Silence reigned for a while longer, everyone was still recovering from the spell Corisande's beauty had cast on them.
Ulcraft, in the Human Quarters, adjusted his crimson robes, his eyes narrowing as he watched King Galadrien.
He wasn't impressed. In fact, the old noble was disgusted, and he did not hide it. Not in his face or his words.
"Look at Galadrien," he whispered to Grigor with curled lips. "We will be foolish to believe him offering his daughter for the Heroes' Party is some sign of bravery. Pfft! It is for no other reason than to show superiority over us."
Grigor shook his head. "Is that so, my dear friend?"
"Open your eyes, Grigor! He wants to increase the Elven stakes, to make it look like Eldermoor is the only kingdom truly sacrificing for Evernia. It's a transparent power play, Grigor. A play for the history books."
Grigor didn't look at him. His eyes remained fixed on the list in Azmagrab's hand where he knew his daughter's name was written.
