The next morning, Picard stood beside his mount, an Iek. Picard prided himself on his horsemanship, and so it bothered him when Millana swung easily into her saddle, whilst he was still struggling to get a foot in the stirrup. Millana, too polite to laugh or too haughty to be bothered, waited patiently. Once he had finally mounted the strange, two legged beast, Millana reined hers around and accepted a sword from the village headmistress. She trotted to the front of their escort – several of the adult men and women of the village – and drew the sword expertly into the sun, calling out the advance. Picard nudged his Iek into place with the rolling, lumbering parade.
Millana led the procession for the first hour or so, but then fell back to ride alongside Picard. "Managing alright?" she asked, without turning her head to look at him.
"Quite." Picard glanced over at her. "Is it a long way?"
"Most of the day. We should be in the city by sunset. I had the villagers pack water for you, ask for it at any time."
"Thank you."
Millana cleared her throat. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you last night, I should have made better arrangements."
Picard frowned and turned away slightly. "There's nothing to apologize for, Lieu… your highness."
"Eh. My title is simply 'Lady.' None of that highness-princess-majesty, please. And coming from you I prefer 'lieutenant,' captain." She turned her face to him and gave him a very small smile.
Picard returned the gesture with a curt nod, and Millana kicked her Iek back into place at the front of the procession. They rode into the city palace grounds as the sun set. The pale, rose-colored light of the third sunset threw translucent shadows on the intricate stonework of the courtyard and palace. To Picard's surprise they rode their Iek straight up the steps to the inner courtyard of the palace, which was flanked by towering stone monoliths.
Millana dismounted, and the stone palace doors were thrown open to reveal the king and queen. Millana bowed forward slightly, palms pressed together, while the monarchs, heavily draped in orange velvet, raised their hands in blessings. Millana rose from her bow, and, ceremony over, threw herself into the arms of her parents, who kissed her. All three of them were crying, and they led her into the palace without a backwards glance.
A young man came up to Picard and said in broken common, "Please, I shall be having honor to assist you to rooms."
Picard dismounted. "Thank you," he said, to the young, dark eyed boy.
"We will dine in state tonight. I have fine robes for you."
Picard nodded, and followed him away. As they rounded a corner of the palace hallways, he thought he heard Millana laughing, but when he turned there was no one there. He followed behind the boy, dutifully.
The hallways were immense affairs, towering white marble walls lined with exquisitely detailed portraits, which were brightly hued in reds and oranges. Picard passed a portrait of Millana and stopped to stare.
"First Queen," the boy said proudly.
"Millana – Lady Aurora?" Picard asked, uncertain.
"No no. Mother of the mother of the mother of the mother," the boy said, ticking off generations on his fingers.
Picard tore his gaze away. The woman in the portrait was crowned, royal, and looked uncannily like the woman who only wanted to be a Starfleet lieutenant.
The boy led him to a familiarly attired room, with a carving over the door that said in several languages "Diplomat's Quarters." As promised, there were robes of state for Picard, as well as a bedroom furnished luxuriously and familiarly.
Picard dressed warily. He had enough practice with state dinners, in cultures both familiar and alien, but something about this whole situation had him out of his element. The robes were heavy, a dark green velvet, with a high, stiff collar. After he was dressed, the boy returned to escort him to the dinner, keeping up a constant chatter.
"I will interpret the words for you all night. I am the best in my class for languages. I can even speak Landonian, listen: URgH aplech hur hur."
"Very good, I'm sure," Picard said, distracted. They had entered the ballroom, a sweeping room four stories high at the least, carved into red and gold marble, the ceiling open to the fading second sun. There were tables, and, unlike the tents, high backed chairs. The boy found Picard a suitable place – a dignitary's station, near to the royal table but far enough to prevent conversation.
With a blare of trumpets, large double doors were thrown open for the royal family to process – the king and queen first, in long sleeves of red velvet, followed by the seven daughters, dressed in glaringly bright colors, ending with Millana in pink. The girls were all stunningly similar, and at a distance Picard might have been hard pressed to pick out Millana – like trying to find a dove in a dovecote, Picard mused.
After the dinner had been served and eaten, the queen stood and gestured towards the dignitary's table. "It is time for business," the boy at Picard's elbow said. "The Queen would like to meet with you." Picard stood, squared his shoulders and made his way to stand before the royal family. He bowed from the waist, waiting for the queen to speak.
"Captain Picard," she said, in heavily accented English. "My daughter credits you with her survival. Our debt to you is insurmountable. There is no gift we can give to express our thanks, but you will always be welcomed among our people. We grant you the title of Imanhana, champion and friend."
"Imanhana," the royal family repeated, bowing their heads.
"Please, accept this blade as a symbol of our friendship and gratitude." A servant came forward and proffered a sword, a beautiful sword with a gold handle, sheathed in dark black wood. Picard took the sword with both hands, and bowed again.
"I am honored," he said.
"Our daughter will not be returning to Starfleet."
Picard raised his eyebrows. Millana turned sharply and launched into her native language, in what was unmistakably a protest. She was silenced with a single sharp look from her mother.
"We appreciate all that your organization has done for our daughter, but we cannot allow her to serve in such dangerous conditions. We have already spoken to Admiral Kaldoan. He has agreed to server Aurora's remaining time. She will remain on Midichlodian. Your Enterprise has subdued the Exxan ship, and is waiting in orbit for your return."
Millana threw herself away from the dining table and disappeared in a clatter of heeled shoes.
The queen visably stiffened. "Our daughter does not have the patience to bid you good night. We apologize for her rudeness, and wish you well."
Picard bowed for a third time, and left with the interpreter boy at his elbow. Weighing the sword in his hand, Picard followed dutifully behind the small boy. Just before they returned to his quarters, however, Picard was struck with a sudden idea.
"Tell me," he said to the boy, "Do you have a fencing gym?"