A warm, spring breeze drifts through the secluded clearing, ruffling Cal's tousled hair. The steady lapping of water against rock, keeping time with his heartbeat, does nothing to steel his nerves as his mind generates every possible worst case senario as to why Rayla would have bound herself.

Even once the discussions had begun, Callum doesn't return to the adjoining royal quarters. His mind is still in turmoil and not even the cleansing waters can wash away his troubles this time. Sighing, he leans further back in the steamy spring, submerging his entire muscular torso. He shouldn't be here. He should be at the Summit with Rayla and Ezran, finishing what they started.

–O–

Of all the topics covered in the initial briefing, the final term, proposed by the elves, is the only one that matters to Rayla right now. So far, none of the requests from either nation has been strongly objected to, but fearing this demand could further stretch their already strained relations, she shuffles uncomfortably in her chair at the large circular table.

Pushing aside a stack of important documents and producing a single sheet of paper, outlining the mariage preposition, the head elven diplomat aproaches the subject with caution.

"Our elders have expressed... concerns about the strength of this alliance. One of our oldest and most sacred traditions of our people could provide a solution to resolve this issue; a unification between a human noble and our own elven hero; a marriage," she pauses to let that information sink in. "By next sundown, if no human candidate has been selected, we will choose for you... or trust can not be guaranteed between our nations," she passes the gilded contract to the high council to inspect.

They whisper in hushed tones, occasionally looking up to inspect Rayla, presumably assessing what qualities their candidate would require to be a good match, making her feel objectified and inadequate. After a long moment, they nod their heads in quiet agreement with the request, as if declining was an option.

For the first time, Rayla is glad neither of her friends are involved in the discussions. This way they won't be disillusioned.

–O–

It was a rare occasion to see every seat at the royal dining table filled and Amaya is reminded just how lonely her nephews must be. She feels a pang of guilt for the fact that she only visits now to lead the negotiations, but, should they be a success, she would no longer be needed at The Breach and could take up a station closer to home. That thought brings her solace, despite her impossible task.

Every noble in the kingdom of Katolis had been invited to the castle for the alliance. Nearly all had accepted, showing their support for the treaty, but scanning all of the pompous faces gathered in the main dining room, assembled for the opening banquet, General Amaya knows none of them would be suitable for the mariage proposal. At first glance, many of the young heirs or heiresses seem to be ideal candidates, but upon closer inspection, Amaya realises they're too close minded and unwilling to make any personal sacrifices, lest they stand to gain anything themselves. Sighing, she resumes her mission of selecting a suitor for her former enemy.

–O–

Commander Gren is particularly proud of his seating plan for this evening as everyone appears to be engaging in friendly chatter between neighbours, human and elven alike. He knows he's done a good job, if the appraising smile he receives from his closest friend is any indication, but his mood plummets as he watches her face fall the instant she thinks he isn't looking. He furrows his brow in concern, regretting seating her opposite and wishing her could support her, at her side where he belongs.

Suddenly, the room falls silent and all heads turn to a figure at the door, joining the feast fashionably late.

–O–

Since the palace became Callum's home, he had never once seen the dining room as lavish and sophistically decorated as it is now. Ornate, silver candelabras illuminate the vast array of silverware arranged on the spotless, pristine table cloth, embroidered with the Katolian crest and hand stitched crimson finishes at each corner. The finest wines available to be decanted into solid gold goblets, polished to reflect the warm candlelight. Each place setting was not complete without an expensive porcelain plate, waiting to be filled with delicious meals carefully selected from an extensive menu, to suit all tastes.

All that pales in comparison to Rayla's beauty. She's wearing a form fitting midnight blue evening dress that accentuates her hourglass figure. As she approaches, he notices the fabric of her dress is like nothing he's ever seen before, enchanted with eleven mystical arts, appearing to shift and change, mesmerizingly. Speechless, he rises from his seat, sliding out the empty one between him and Ezran, like the gentleman he was raised to be. She opens her mouth to attempt to explain her actions earlier, but remembering how to form coherent sentences, Callum whispers reassuringly, telling her the only thing she needs to know.

"I trust you."