bronze doors of the throne room, all standing save Eglio V, ruler of Marigliano and his wife Katelyn as the doors swung wide. The major domo unfurled his scroll and read in a high, solemn tenor  “Announcing the chosen envoys of the Reikmar Compact, lead by Count Manfred von Holstein, Chosen Herald of the Council of Protectors, Marshal of the 1st Winged Lances, and Executor of the Protectorate.”<br/><br/>The man that strode into the circle of courtiers to stand before the throne was tall, surprisingly young, but attired in the traditional stately garb of the Border Princes, the shining cuirass of his company was swathed with a red sash to denote his station and he carried a winged helm under his arm. The sash billowed outward over his shoulder in a deep crimson cloak, and his brocade doublet and riding breeches gave him the appearance of a field marshall or general having just returned triumphant from some campaign, altogether eminently deserving of the awed gazes which he commanded. Other names of other diplomats and agents were announced, but it mattered little, as they dozen or so all assembled behind him in a pyramid of descending station before the throne, before they all knelt to one knee as one (even the three ladies of the party, while Manfred remained standing, bending at the waist in a simple bow of deference to the royal family of Marigliano. Standing straight again, he gestured to his party and smiled charmingly,  “Your graces, it is my honor to be welcomed to your home.”