It was over. The battle for Coimbra was won. Years of planning, months of hard work and stealth, weeks of bloody fighting, and it came down to this moment. The moment when a prince of Pomerania lifted the crown from the severed head of the heretics' puppet king, and offered it to the true King of Coimbra on the bloody battlefield of Nairn. Tralin Nairn leaned heavily on his axe, his eyes fixed on the crown that had been taken from his great-grandfather by force. Here, surrounded by his friends, his family, his allies, he had finally fulfilled the vow his grandfather had made as a small boy - to reclaim the crown and return Coimbra to the Goddess.

There might have been cheers, except for the fact that the fighting had been long and bloody and exhausting. Even those of royal blood had not been spared from shedding blood and some from incurring wounds of their own, but overall, the mood among the victors was one of relief and exhilaration. Grimy and blood-covered and sporting a few minor wounds of his own, the Crown Prince of Pomerania couldn't help but smile as he offered that crown to its rightful king at long last.

Weary but proud, Tralin laid his axe and shield aside, taking the golden circlet from Prince Stephan's hands. He paused, running his thumbs over the worn metal, and finally raised it up, lowering it into place on his head.

"Long live the king!"

The cry went up from around him, picked up and travelling across the battlefield to the survivors as, in a ripple of motion, men and women loyal to the royal house of Nairn dropped to one knee to honor this hard won moment and the man who had lead them to it.

The battle had been hard-won, but it had been won. It may have taken years - generations even - but the true king of Coimbra had finally reclaimed the crown and the land that rightfully belonged to his bloodline and to the Goddess. As Crown Prince of Pomerania, Stephan was one of the few who did not drop to a knee to honor the moment or the man who had won back the crown. Instead, he laid a grimy hand on Tralin's shoulder in a display of friendship and support of the new king.

"Congratulations, Tralin. It's long overdue."

"Three generations," Tralin agreed with a slow nod. "And would not have happened without the support of your country and men." There, in front of his commanders, his nobles, he offered his hand in friendship to the Crown Prince of Pomerania. "This is a debt we cannot repay, highness. Know that Coimbra is your friend and ally. And thank your father for us."

"We do not ask for repayment, Tralin. And there is no need to call me highness. You are a king in your own right now, and I am only a prince," Stephan pointed out with a grin. Though he would be a king himself in the not too distant future, he was in no hurry. "It is time for us to build a new Meringia together - a Meringia where all our people will live in peace and prosper equally."

Tralin smiled, nodding once again. "There will be time for treaties and politics later," he said. "For now there is a battlefield to see to. And I can enter my own halls for the first time in my life."

"And I must see to my own men," Stephan said. There was no need for him to accompany Tralin to claim his own castle; there were plenty of others who would be happy to do so. "We will talk later," he told the man, with another squeeze of the shoulder before he wandered off in search of his brothers.

"Highness," a man's voice greeted the king. This man was also smiling through the blood and the grime, his right shoulder wrapped in a bandage. "There are those of us who would accompany you to Nanairna, if we may," said Malcolm, the man Tralin had made Lord of Imbre.

Tralin's smile relaxed into something broader on seeing the man whom he considered to have made all this possible alive and hearty.

"Did you believe I would prevent you from seeing Nanairna?" he asked in amusement, a last nod given to Stephan before the prince stepped away. "The castle has been ta'en back with no bloodshed. We will ride in together, all of us. Where have you put your wife?"

"She is here somewhere," Malcolm replied, turning to search for his wife among those who had survived. He knew she was there somewhere, as she had been the one who had only recently seen to his bandage. She had, in fact, insisted on it.

"Here she is," a familiar voice called, and as they turned, revealed itself to belong to Brodie Adair, limping as he leaned on his younger sister's strong shoulder.

"Good Goddess, Brodie, what did you do to yourself?" Tralin asked in amusement at the state of the pair.

"He decided tae wait out the battle under a horse," Rose informed them cheerfully.

"Was that a decision made by you or the horse?" Malcolm asked, gray eyes bright with amusement at his brother-in-law's expense. "Come, lad, lean on me. I've stronger shoulders, so long as it's nae the bandaged one!"

"Aye, you damage my husband, you and I'll have words," Rose teased her brother, giving him over to Mal's stronger support easily. "Did my father come through, your majesty?"

Tralin smiled, patting her shoulder. "Aye, he did," he promised her. "He's gone ahead to Nanairna, and sent your brother Duncan to fetch Dugan and his wife to us from their safety. We'll be together again not so far from now."

"I'm eager to see Nanairna again," Malcolm said, as he moved over to take Rose's place, sliding his uninjured arm under Brodie's shoulder to take some of the weight off his leg. "History in the making, so to speak," he said further.

"I do not doubt it will be different from your memories, lad," Tralin said cheerfully. He called for horses and an escort, turning to make sure that the wounded were seen to and a secure camp set up.

As he did so, Brodie grinned at Malcolm. "Aye, now, Lord of Imbre," the young scholar said in his warm way. "Should I keep writing the chronicle, or leave it to you to sign your name into history?"

"I do nae think it would be a bad thing to continue writing the chronicle, do you?" Malcolm asked in return. They were essentially changing history as they lived it - or at least, changing what had been Coimbra's history in Malcolm's time.

"You'll have the time for it," Rosemary pointed out to her brother, ignoring the roll of his eyes as she turned toward the men bringing horses to them.

Brodie shook his head as he glanced at Malcolm. "I suppose it all depends what duties I'm given now we're free."

"She knew we needed you," Rose told him, absolutely confident that no one else could have done what Mal had done in the past months. "She knew I needed you."

He smiled, nothing but love for the redhead in that smile. "Mayhaps she knew that we needed each other," he pointed out. It wasn't the first time they'd been over this, nor would it likely be the last. "Come. We dinnae want to keep the king waiting," he said, grinning like an idiot as he spurred his horse on.

She laughed as she spurred her horse on beside his, both of them catching up to the king's party as the portcullis was raised and the drawbridge lowered, allowing the head of House Nairn to enter his ancestral halls for the first time in generations.

It was a moment Malcolm had long awaited and longed for. A moment in time that was history in the making and he was not only there to witness, but to be part of it.

Caerell Adair was waiting as Tralin Nairn rode through the gates of his ancestral home for the first time in his life, watching his old friend dismount with pride. The two men embraced one another tight as the rest of the group rode in and dismounted around them, sharing bright smiles and warm hopes.

"It's an honor to call you majesty in your own halls, my king," Caerell declared with a happy grin. "There's rooms prepared for all your council, and the kitchens are already hard at work on a feast to celebrate your victory this day."

Tralin chuckled, squeezing his friend's shoulder for a moment. "We'd best make ourselves presentable for it, then," he said, including all his companions in that comment. "Aye, and the ladies in gowns, if you please. I'll have pretty company my first eve as king."

Malcolm smiled to see the two men embrace, but that smile faded pretty quickly when Tralin mentioned that he wanted the women in gowns. Presumably, all the women, which included Rose. Mal had seen Rose in a gown all of twice - once at Prince Dugan's wedding and once at their own. He didn't think she'd react well to having to wear one again, but maybe she'd agree for the king's sake.

"I would'na mind a bath," he murmured - the only thing he dared say just yet.

Given the grin on the king's face, he knew perfectly well that the idea of wearing a gown would not go down well with Rosemary Anderson.

"Aye, lad, there's hot water being ta'en up to the rooms as well," Caerell assured his son-in-law, absently lifting his daughter down from her mount to embrace her fondly, relieved to see his younger children also safe after the long battle.

Malcolm's frown deepened as his father-in-law beat him to lifting Rose off her horse, but he wasn't too sure his shoulder would have cooperated anyway. He climbed off his own horse, one-handed, favoring the injured shoulder but making no mention of it.

"We have much to celebrate," he said, though that much was obvious. He could still hardly believe it was over.

"We do, but not until we're rested up," Tralin said pointedly. "Make the most of Nanairna's hospitality, Lord of Imbre. You'll be returning to your own halls in the not so distant future, after all."

Rose smiled faintly, tucking herself under Mal's shoulder as Brodie hopped down from his own saddle to lean against the mare he had ridden in.

"Aye, I'm sure we'll enjoy ourselves, Highness," Malcolm said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable now that they'd won the fight. What exactly was he supposed to do now" He'd been made Lord of Imbre, but he was just an historian. What did he know of being lord of a castle"

"We'll work it out together," Rosemary murmured, watching as the king stepped inside, followed by much of his escort. She looked up at Malcolm. "Shall we find our spot tae relax and clean up, love?"

"Aye, I think we should," he replied, turning to his wife, once the king and his entourage had disappeared. "Are you coming, Brodie?" he asked, looking to his brother-in-law, who'd been limping due to his own injury.

"Och, aye, I could do with a good soak myself," was Brodie's answer, even as he gratefully took a sturdy stick from a servant who offered it to him. "This leg's going to be a bugger for a few days, I reckon."

"As will this shoulder," Malcolm murmured. "It seems you're going to have a couple of patients to tend to for a few days, Rose," he remarked with a teasing smirk for his wife. "Though I think mayhaps Brodie should find a pretty girl of his own."

"If you find one that wouldn't mind me, feel free to send her along," Brodie commented cheerfully, heading for the main doors with his walking stick.

Rose laughed quietly, rolling her eyes at her brother's back. "You're both as bad as each other at times."

"Tis better than hating each other," Malcolm replied with a shrug, wincing a little as he immediately regretted the shrug. "Come, Rose," he said, offering her his uninjured arm. "We could both do with a rest."

"Aye," she agreed, sliding her hand into his. "And I want another look at that shoulder after today."

It didn't take long to find a servant to guide them to the rooms set aside for them - rooms that smelled a little musty, perhaps, but were laid with fires to ward off the stone chill even in the height of summer, with fresh linens on the bed, clean clothing laid out for them both, wine in the pitcher and bread and cheese to keep them going if they needed something to nibble on. And in front of the fire in the bedchamber was a large wooden bath, more a barrel made for two people to bathe in than a bath itself, steaming invitingly.

"Tis as if they were expecting us," Malcolm murmured as they entered their rooms. He hadn't been expecting it, though he supposed news of their coming had arrived before them. He moved over to pluck up a piece of cheese and pop it into his mouth, only just realizing how long it had been since they'd eaten last, but it was the sight of steaming water that really drew his eye. "You know, Rose, from this moment on, I know very little of our future."

"Perhaps, if you behave yourself while I get the blood out of your beard and hair," she informed him, eyes twinkling cheerfully. A moment later, she raised a jug of water and poured it over his head.

He gasped, laughing as he spit water from his mouth. At least, it hadn't been cold water, but he hadn't quite been expecting it. "You could've warned me first!" he told her, sputtering, though from the look on his face, he was more amused than annoyed. He wasn't really aware of his own appearance - of the blood and grime that covered him almost from head to toe - and he didn't want to think about all that blood right now, not when his senses were so full of the woman he loved.

"And where's the fun in that, mmm?" she answered sweetly, tucking just a little closer to begin teasing the soap through his hair. It was just his hair and beard she was deeply concerned about, the rest of the dirt would soak off while they were in the bath. But if he was going to present himself to the king as the Lord of Imbre this evening, he was going to at least appear clean.

He swept a strand of wet hair away from her cheek with a finger in a light caress, making no effort to stop her. "Do I look that bad?" he asked, merely curious. She'd no doubt spilled as much blood as he had, but presumably not from such close proximity as had he.

"I would never say you look bad," Rose told him, kissing his brow as she worked the soap into a lather, untangling his curls with her fingers. "But you have been through the wringer, love, and it shows."

"But it's over, Rose," he told her, in a tone that was close to incredulous, as well as relieved. He knew how to use a sword and bow, but he had never been a soldier. He only hoped he could prove his worth now that it was peacetime.

"Aye, it is." She smiled, pressing her forehead to his, drinking in his incredulous wonder at all they had been through in just under a year. "And I'll not have you presenting yourself to our king and his new court looking as though any of it took anything out of you."

"But it did, Rose. It took something from all of us," he argued. "But it gave us so much more," he added, gently his voice as he touched his forehead to hers. "And by the Goddess, we'll have true peace now," he said, hopefully.

She lingered with him there, breathing him in, letting at least some of the tension ease from her form. "Best we can do for them as didnae make it is tae live long and well," she said softly. "We cannae bring them back. But we can make the land they died for ours again, in peace."

"That we can," he said, savoring the quiet a moment longer, almost as though he was afraid to break the spell, or as though he was pausing a moment in prayer. There were those who'd given their lives for that peace, and as happy as he was they had won, those lives should not be forgotten. "We'll build a memorial to remember them by," he promised. If not here, then in Imbre. Something so that no one would ever forget the lives that had been lost to win back Coimbra.

"Aye, we will," she agreed, glad now that she had asked Brodie to record the names of every single man and woman who had died to bring today's victory to them. She couldn't have known, years ago when she had asked him, that her own husband would share the desire to remember them in some way.

And with that decided, he decided it was time to move on, move past the grief and the sadness, at least for now. It was time for celebration and time for them to make a new life for themselves and their people. He tipped her chin up to meet his kiss, claiming her for his own, letting her know without words how he felt about her - how much he loved and needed her.

Her answering kiss was soft and loving, paused for just a moment as she refilled the jug before returning to tease his lips with more kisses. Pouring the water over his head - and drenching her face and hair in the process - she swept the last of the suds from his hair and set the jug aside, inching closer into his arms to continue those kisses with smiling lips.

This time, he'd seen it coming and didn't sputter, though there was a look of amusement on his face. He waited until she was satisfied with his appearance before pulling her back into his arms, striving to fulfill all the wishes her kisses seemed to suggest.

Giggling, Rose gave herself over to the kisses, happy just with kisses for the time being, happy to know that they had come through whole and well and this was just the beginning of a peaceful life to come.

He was happy to indulge her kisses as long as she wanted, even if his body obviously wanted more. He had a feeling she was worried about his shoulder, but it wasn't his shoulder he was thinking about at the moment.

She seemed aware of that, breaking those kisses to grin at him impishly. "Are you going tae have blue balls if I leave it there, love?" she asked with no mercy in her teasing tone.

"If you leave it there now, we'll only have to deal with it later," he said, as though the particular appendage in question had a mind of its own. He didn't really care either way. It was certainly going to be fun making a baby.

Rose laughed. "May I wash my hair first, love?" was her only condition. "I washed yours, after all. I cannae let you down by appearing mucky and greasy before the king."

"Let me," he told her, pausing a moment to catch his breath and motioning for her to turn around. He took up the soap to work up a lather so that he could help with her hair.

It was a little awkward, but she did manage to turn about for him, letting her husband work the lather through her long hair. It had been a long time since they'd had the luxury of a bath - at least a couple of months - and it was the one luxury Rosemary was positive she would be making the most of as the lady of a castle of their own.

"Mmm ..." She sighed happily, tipping her head back for him. "This isnae hurting you, is it?"

"Tis nothing, Rose. I'll be fine," he assured her, doing most of the lathering with the hand of his uninjured arm. It was a bit awkward and took a bit longer, but he seemed to be managing well enough. "Have I e'er told you how much I love your hair?"

"You've not had much chance tae be up close wi'it," she murmured curiously. "It's been in a braid for the last two months, and before that." She smiled, though, considering how much more opportunity he was going to have to enjoy her hair in the years to come. "I suppose I'll have tae find a lass who knows how tae make my hair look good from now on."

"And as Lady of Imbrae, you'll have to dress the part," he added, with a teasing gleam in his eyes.

"Och, we weren't very careful of your arm, were we?" she said suddenly, guilt touching her expression as they untangled from one another to sit up.

"It was worth it, lass," Malcolm assured her, though his shoulder was feeling the strain of the day. He had a feeling he'd either torn or strained something, but healing and medicine weren't his forte. He carefully tested his shoulder, wincing at the pain, but grateful he hadn't been wounded.

"I'll rub it tonight," she promised him faithfully, rolling out of the bed to pull on the chemise that had been laid out for her. It had obviously been made for a taller woman, but she could get by for the evening.

"Och, I'm nae sure you should have put it that way," Mal said as he, too, rose from the bed, albeit a little more slowly. There was a hint of teasing in his voice, even if he was wincing a little. He wasn't going to let a little thing like a sore shoulder stop him from enjoying the feast.

She snorted with laughter, raising her hands to her hair. It was still a little damp, but she wasn't that concerned about that. "Aye, I'll rub that later, too," she countered cheerfully, dragging a comb quickly through the length and leaving it be. "Do you need a hand?"

"Nae for that, but I would nae want to disappoint you," he replied, with a smirk and a wink. Apparently, they were talking about two different things, his mind on one thing and hers on another.

"I meant gettin' dressed, you daftie," she laughed, sticking her tongue out at him. "You're dreadful, Malcolm Anderson." She unearthed her belt from the pile of discarded clothing and armor, and returned to where the velvet dress had been laid out for her.

"Aye, that's why you love me," he said, picking through the pile of clothing for a simple tunic and trews, but it seemed they were expected to wear formal dress to the feast.

"You've a velvet tunic here," she pointed out to him. "You just need trews and a shirt from there." A moment later, she disappeared into the folds of the dress, flailing around until she found the light again. She smiled over at her husband as she gently pulled the laces snug at her back. "I dinnae think the king is expecting us to look our best."

He tugged on a pair of simple cotton undershorts before moving over to help her with the gown's laces. "I dinnae think I've ever worn velvet," he told her. Not even in his own time. What did a scholar need with such rich clothing as this" It was a little tricky tugging her laces snug with only one hand but somehow he managed.

"Well, it wasnae made for you, so dinnae expect it to be comfortable," she warned, smiling over her shoulder at him. The dress was voluminous on her, even with the laces holding the bodice snug to her torso, the skirt falling in heavy folds that drooped on the floor around her feet.

She had a point, as the tunic was a little snug on his torso, as though it had been made for someone who was unaccustomed to wielding a sword and a bow - someone like a scholar, but he was no ordinary scholar.

"'Tis a bit snug," he complained, though not nearly as bad a fit as her dress.

"Come here." Pausing in her attempt to loop the skirt a little higher out of her way with her belt, Rose moved to join him, clever fingers undoing some of the side lacings on his tunic. "Better?"

He stretched a little to test the fabric, once she'd loosened the lacings. "Aye, a bit, but ..." He frowned as he looked over her dress. It was lovely, if a little too big. "Mayhaps we should call for a seamstress," he suggested, though that would probably take too long.

"We willnae be the only ones not at our best," she promised him in amusement. "We can call for a seamstress tomorrow. I have no plans tae dance tonight, do you?"

"Nae, not at the feast," he said, smiling and waggling his brows at her again, as he well intended to dance with her in private later, though that dance would take place between the sheets.

Trying not to laugh out loud, she looked him over for a moment. "I think we can present ourselves," she decided. "And I am not going tae be held up, Lord Anderson, because I am hungry!"

"As you wish, Lady Anderson," he said, pausing to pull a pair of ill-fitting soft boots onto his feet and struggling a little, though he refused to ask for help.

She rolled her eyes at his stubbornness, dropping to one knee to help him with his boots before attempting to wear the slippers she had been provided with. They were much too big, which meant she was going to have to wear her muddy boots under the beautiful dress.

Without clean clothes of their own at the castle, they were just going to have to make do with what had been lent them, but it was only temporary, at best. Respectably dressed in their makeshift formalwear, it was time for Lord Anderson to escort his Lady to the feast in honor of the king and in celebration of their victory. Thankfully, he'd been to the castle before in his own time and knew his way around without needing a guide.

"I expect we'll be in the great hall," he said, as he offered her his arm.

"Aye, I expect so," she agreed, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as she smiled up at him. "I'm very proud of you, you know. You've made a fine man of yourself."

"Was I nae a fine man before?" he asked, a smirk making itself known behind that beard of his, which had grown a little out of control these last weeks. His smirk changed into a warm smile, as he understood what she meant. "I'm honored to have been part of history," he told her. "And grateful to you and the Goddess for bringing me here."

She beamed, hugging his arm as they walked. "You know, you could make Coimbra years ahead of the rest of Meringia with what you know of technology from your own time," she commented cheerfully. "That'd be a spit in the eye of the heretics, right enough."

"Mayhaps," he admitted with a small shrug. "I have nae given it much thought." There hadn't really been time to give it much thought this last year, as they'd been too busy planning for a war. He turned quiet a moment, as he contemplated the possibilities, wondering if he dared do as she had suggested.

"We've time for you to think on it now," she assured him softly, offering a smile to others as they joined the trickle of new courtiers and allies heading for the great hall, from which the sound of music was audible. "Good grief, who thought tae find minstrels?"

"Thank you, love," she said, giving him a gentle tug to bring him down to her level. Her lips brushed his cheek fondly. "Take your time if you need tae."

"I'm alright," he assured her quietly, and yet, he was feeling a little nervous, a little overwhelmed by it all, for some reason. Here, in this room, were people he had only read about - people whose lives he'd studied and wondered about - and here they were, right in front of him. It was almost too much to digest sometimes. There was food, too, but that would be served in due time. For now, he only wanted a moment to think.

There were enough familiar faces mixed in with the unfamiliar that he didn't need to feel too intimidated by it all, but Rose understood. She squeezed his hand once again before letting him go.

"Shall I betroth our firstborn to one of the prince's children?" she asked teasingly, just loud enough that Tralin and Stephan could hear her.

Stephan smirked, but only tipped his head to whisper something to Tralin.

Malcolm, on the other hand, was obviously surprised by her question, his glance darting briefly to the prince before returning to Rose. "Do you nae think we should have them first?" he asked her quietly.

She giggled brightly, kissing her husband's cheek once again. "Relax, love," she assured him. "I'm teasing you. Go on, fetch us a drink."

"Aye," he said, smiling as he touched a quick kiss to her lips before going in search of wine. Maybe it was just the need for sleep, but he was feeling a little unsettled for some reason.

"I dinnae think you were introduced to this wee hellion," Tralin said, as Malcolm made his escape. "Stephan, this is Rosemary Anderson, the Lady of Imbre. Rose, mind your manners."

Rose rolled her eyes at the king, but smiled at Stephan. "It's a pleasure tae meet you, highness."

"I can assure you the pleasure is all mine, Lady," Stephan addressed her cordially, as one might one of equally noble blood. His was a friendly face, with a warm, authentic smile. And why shouldn't he smile" This was a celebration, after all. Coimbra had been a thorn in Pomerania's side for too long, but at last, the heretics had been defeated and the throne returned to the rightful king.

Tralin snorted into his cup. "You may regret that," he warned, smirking as Rose threw him a laughing glare.

"Dinnae be setting the man against me just because I'm nae used to this lady shite yet," she argued, not even noticing her casual use of the expletive.

Stephan laughed in obvious amusement. "On the contrary, I find the young lady's blunt honesty refreshing," he said. He had always appreciated honesty and valued those who were brave enough to speak their own minds.

"You'll nae be turning the Coimbran court into some fussy, prim and proper, hoity-toity formal bollocks," Rose pointed out. "We've all seen you in your kecks, majesty."

Tralin guffawed, throwing his head back. "You see what I have to deal with, Stephan' You'd best prepare that wee wife of yours before you come for the coronation."

"Indeed," Stephan replied, with a smirk. "Though Marianne has had my brothers to contend it these past years. I am sure she would not be too shocked at the behavior of your courtiers. In fact, she might also find it a refreshing break from the formality of Berengaria."

"Will you bring your wee'uns, tae?" Rose asked, her eyes bright with the hope of seeing the miraculous triplets of the Hasperan line.

"I sincerely doubt my queen will wish to be separated from her wee ones for even a short time, lady," Stephan replied with a smile. "She is quite attached to them, after all." That much was an understatement.

"Aww, that's a shame," was her response, delivered with an understanding smile. "I s'pose I'll just have tae finagle an invitation to your court sometime then." Now that would be a fascinating experience - Coimbrans visiting the court of Pomerania.

"I believe you misunderstand my meaning, Lady," Stephan said. "What I mean is that if I am to bring my wife to the coronation, we will have to bring the children along, as well." He looked to Tralin a moment, as if looking to him for permission. "This is, of course, with your leave."

Tralin looked surprised to have been asked, but rallied quickly. "If that be your wish, lad, then by all means," he assured Stephan. "Rest assured, you and your family will be the most closely guarded of everyone when you set foot in our realm."

It seemed to amuse Stephan that the new King of Coimbra referred to him as a "lad". Though they were nearly equal in power, Tralin was old enough to be his father. "I appreciate that, Tralin. I will speak with my wife and ask if she is up to the journey. Perhaps she would like to speak to Lady Anderson regarding a possible betrothal," he teased, proving he was not without a sense of humor either.

"A betrothal?" interjected Malcolm as he rejoined his wife. "We are nae even with child yet!"

Rose's laughter was definitely not something that would be heard in any court other than Edessa - a full throated belly-laugh that momentarily made itself known across the hall and made others smile in its wake.

"You'd best get onto that, Mal," Tralin advised cheerfully. "Seems as though you're our best bet for a marriage of alliance with the overlords."

Malcolm's brow ticked upwards at the king's remark. He had a son who was capable of siring a child, and there were Rose's brothers, as well, but who was he to contradict the king.

"The children are a bit young to be marrying off just yet," Stephan amicably pointed out.

Tralin chuckled. "Calm down, gentlemen," he assured them. "You've both a ways to go before you're wholly in tune with the sheer amount of teasing that goes on in this court. We've not had the leisure to be joyful like this in decades."