There she is, at long last… Simon thought with a grimace as he watched the goddess ascend to the seats reserved for unmasked divinity. The deity and Sularian Queen was olive-skinned, yet somehow red of hair. Her emerald green dress was long, but cut scandalously low with a lace brocade. She was beautiful, he supposed. Most men would jump at the chance to talk to such a woman, but Simon dreaded it. Gods were mighty and powerful, and their tempers fierce as seaborne gales. If Simon did not tread lightly, he might ignite that temper. For his former squire had dishonored one of her daughters. A princess, taken by a common-borne lad! Even now, as an anointed Knight of Simon's household, it was scandalous. Most would scoff at such a marriage proposal, but it was the only chance to save the girl's honor.
With one smooth motion he downed his glass of wine for courage and stood from his table. Simon was a tall man for a human, just short of six feet, with a presence that made him seem taller than he actually was. His posture was perfectly ramrod-straight, though he walked gracefully and relaxed across the floor. Broad of chest and shoulder, with a strong jaw and hunter's eyes: he looked every inch the seasoned warrior that he was. A man of five and thirty, his close-cropped raven hair was just beginning to show the first signs of grey. He was fair-complexioned, with a straight nose, strong chin and piercing blue eyes accentuated by a small scar over his left brow - a token left to him by the runner-up at the Queen's Tourney. His close-fitting doublet and breeches did little to hide his muscular frame: they were of a military cut, long-sleeved and white as snow with silver buttons and trimmed in navy blue. Upon his doublet's breast was emblazoned the sigil of his noble house: a waning crescent moon opening into a cluster of three seven-pointed stars, all in silver thread upon a field of navy blue. His knee-high boots and belt were of leather bleached white. From one hip hung the Holy Comet, the ancient weapon of his house. The ivory-handled morningstar had a cold iron head etched in holy silver runes. On his other hip he wore an ivory-handled dagger in a white leather sheath, its blade also of cold iron etched with the same silver runes. The gloves he wore were of soft ermine, which also lined the cloth-of-silver half-cape that he wore over one shoulder, clasped with a crescent-moon brooch wrought in silver.
He approached the high table with a measured stride, doing everything in his power to hide his discomfit. A young man stepped out to bar his path as he neared. He was of a height with Simon, with olive skin and long brown hair streaked with silver pulled back in a ponytail the fell behind his doublet. The warrior wore a young sword at his side, and the possessed the strange green and red eyes of a Rosenite. Based on his features, he seemed to be one of Angelas get. Simon offered him a bow. "I am Count Simon de Montefort, of the Kingdom of Adeluna. I humbly request a private audience with Her Grace."
The man turned toward Angela, who waved him up with a smile. The White Knight dropped to one knee and inclined his head. "Your Majesty, you do me great honor." Standing, he took the seat she offered him, and graciously accepted a glass of wine. "Forgive me," he said after a sip, "I do not wish to take up too much of your Grace's precious time. I come to discuss a… matter of love." Simon paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"One of my household Knights, Ser Olvar Tyresus, has taken a liking to your daughter, the Princess Gaea. It seems she has taken a liking to him as well." Simon tactfully left out the fact that his former squire had already bedded the poor girl. How a sweetling like her had come into the clutches of a beast like Olvar was anyone's guess - but was done was done and now it fell on Simon to sort it all out.
"To be blunt, I would like to propose a union between these two. I know that Ser Olvar would not normally be considered a proper suitor for your daughter's hand, but they bear considerable affection for one another. He dotes on her, and would treat her well. The lad would also not expect a considerable dowry, given his station. Just enough to ensure that Princess Gaea enjoys a lifestyle suitable to her birth." Simon finished the pitch with another sip of wine.
Now for the hard part. "What does your Grace think of the notion?" He braced himself for the worst.