No ambushes at all. Somewhat shocking, but gladdening. Of course, they could very well still be offed in the castle itself.  His scout must have just ran off with the advance pay; or perhaps he simply got into trouble here. Certainly, that last bit is plausible.<br/><br/>"I'll try, Lenally. I don't know if I can do anything, but if I see a way to do it, I will do it." He loved his sister, his family too, even if he didn't really show it in obvious ways.  If he could find a way to get her out of marriage without causing problems, he would do so. He knew that if she had to be left behind here, she'd die from ennui.<br/><br/>Hopefully, their would be a princess he could get along with... that arrangement would work. He could live with that. And he could go back to Aserit with her, as that was typically the case when these sorts of things were done; the female went to live with the male, not the other way around.<br/><br/>It was at that moment he heard a familiar voice, and his name to boot. So, the man was here.  Criminy, this should be interesting...<br/><br/>Henrik deftly rose and moved out of the wagon, as it was conveniently paused for the moment, wearing more or less exactly what he had been wearing when he last saw Sanguine, in the camp he and the Bloody Ravens had made when attacking the bandits in their ruined fortress. That is to say: Breastplate (with a metal guard around the throat) made to order specifically for him, produced by nothing less than the finest smith in his entire nation from the finest of alloyed steel, which was over the top of thick cut cloth padding (in the armor, to keep the edges from digging into his flesh, and to also lessen the blow from blunt weapons), well made, thick traveling clothes, steel-toed traveling boots, thin, supple leather gloves, and his traveling cloak; made from thick cuts of dyed leather, it was a somber black thing. It had a hood, but he didn't wear it. A few stubborn blood stains could be seen on it despite its black coloration.  A leather belt with a sheathe on it held his favored sword, a long, broad, double-edged sword that had no frills to it. It was all very simple, but like the armor, made from the finest alloyed steel that Aserit produced, and forged by the finest weaponsmith their country had to offer. And, not noticeable to anybody else, was the small ankle sheathe he wore with a small knife in it.<br/><br/>"Hold, Grim." He'd call out as he moved forward, having identified the voice of the man that had halted Sanguine's advance.  Grim was the only one who was uncouth enough to call a man a lout; Averille might, if she was alone. Grim was ultra-nationalistic; from his perspective, if you weren't an Aserit citizen, you were basically worthless. But he also knew well enough to guard his tongue when they get to the palace.<br/><br/>"Hello, Mister LeChance," Henrik would greet him, in his usual cold, emotionless voice; even with what is likely to be superior hearing, Sanguine will note no emotional inflection in his voice. It's just not there, and can actually be a bit creepy. "I was expecting you some days ago. What do you have to report?"