An Throne of Silver

(OOC: This is a more generic letter, in reality the letters are more specific but for sake of easiness for this rp what you see here is in general form of letter that be sent to your nation’s leaders. It is an open rp for everyone.)

It is with the greatest honors that I, His Royal majesty Wilan I of the Kingdom of Blåskog from the House of Torhall, would like to invite you to my coronation and the national celebration which will be held here afterwards. Which will be through a banquet and festivities in my castle. It would be a great honor for my nation.

As the traffic in Kungstad would be in much higher volume at the day of the coronation held on the 20th April, 2024, I have been informed and told by my coronation staff that I should advise you to come one day or two prior to the coronation. I will also request that any large accompanying delegation included in this invite be information that needs to be given to my government. Same with any extra needs that we need to be aware of so that my government can accommodate you.

I look forward to welcoming you to my nation, to my kingdom to the first days of a new Blåskog. One which will be celebrated in full.

With warm regards,

His royal majesty, Wilan I of Blåskog and the House of Torhall. Soon to be High Gothir of Carlist Gustafism

Wilan let out a small sigh of relief as he finished the last of the letters. Having made a large tower of just letters which soon be sent to every corner of this seemingly cursed Urth. It was written in all the languages he personally knew, with there being few others prepared by his translators to be sent to those from nations he was less accustomed to in language and culture. He had stayed up late to ensure every letter was done as professionally and formal as possible. With the exceptions of two letters, one for Jørgen Bjørn and the other for his little sister Esta. He could easily text both, but some formality was needed for official invites.

Each letter had the Blåskovian and Carlist symbol on them, as they were sealed. That of a hammer with a crystal in the middle of it. The representation of the main Gustafist sub branch in Borea, and one which most Ulvriktruars on the continent followed. Though the young king was hardly the most religious man, his father had ruined spirituality in a sense, it was still something his country held as important. Though he couldn’t help but wait to get the chance to get back at the clergy of his country once he had enforced all the reforms he wanted to make. Though thoughts quickly faded as he heard his office door open, seeing the face of a little boy poke his head in.

“Pappa you doneee? I want to play with you! My new friends went to take a nap…” The boy said, giving an annoyed pout as he looked up at his father.

Wilan couldn’t help but chuckle as he stood up from his chair. “Alright, Alright. I’ll play with you for a little bit.” He said in a warm tone as he walked towards the door, easily picking up the boy as he walked out the office and towards his son’s bedroom. “But you gotta get to bed soon, hear me Eric?”

“But pappa the dragons won’t kill themselves!" The little kid put his hand up as if holding an invisible sword as he was carried by his father. “We need to go on an adventure to get rid of them! We need to genocide the dragons!”

Wilan just shook his head in amusement, his laughter echoing around the halls as he listened to his son talk about the importance of the murdering of dragons.


In the serene tranquility of the royal garden, Queen Adriana Mula of Midori-Iro delicately tended to the vibrant blooms that graced the landscape. The soft rays of the morning sun danced through the lush foliage, casting a warm glow over the verdant surroundings.

As she carefully tended to the blossoms, Adriana was joined by her first lady-in-waiting, who approached with a sealed envelope in hand. With a gentle smile, the lady-in-waiting presented the envelope to Adriana, her expression filled with quiet reverence.

“Your Majesty, a missive has arrived from the Kingdom of Blåskog,” she announced softly, her voice carrying a sense of anticipation.

Adriana accepted the envelope, the weight of its contents palpable in her grasp. With a nod of gratitude, she broke the seal and withdrew the letter within, her eyes scanning the elegant script that adorned the page.

“My dear Queen Adriana,” the letter began, penned with regal flourish. “It is with great pleasure that I extend to you and your esteemed entourage an invitation to attend my upcoming coronation ceremony.”

As Adriana read the words, her heart swelled with a mixture of honor and humility. This invitation marked her first official engagement on the international stage since ascending to the throne of Midori-Iro, and she was deeply moved by the opportunity to represent her nation on such a prestigious occasion.

With a sense of gratitude, Adriana turned her attention to the list of attendees accompanying the letter. Among them were her loyal Chamberlain, the steadfast Herald, and a select cadre of the Emerald Shield—a secret 10-man squad whose unwavering dedication to duty was renowned throughout the realm.

Beside their names stood those of Adriana’s beloved siblings—Princess Alexandria and Prince Ancil—whose presence would lend an air of familial unity to the proceedings.

With a sense of purpose, Adriana penned her gracious acceptance of the invitation, expressing her profound appreciation for the opportunity to partake in the coronation festivities. She conveyed her eagerness to forge new alliances and strengthen existing bonds with leaders from across Urth, a sentiment echoed by her siblings.

Having sealed the letter with her royal seal, Adriana turned her gaze towards the horizon, her thoughts drifting to the weighty responsibilities that awaited her in the days to come.

Following the dispatch of the letter, the Lily Legislature convened in solemn assembly, their voices echoing through the hallowed halls of the capital. The Speaker of the House presided over the proceedings, declaring that executive power would be vested in her capable hands until the Queen’s timely return from the festivities.

As the official business of the day drew to a close, the Speaker Tanaka approached Adriana with a gentle yet resolute demeanor, their words laced with a sense of camaraderie and concern.

“Your Majesty,” the Speaker began, their tone solemn yet supportive. “As you embark on this journey, remember to watch over your siblings, be cautious of what you consume, and take care of yourself. You are the embodiment of Midori-Iro’s strength and resilience, and your actions will shape our nation’s legacy for generations to come after all.”

Moved by the Speaker’s heartfelt words, Adriana embraced them in a gesture of solidarity, their shared bond as stewards of the realm serving as a beacon of hope in uncertain times.

With a sense of determination and resolve, Adriana vowed to heed the Speaker’s advice, knowing that her duty to her people extended far beyond the confines of the royal palace. Together, they stood as guardians of Midori-Iro’s future, their unwavering commitment to the nation’s prosperity serving as a testament to the enduring power of unity and resolve.

And as they parted ways, they shared a sincere hug and made sure that their earnest motivations would lead them to a successful trip.

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Jariano II picked the letter and read it carefully:

Palacio Real de Marga,
Plaza del Poder s/n,
78001 Marga, Peragen

Yo, Su Majestad Wilan I del Reino de Blascovia, de la Casa de Torhall, tengo el inmenso honor de invitaros a mi coronación y la celebración nacional que tendrá lugar posteriormente. Sería un gran honor para mi nación.

Dado el considerable calibre del tráfico en Kungstad el día de mi coronación —20 de abril de 2024—, se me ha informado desde el personal de la coronación de que os aconseje que vuestra llegada tenga lugar uno o dos días antes de mi coronación. También he de rogar que el envío de cualquier gran delegación que se incluya en esta invitación deberá ser informado a mi gobierno. De igual manera deberá procederse con cualquier necesidad adicional, para que mi gobierno pueda acomodaros.

Esperamos recibiros en mi país, en mi reino, en los primeros días de una nueva Blascovia. Días que celebraremos al completo.

Saludos cordiales,
Su Majestad Real, Wilan I de Blascovia y la Casa de Torhall. Próximo Alto Gothir del Gustafismo Carlista.

The Peragian monarch took some long and quick steps towards his daughter Jariana, who had just arrived with Archon Consort Arlin:

‘What is it, dad?’ Jariana asked, knowing her father had something in mind by the way he was walking.

‘I just got a letter from Wilan of Blåskog, he invites me to his coronation and I wanted to know if you wanna go there instead of myself, or maybe us both.’

Jariana read the invitation and gave Arlin a couple of looks. Arlin smiled, as if he had read her wife’s mind.

‘To be honest, some of those days are marked as “resting time” in my schedule…’

‘Say no more, daughter. I think my presence is symbolic in such an important occasion for our diplomacy, but first I wanted to know if you had a special interest on it. If you don’t, I wanted to go myself so don’t worry about it. Mum will take care of the office those days.’

‘Great, dad! We were about to depart for lunch as I told you, it’s been quite a long time since we hadn’t been in Marga and I want to take Arlin to the restaurant you used to take me on Sundays. See you afterwards!’

Jariana and Arlin parted away from the king, who could hear Arlin talking to Jariana in whispers:

‘When will we tell him?’

‘When we have agreed on a name…’

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(Joint post with Luna)

“To, Peacock

Hey. Normally these types of letters are all meant to be plastered around all forms of formalities and royal procedures. With me calling you his esteemed majesty and gracefully asking you to be part of my grand coronation.

But, well, I hardly think such language is needed between you and I.

I… am sorry for not contacting you earlier, I’ve been dealing with a lot, and I can only assume you have as well. It’s been hectic, ever since my father died. Esta, well, you know how she has been. I think she would be very happy If you came here, I know that I would be at least. There wouldn’t be much of a party without you afterall.

Though I understand completely If you can’t, or won’t. I know my palace doesn’t bring the best of memories, and I doubt my long silence makes this invite the most welcoming. Still, I’d love for you to join the celebration. I’d love to talk to you again, in person. Like old times.

Though not exactly old times, you have a beautiful girlfriend now, and one that just became your prime minister as well! You certainly can’t help going for older partners, huh?

Only teasing. I’d love for you both to come here. I’ll even ensure that little crazy behaves.

From yours truly, Edgy Viking”

_ _

The ever lovely Jarl of Vakrestrender read through the letter a few times, and gave a quick look towards his secretary each time before looking back down at the letter. He would deeply rather not go anywhere near Blaskog and its clear horridness but yet. A small sparkle of hope rests in his chest, hope that maybe East Borea would, no will improve under Wilan. Away from the hateful traits that made the unfortunate half of the land, and perhaps more into a better state that didn’t make even the most depressing movies look like a relaxation restore that his family owns.

“I should ask her about this…” His words trailed off, before making up his mind about not asking her and just surprising her with the news. That way she won’t be able to find a reason for them not to go and see his ex-boyfriend. He wanted to see him, see him in person for once more, to at least tell the truth about why… Well the reason why they broke up before that man was born of an evil spirit gave more than enough reason not to ever visit that forsaken country.

He put pen to paper, without thinking a second thought about it all. Johanna will be pissed at him of course, but nothing he can’t fix. After all Esta would be there and she would be quite a bit of fun to be around when the news cameras are away, perhaps they could become closer and friends with each other. Instead of Esta throwing another whining fit about it all.

"To his majesty, King Olav I of Norgsveldet and the larger Crown Realm. To the Fylkir of Ulvriktru

It is with the deepest of respect and honor to invite you to my coronation and the celebration that will be held. To have you there to bless my reign and crown like how your father blessed mine.

I recognise that the relationship between our two houses have soured. I recognise the mistakes of my father, and my complicity in it for my silence. I do not seek to ignore that I have played my part, though I genuinely tried to convince my father. To change his policies. Unfortunately he met his end after changing only minor ones.

Despite that, I promise you this. My reign will be one of true change. When I give my oath to my country, to my faith. I will make another one. I will make an oath of reform. The reform of my nation. An oath to you. One which I will be determined to push forward. I know, I know that will be a lot to promise. I know it is easier said than done. But I refuse to back down from the pressures of the nobility. Not after what they did.

As such, I hope you will accept this invite, Olav. I could use your help.

His majesty, King Wilan I of Blåskog, from the House of Torhall"

_ _

A heavy sigh left the Norgsveltian king’s lips as he leaned his back against his office chair. Closing his eyes for a moment as he thought over the invitation. To say that he had a deep dislike towards Blåskog and its institutions was to put it mildly. That not to mention the personal hatred he had over the late king, over Carl. As cruel as it is to say, he was genuinely happy that he is dead. That king was less of a man, and more a sick pathetic creature pretending to be a man. The perfect puppet for Blåskog’s nobility. It is why he didn’t buy the story Wilan was pushing. Why would they kill their own puppet? It didn’t make sense.

His agents had ruled out NIB and LFIS involvement. It lacked the brutality of the former and lacked the efficiency of the later. It was a matter he pondered for a while. He opened his eyes, giving a look towards the letter laying on his wooden desk.

Once again letting out a sigh. He might not like it, but Wilan might push some genuine reforms to Blåskog. To make the endless darkness that was East Borea seem less endless, to perhaps even bring some light to it. And if that is the case, the decision to not bless the coronation would not only be a break of centuries of tradition. It would be a foolish message to send the world. His ancestors have blessed autocrats, why not be the one to bless a reformer? One which can put Blåskog to the path of democracy. Grabbing his pen of dark red color with pure gold scripture on it. One which he owned during his time as High Jarl of the Federation. With him writing his acceptance to the invite soon after. He did promise Wilhelmina that he should give Wilan a chance, so at least both of them should be there.

In the middle of a quiet night in Koyukuk, Elu Dayarobi sifted through some papers on his desk. A sudden knock on his door disrupts the businessman’s workflow, “Come in.”

Entering the office came Shina Akala, an assistant at the Dayarobi Textiles Company.

“Mr. Dayarobi, there’s a letter for you,” Shina handed Dayarobi a small envelope with an ornate seal on the front, “It’s something about a coronation overseas.”

With a piqued interest, Dayarobi opened the letter and read each line of the invitation.

Dayarobi nodded his head, “Oh, Carl’s kid!”

“Will you be going?” asked Shina.

“Of course, you never know what kinds of opportunities present themselves at events like these.”

“I’ll get your things ready,” Shina left the room to find a travel bag.

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(Joint post with Luna)

”To Jeanne Pierre, the esteemed Federal Prime Minister of the Crowned Socialist Federation of the Southern Coast of Lapérouse.

It is with a deep honor to send this letter to you. I recognize that my country’s relationship with yours is to put it mildly. Bad. I will not ignore that glaring fact, and that we have had our issues with your fellow RCEU member of Nystatiszna for a while now. But I am writing this letter as a request of understanding between the two of us. I am not seeking imperial expansions like that of my father and his foolish ambitions. No, in my reign I want to seek cooperation between Borean states. I want to work with Nystatiszna, not destroy it.

I understand if you’re still hesitant, but I promise that I am seeking reform for my country. Not just domestic, but also external. Together I believe we can revitalize our nation’s old historical ties. But this time not in an unified seeking of religious expansionism, but rather one for cooperation and peace. Borea doesn’t need to be a continent of conflict and autocracies, one which I promise that through my reign I will end.

I hope you accept this invitation, as a sign of the beginning of a new era for our two nations relationship. One that will come at the same time as the greatest reformation of my nation is to occur.

His majesty, King Wilan I of Blåskog, from the House of Torhall”

_ _

In the utmost politely terms, Madame Pierre would rather see Blaskog burn into a pile of ash and scattered to the nine realms. The mention of historic ties, a history Côtois public held disdain for. Lapérousian legacy, in virtually every case where the it is invoked or implied it is always in a negative context. Be it foreign or domestic implication of Queendom of Lapérouse. Diplomatically it was a blunder, but it was a cultural misunderstanding at worst. Something to move past, but keep in mind.

Now the death of his father on the other hand, that was no small subject within the intelligence community in the Federation, both official and unofficial. The LFIS have done an investigation into itself and its more ‘unofficial’ partners to see if they themselves killed the old tyrant. It of course didn’t match how they usually dispose of the disposable, it didn’t match their standards of effectiveness when it came to it and their unofficial partners wouldn’t have been in position to do such. They didn’t have to do an investigation into the NIB, Matriarch Ingrid called her to see if the Federation had him handled, which led to an awkward conversation where the two leaders asked each other if they killed the elf. Not to mention Carl was found choked to death, which is not brutal enough for the monsters in trenchcoats to have a hand in. Spirits around them know if the NIB did it, the Blaskovian palace would be in flames or splattered in gore.

If the LFIS did it, there would be something less personal than choking, a bomb or a bullet. As she was assured by the agency’s head at least. Quick, fast and hard to track down, with always having misdirecting evidence to muddy the waters of any investigation. Regardless of who actually did it, the dragon was rotting corpse and a new pompous hatchling took the throne. Monarcho-Socialism isn’t the most individualistic of ideologies to say the least and neither was Côtoise culture after all what are nations but collections of societies and the belief that one person could make a change that suddenly makes an autocratic nation like Blaskog into a democracy is a liberal fantasy.

There would be reforms of course, but not meaningful ones in the long term. Blaskovian as a culture and society wouldn’t ever allow it. Not without blood and turmoil. Perhaps this prince is wanting just that, though idealistic liberal-democrats are rarely willing to spill it. Adding to all the more questions she has, questions that could be answered if she waited patiently for the various intelligence agencies to perform their duty and gather it.

However, it would be a wasted opportunity and the Federation seldom wastes an opportunity. While this new king is certainly up to some sort of authoritarian scheme or two. His brother, Torster appears to be, at least according to available intel on him, an actual democratic true believer, even wrote a paper about the values of democracy in university in Osfjord. Which of course, is simply a lovely opportunity, to tip the scales in Borea, or at least sow chaos in the troublesome region directly at the main benefactor of its troublesomeness. It’s a small international perspective risk, though perhaps a funeral for another king can be arranged if the discussion with the brother proved fruitful.

Your Royal Majesty Wilan I of Blåskog,

It is with profound gratitude that we receive your esteemed invitation to your coronation and the subsequent national celebration.

We extend our warmest wishes for Your Majesty’s successful coronation ceremony and extend our heartfelt congratulations on your ascension to the throne. May your reign be marked by prosperity, harmony for the cause of both Blaskog and Borea.

With utmost respect and warm regards,

Alane Cáiréas, Leiadh of the Federation of the Trinterian Realm.

Seárlas Athairne, Tiatarán of Her Imperial Majesty’s Government.

As the AC’s cold-blown air began to be felt, Alane held Wilan’s letter in hand to skim through the words whilst her crossed feet rested on the mahogany table. Her eyes followed the lines, only to skip a few ‘unnecessary grammatical filler words’ before returning to read them again, and for a second and third time in succession to make sure that she’s gotten the tone, and message understood in full. It was a strange way to read, but it was what she was used to, and something that she needed to not make a habit out of.

“Hmph,” She mumbled to herself, her free hand’s index twisting on her hair as she squinted her eyes to inspect it once more. It seemed to her that royals she’s supposed to take note of get coronated every few days as then, she could swear that it was only a few weeks ago when she went to Scheherazade’s, though she supposed that it could be a chance for her to disappear and leave things for the Séacarái’s pro tempore to figure out themselves, as Séarlas – her Tiatarán, was also happened to be named.

It was then that her personal thoughts on the issue were banished to make way for political considerations, as they should be. Blaskog was far beyond Mirhaime’s realm of interests, or even the Comlathas’ as eastwards is where Thalor’s more concerned but yet, even in her comfy, cushioned seat in Imirodraeth, she could feel the brunt of the late Carl IX’s declaration of Syrtæn’at “artificial abnormality” and “existential mistake”. She’ll never forgive him for that three-hour-long meeting with the Privy Council in regard to her country’s increased commitment to continental defence in the face of increased instability in regions where the NCEF is concerned.

Though indeed far from her country’s region of interests, it would not be the end of the world for Alane to waste this opportunity, considering how at most, she could send someone from her diplomatic corps to handle the event. But perhaps, somewhere in this quagmire, she figured, a statement could be made – one that she realized could not be relegated to someone else: that Mirhaime, and, if others are willing, the Comlathas are willing to give the Blaskovian political establishment, and all its flaws, a chance in recognition by way of going to a reformer’s coronation.

After a moment of silent deliberation, she finally made up her mind she put the letter on her desk and grabbed her phone to dial Séarlas:

“Listen up nerd, we’re going to Blaskog next Saturday.”

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No letter ever arrived on the desk of the Emperor of the Tavari unopened, and the envelope from Blåskog was no exception. The aides from the Ministry of External Affairs always very kindly placed the letters the Emperor received back into their envelopes, so Otan could pretend to have the experience of opening mail like a normal person, but there was always that same elegant slice through the paper, cut by the sterling silver letter opener of the Silver Court, to remind him that the government always read each and every item of correspondence before Otan even knew he had received it.

The letter was an invitation to attend the coronation of Wilan I, the new monarch of Blåskog, a country with which Tavaris had no particularly remarkable business one way or another. In truth, Otan would neither have been surprised or offended if they hadn’t sent him an invitation at all, so it was nice to have received one, but of course the decision of whether or not to attend was not only his. The same Ministry of External Affairs that had already opened and read this letter would have to clear his answer, no matter what it was. Oftentimes with letters from foreign governments, the aides delivered a memo outlining the ministry’s stance right alongside the letter itself. They had not done so here—by convention, the Emperor was granted a level of increased discretion when deciding whether or not to attend a function held by a foreign monarch—but of course, ultimately he was not allowed to leave the Tavari Union without a vote of the Council of State, so someone would have to grant permission at some point regardless.

The Emperor of the Tavari stared at the phone on his desk, thinking about how much he did not actually want to call his handlers about this. He wasn’t supposed to call them handlers, but that’s what they were, and while in theory they were supposed to grant him deference on matters of foreign monarchs, he had a feeling he was going to have another headache to deal with this time: the small matter of his recent… “injury.” For the past several weeks the general mood of the Tavari government had been to treat Otan as though he were a porcelain doll unable to handle even a moderately strong breeze without collapsing into dust. While the date of the coronation was well after his projected return to duty, he had a funny feeling his handlers—his aides—would be disinclined regardless.

Otan sat at his desk, suddenly conscious of the tightness of the bandages on his torso, and decided that he may as well call because it wasn’t like he had anything else to do. Really, he ought to be happy they hadn’t just given the letter to Hendrik. With the barest hint of a sigh, Otan picked up his phone and pressed the speed dial button for the Minister of External Affairs.

“Your Esteemed Majesty, to what does this one owe the pleasure?” Avri Takanaš was a young man, a few years the Prime Minister’s junior, though still older than Otan. He was something of a rising star and wunderkind in Irínavi Voi!, the governing party, and was definitely one of the Prime Minister’s favourites.

“I’ve just gotten the letter from King Wilan about the coronation in Blåskog. Did your people have anything they needed to run by me about it? There wasn’t a memo with it.”

There was an awkward silence at the other end of the line. “Oh,” Avri finally said.

Not promising.

“Ah, well… to be honest, sir, I presumed, or, excuse me, this one presumed that Your Esteemed Majesty would have preferred not to attend. How are y- how art the Emperor feeling?”

Avri was clearly not one for State Speech, the formal Tavari dialect traditionally used when speaking to the monarch, though Otan never held that against anyone. Not as long as they tried anyway.

“The Emperor is feeling fine,” Otan said gently. “And this isn’t until April the 20th anyway. I’ll be back on duty by then.”

“Of course,” Avri answered. Then there was another long, awkward silence.

“So… no guidance, then? It’s up to my discretion?”


“Minister, I depend on frankness when speaking with the Cabinet. I really get the sense there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Maybe it was his bandages, but he felt himself coming off more sharply than he might have intended. It was hard not to chafe on the bars of his gilded cage when they made it so, so small.

“We… I… This one…” Avri sighed as he surrendered and gave up on State Speech. “I didn’t think you’d actually want to go. We didn’t prepare anything. If… if you want to go, then o- of course… I- I mean, it is a monarch-to-monarch thing, after all. The Silver Court has that discretion. But we were all pretty sure… I mean, you refused to go to Packilvania, we thought East Borea would be too… controversial. And I guess we figured you’d want to rest rather than travel that far.”

“I declined to attend the Sultan’s coronation due to… well, you weren’t ExtAff at the time but the phrasing I used was ‘I will not step one gay foot in Packilvania.’ Borea, even the east, is gayer than I am. Is there a concern that my presence in Blåskog would, what, endorse something untoward? What’s the controversy? Species relations? Blood sports? Syrtænzna? If I refused to go to any country that uses its military or has skeletons in its closet I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere at all. And, I mean, it’s not like it’s Kæra’zna.”

“We… uh, don’t really know a lot about Wilan.” Otan could hear the sounds of papers being rapidly flipped and shifted in the background. “He was involved personally in the intervention in Rikevaarland, they called him the Soldier Prince. We weren’t sure if the optics of that-”

“A prince? Involved in the military? Why, I could never imagine such a thing. Who could ever? A prince! In the military! Imagine that! Say, Avri, I don’t know if you knew this or not, but fun fact about me-”

“I… of course, sir… We just didn’t know, if something in the future were to come out about the operation he took part of…” It seemed for a moment as though there was about to be yet another long, awkward silence, but it was quickly punctuated by a low droning noise that Otan eventually realized was Avri groaning. Moaning, even. “I… I’m not supposed to tell you this, sir…” Avri was whispering now.

Otan sighed. “What did Žarís tell you not to tell me?”

“We can’t guarantee your security, sir. We can’t trust the Marshalls. The entire Tavari military is riddled with nationalists and we… we just… it’s so far away. We have no intelligence apparatus in East Borea whatsoever. Literally none. Internal threats, external threats, we just… we don’t know. The Nuvrenon PD is doing fine securing the palace, but they aren’t trained to be diplomatic security. We don’t have any other diplomatic security. We… Žarís was certain you wouldn’t actually want to go. We weren’t prepared to actually have to tell you no. So, I mean, I guess that means the answer is yes. That’s the convention, right? We’ll… we’ll find a way to make it work. But we just don’t… I mean, we couldn’t secure you in your own home, sir, let alone literally the other side of the world.”

It was Otan’s turn for a long, awkward silence. “This… this is humiliating. What are we, a failed state? Has anyone, ever, even once, run a background check on even a single member of the Royal Tavari Marshalls? You can’t guarantee my security. What… what do we have a country for, at this point? Can we ensure the safety of anyone, if not the monarch? Spirits take me. I… you, and Žarís, and every single Minister, and every single damned civil servant in this country should all resign, if you’re admitting the Tavari government can’t ensure my safety. I mean, Spirits above, am I safe even now? Should I leave my house? Should I move to Rodoka full time? Or, hell, even Ilarís! Maybe I should just go to Blåskog and never come back!”

The other end of the line was so quiet Otan began to think Avri had hung up. Only an eventual sniffle convinced the Emperor to stay on the phone. “Is… is that an official advisement from the Silver Court? That… that the government should resign?”

The Emperor did his best impression of the Prime Minister by pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling a long, bitter breath. “No, Minister, I was not actually asking you to resign. And I couldn’t cause a constitutional crisis even if I wanted to. Hendrik is still Chief. I… Look. If you actually can’t guarantee my safety, then don’t let me go. I’ll tell Wilan I’m not well enough to go. Spirits above. This is an embarrassment. We’re a nuclear power. Are the nukes safe?”

There was a subtle click on the line. “Your Esteemed Majesty, please pardon my intrusion.” The Prime Minister, Nuclear Nevran herself, seemed as if by magic to appear suddenly on the line the moment the nukes were mentioned.

“Prime Minister.” Otan’s voice had gone sharp again.

“This one texted the Prime Minister to join us,” said Avri quietly. “So that His Esteemed Majesty could have utmost confidence in the clarity of the advice provided henceforth.”

“Prime Minister, the Silver Court is disinclined to hear from our ministers that they have been asked to conceal information from us.” The Emperor decided to break out the State Speech himself. Strictly speaking, it was unnecessary for the monarch to use State Speech unless speaking to the State—that is, in an address to the public—but it felt appropriate here, if only as a way of emphasis. “In the future, if circumstances are such that in the government’s judgment it cannot fulfill its obligation in ensuring the continuance of our person, to the degree that our ability to function in such basic, fundamental tasks of our office as visiting foreign monarchs, we should be quite pleased to hear it from you, our Chief Administrator, preferably as close to the moment in time the government reached this conclusion as practicable, and certainly not after having to practically pry it out of the External Affairs minister.”

“Emperor, please, you’re going to make Avri cry.” Žarís, for her part, did sound apologetic. “I… I am deeply… I apologise to you for…” She sighed. “I didn’t want to add more stress to what you were dealing with, especially since it isn’t… well, I mean, this is a problem that we can’t just… fix. I can’t just snap my fingers and…” She stopped. “I know you know that. This one apologises, Emperor, for this lapse in judgment. Your Esteemed Majesty is correct, this information should have been brought to the Silver Court much sooner and with more urgency and seriousness. Your humble servant promises-”

“You know, Žarís, I don’t actually… I’m really more concerned about the state of the military. I’ve been hearing for years now about how terrible our intelligence apparatus is, about how we need to separate the military from law enforcement, about how our military is full of extremists… have we made no progress? Have we fallen so far that the King of Tavaris literally can’t travel? This can’t continue. We aren’t a valid state if we can’t ensure the safety of our officials and if we can’t trust our own military. Are things so bad?”

The Prime Minister was quiet for some time. “We… have challenges. We have a lot to fix. Things aren’t going the way I hoped, or planned, or expected. I… thought it would be easier. I… after the Ranat Accords, after we managed to create such a powerful peace right on the precipice of war, I thought surely that would be the hardest part. I thought everything else would be easy by comparison. But it… it hasn’t been. The Diet can’t settle on a single program of reform. The military is riddled with resistance to any change whatsoever. We’d have to… well, the only word to describe it is ‘purge’ the general staff and… several echelons of the leadership hierarchy, and we don’t have the people to replace them. And it turns out that throwing out an entire national intelligence apparatus and starting over from scratch is, well, enormously difficult and vastly expensive, and all of this is occurring right when an absolutely massive hole has been blown in the military budget and every other budget now that we’ve lost thirty million taxpayers.”

Once again, silence fell on the phone call. It was an oppressive silence, heavy with significance, so heavy no one could even sigh. “Well,” Otan finally said, “at least we know we didn’t kill Carl IX.”

“Ha. Ha ha. Ha.” The Prime Minister chuckled, and then guffawed, and then laughed and laughed and laughed. Avri finally joined her, and Otan did as well, until he had to stop and clutch his chest with a decidedly unroyal strained wheeze of pain.

“Look. We’ll… we’ll get you to Blåskog. It’s a bad look for Tavaris not to go to these sorts of things. We don’t have any intel on or in Blåskog, but also, there’s frankly not a huge chance anyone out there cares enough about Tavaris to present a threat. We haven’t involved ourselves in their issues. Actually, this is a great time to start building a relationship. We… we’ll send you with the Greater Ilarís Executive Security Team and some Rodokans. We’ll say you’re representing the Union as a whole, maybe they’ll think we’re doing it for diversity’s sake. If we’re lucky, the media won’t pay any attention to us at all, there will be plenty of other countries there with closer relationships with and more poignant things to say about Blåskog. I promise, your government is working to restore confidence in our security apparatus. Just… while you’re there, try to keep a low profile. Maybe not so much dancing.”

The Emperor tenderly rubbed the bandages on his chest. “I assure you, that won’t be a problem.”

To His Royal Majesty, Wilan I of Blåskog and the House of Torhall:

It is with tremendous pleasure that I received Your Royal Majesty’s recent letter of invitation to your coronation, and I am equally pleased, on behalf of all the nations of the Tavari Union, to accept. The occasion of a throne passing from one occupant to another is always a moment of mixed feelings, but I extend to Your Royal Majesty my most heartfelt hopes that this moment can be an opportunity for a new and most prosperous beginning for Blåskog, Borea, and the world. I am honoured to have the chance to join you in celebrating this moment.

To let Your Royal Majesty know of a logistical matter, as you may know, recent events in Tavaris have caused me to become injured, and I have been recuperating for some weeks while I heal from surgery. Your coronation will be my first international trip since the injury, so in an abundance of caution, my physician has advised me to travel with a small medical team in the event that an unforeseen circumstance arises. While I am unlikely to spend much time on the dance floor during the festivities, otherwise I seem to be in fine condition and I look forward most eagerly to attending the coronation.

With Warmest Regards,

Otan IV

Emperor of the Tavari, King of Tavaris, High Chief of the United Tribes of Rodoka and the Isles, Chief of Nuvo, Chief-of-Chiefs, Lord-Patron of Ilarís and Defender of the Faith


(Joint post with Norgs)

Xerxes thought being a disputed King in exile might diminish his monarchal stature some, but it seemed there were some in the myriad royal circles who felt otherwise, Wilan chiefest among them. The newly-crowned King graciously extended to him and his wife Astrid I of Helslandr an invitation to his ascension to the Blåskovian throne. Sat in the time-worn armchair passed down through generations of nobles that came before him, he read the invitation once more for the sheer unlikelihood of it. It wasn’t every day a forlorn King such as himself received official communiques.

“I know Borea is a bit colder than you used to but hey, at least Blåskog hasn’t been in a civil war.” Astrid said in a kind tone as she gave a kiss on the exiled king’s cheek as she looked over his shoulder towards the invitation letter. It was technically a letter mostly directed at her, but both were invited to it and the letter did directly mention Xerxes as well.

He kept his gaze on the letter, his eyes rolling at the comment regarding a certain home country of his having undergone a civil conflict for the better part of the current century. “Dear, I love you, but please don’t patronize me. Nonetheless, the cold is a welcome respite from Tarov’s humidity. Gods, I really can’t stand it down there at times.”

“Xerxes, I was referring to the current country we’re in.” Astrid said in a slightly taunting tone as she scratched the back of his head. Xerxes felt his ears heat up at the realization that he confused his own civil war for Astrid’s. Helslandr while nowhere near as destructive as Nilovia was still recovering from its civil war. A reconstruction that was fueled by NCEF and Federation finances. “Still we both should prepare to wear much warmer clothing. East Borea is especially harsh for its coldness.” She gave him another kiss on the cheek before pouring the two of them cups of coffee.

He put the letter down and meandered over to Astrid, wrapping his arms around her as she poured the coffee. Xerxes turned his head and looked over to the pet fox curled up asleep next to the fireplace, breathing lightly. “You’re right. Shall we bring Fluffykins with us?”

Astrid giggled slightly as she looked over towards their pet fox. “As long as we remember to tell the Blåskovian government to accommodate that four legged trouble maker, I would love to bring him with us.” She put down the coffee pot back on the table before sitting down next to her husband leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’m glad to finally spend more time with you. It’s been a while.”

Xerxes ran his hand through her silver hair. “I know, hon. One day we might have a normal life, in our own home, no back and forth.”

“Well there likely still be back and forth, Helslandr and Nilovia are well on the other side of the planet from each other.” Astrid took a small sip from her coffee cup. “But hopefully the future will be a bit brighter. Though for now let us just relax here for a moment before I tell my prime minister about my decision.”

“Of course. Let’s savor this evening.”


Lambertus was having lunch with the prime minister. They had discussed a lot of domestic affairs, especially around Marislia. That was seemingly a defining part of Franklin Barvata’s second stint in office after the absolute shambles of Riannar Karmer.

Finally, the conversation moved to the letter.

“What do you think about the invite?” Lambertus asked.

“I’m surprised you received an invitation at all, since they despise everything the monarchy of Morstaybishlia represents. One only has to look at anti-Morstaybishlian sentiments after the Arachnist expansions. I hold conflicting views, your majesty. Blaskog has a troubled history with its minorities that continues to define it as a nation, and well, it’s Borean,” Barvata scoffed, “Is it worth your time?”

Setting down his cutlery, chuckling whilst he finished his food, Lambertus said: “It seems you have rather conclusive thoughts Franklin. I see Sinter Tass has left quite the legacy on you. But it might be quite nice to go, it’s been a long time since I’ve been up in that part of the world.”

“As you wish. I can’t stop you, I can only tell you how much of a bad idea it is,” he paused. “Was your last visit in that region to Kurandia in 2015?”

“No, actually, but that’s a good guess. After the Kerilo Accords I was invited to Tano in the transfer ceremony.”

“Yes that’s right, one of the most blatant examples of neo-colonialism in the last century.”

“They’re quite a hospitable people though, much more so than the Boreans.” he opened his mouth to a wide reactionary smile.

Franklin chuckled at that. It took him off guard a little - the King rarely made jokes of that nature.

“I’ll make a thing out of it. I’d like you to arrange a visit with the Kurandian government afterwards, and then the administration in the Rotantic Territories. I think the royal presence has been sorely lacking.”

“That can be arranged. I’m sure the Kurandian government would love to have you. They might even let you pot another tree, or something.”

The King laughed, and continued to indulge in his afternoon tea.


“Wilan did it.”


Eoforwine’s expression remained the same. “In my professional opinion, Your Royal Majesty, it is my belief that Wilan masterminded the death of his own father. He stands to gain the most from it, between gaining power for himself and the chance to repair Blåskog’s reputation given how much its involvement in the Syrtænzna Dissolution War is associated with his predecessor.”

Prince Æthelred’s glance drifted over from the Prime Minister to his own father, King Ælfric III.

The prince had never really had been in the thick of Tretridian politics, despite having had an ear to it out of necessity given the constitutional role of the Falcon’s Throne. While as one of Tretrid’s Æþelingas, he was on paper eligible to succeed to the kingship, as the younger sibling to his brother Æthelwulf, he was under no illusions he would be ever made King. Neither did the monarchy hold the immense political power it once did under his Cenhelming ancestors.

So it was curious that he had been called in for a meeting with the Prime Minister regarding an invitation to the Blåskovian coronation.

“Mr. Æthelstanesunu, would the potential involvement of Wilan in his father’s death impact the safety of any potential Tretridian delegation?” the King asked.

Eoforwine thought about that for a couple seconds. “Not unless Wilan is far dumber than he lets on. Blåskog’s international standing is poor enough after the war without any diplomatic incidents occurring at the coronation. If Wilan wants to portray himself as a reformer like he has, then causing a scene at his coronation would be actively detrimental to his ends.”

Æthelred spoke up now. “Do you think Wilan is genuine with his reformist intentions?”

“I don’t think that matters, quite frankly,” Eoforwine said. “What matters is what he ends up doing with the power he now has. Many a would-be reformist have found themselves perpetuating the institutions they once decried. Even the noblest of intentions can be corrupted by power.”

Eoforwine Æthelstanesunu had always struck Æthelred as a bit of a doom-and-gloom person. He certainly was not alone in that assessment.

“How would you advise us to respond to the invitation, Mr. Æthelstanesunu?” Ælfric asked.

“Our relations with Blåskog have been quite poor, so in sending an invitation to us, Wilan is likely signaling some sort of intent to improve relations. I believe our response should be measured and cautious, but not openly distrustful,” Eoforwine said. “In that spirit, I think the presence of your royal person at the coronation may lend perhaps too much credence to the Blåskovian monarchy, when, as I’ve said, we ought to wait to see how any potential reforms Wilan may push will turn out.” He now gestured at Æthelred. “That is why I requested His Highness’s presence in this meeting. I believe that he should go to the coronation as a representative of the Falcon’s Throne.”

Alright, so this was a bit of responsibility he had not expected to have been given so suddenly, though perhaps Æthelred should have seen it coming. It wasn’t often that he went abroad to conduct diplomacy, because usually if royal involvement in such wasn’t conducted directly by the King, it would have fallen to Æthelwulf.

“Mr. Ætheltstanesunu,” he said, “do you believe the presence of a professional diplomat may be warranted, considering the expected guests and the nature of Borean affairs?”

Even when the royals went abroad for diplomatic events, they never really carried out foreign policy. That fell on the Royal Diplomatic Service, the Tretridian foreign service. The professional diplomats there lived and breathed foreign affairs.

Eoforwine considered that question briefly. “It may. It’s an important enough event that there should probably be an ambassador present in case matters of potential political consequence come up.” He paused briefly. “The Ambassador-at-Large to Borea will accompany you, then. There are quite a few strategic partners of Tretrid that will be present at the coronation, so she will no doubt want to at the very least talk to them. Her assessment of Wilan would also be particularly helpful.”

“That ought to settle it, then,” Ælfric said. “Unless you have more questions, Æthelred.”

“None at this time,” Æthelred said.

“I would like a copy of your response to be forwarded to me,” Eoforwine said. “Other than that, I have a meeting with some Councilors coming up in about half an hour, so I think I ought to get going. Have a nice day, Your Royal Majesty, Your Highness.”

With how Eoforwine conducted himself, Æthelred wasn’t sure if he had experienced a single nice day in his life.

He decided not to say that to the Prime Minister’s face.


(Jointly written with Luna)

18th April, 2024
Kungstad, Blaskog

Ingrid let out a deep sigh as she placed her attention towards her prime minister. “Mrs. Engebretsen, I understand that you’re angry bu-”

“That piece of shit, racist is going to be there and you bet your third husband I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!” Victoria was just little more than angry. “Did not a single brain cell scrapped against the wall of that man’s mind?" She raised both her hands in the air. “I spent so much of my life in a prison cell, just for some obese racist to say we’re fascists! I got dragged out of my bed before, thrown into prison for fighting against the government. Just so this overweight bag of hot air say no. I’m actually the fascist. Me!"

“He’s Auroran, the lacking of brain cells seems like an endemic issue there.” Ingrid shook her head from her prime minister’s attitude. Though not one she necessarily disagreed with. She was wearing her signatory red kimono, both because it signaled her political beliefs but also mainly because it made the Blåskovian driver give a concerned look to her from his rear view mirror. “Though he will not be there at the coronation or at the party following after the coronation. The only one attending from Morstaybishlia is their king, Lambertus.”

“I’m going to rip that king’s throat out with my teeth.” Victoria said in a harsh tone, squeezing her fist closed tightly. “You would think children of rapists and butchers would know how to take two minutes just glance what Nystatiszna is now and have their prime minister spout out lies about us.” She grit her teeth, giving a brief look towards Ingrid. “No offense to your royal line of course.” Victoria being rather quick to correct herself in present of the Enshrined Spirit.

“You’re forgiven.” Ingrid took a sip from a small glass of cocktail, the limousine given to them for this celebration having several alcoholic drinks on board. If they did this for all guests or just because they were Akuanists she did not know. “I might not show it but I am absolutely enraged over the lies Barvata told the world about us. Though I’m not surprised that, that excuse of a leader, has clear hirdist sympathies when he befriends anti-Akuanists like Hustreache.” A small hint of anger could be felt in her voice before it subsumed. “But do try to not rip the poor king’s throat out, he’s probably just ignorant. Or at very least our anger better placed by calling out the injustices MBE brings, I for one think we should recognise claims Tangrland and Meremaa has on MBE’s little colonies in North Gondwana. Stand up with our fellow anti-colonialists.”

“He’s not poor, he never starved before.” Victoria mumbled under her breath before shaking her head. “Why are they even here to begin with? Honestly, they have no right to be in Borea let alone East Borea after what their kind has done.” She reaches over to grab a glass for herself, taking a small drink of it to calm her anger down. “Aside from them, I would like to place a focus on Blaskog and Lapliszna while we’re here. Mostly Lapliszna, we have a number of Nystapi in Nystatiszna and it would do us a great kindness if we keep our friendship strong with the government there.”

“The new king is trying to repair his country’s reputation after his father did his damndest to ruin it. The invitation to Morstaybishlia and other non-Boreans are purpose to show he is not like his father.” Ingrid took another sip from her glass before glancing out of the limousine. “I’ve met Wilan before, and I’m close with the Valkyr Jarl. I can tell that the king is doing a lot of this to not seem like his father.” She couldn’t help but slightly admire and envy the wealth she saw in Blåskog’s streets. Stolen wealth, yet wealth nonetheless. Of large skyscrapers, large shipyards and major industrial capabilities. How much she wished for that all to burn one day. “Eitherway Morstaybishlia does unfortunately have territory and influence in Borea through their colonies and their neo-colony in West Borea. So they have a small reason to care.” They both shared a frown at the fact that Kurandia exists. “For our foreign policy on Blåskog, well. I won’t change my rhetoric much but it wise being friendly with Lapliszna, and I think as much Blåskog’s influence on the country is unfortunate, that Lapliszna could work well as a mediator between us and those Carlists.”

“We have to be friendly with them regardless, Esta the Protector wields unparalleled influence with the Nystapi People. The country itself, and the Nystapi PM is of course important but Esta the Protector can destabilize the Nylabsizna province. There quite a few Nystapi don’t make up the majority of the province but it is still enough to be of some issue.” Victoria took another sip of her drink, looking at the piles of stolen wealth forged into buildings outside of the window. “I seek spirits blessings every night, that they would be cruel to this country as much as they were cruel to ours."

“Don’t worry I will soon give those blessings when the time is right.” Ingrid finished her glass as she said that. “I have a close friendship with the Nystapi Jarlynja, she will be at the party. She has continuously asked me about my new husband, so I can tighten my bond with her there.”

“Ah, yes… Your new husband.” Victoria scratched the back of her neck, not supporting her multi-partner marriage but who is she to question an Enshrined Spirit’s wisdom. She sat there in silence for a few moments before reaching into her briefcase, opening it up to take out her briefing. Taking these few extra moments to re-read the material.

Ingrid for her part did not make any comment about Victoria’s awkwardness, the Matriarch instead kept looking out the window. Her eyes glancing towards the limousine behind them. “I hope they getting along.”

_ _

Ingrid’s two husbands simply sat in complete awkward silence in the limousine they were in. With Hjalmar dressed in his royal uniform while Ny’Saki was dressed in a sea blue kimono, with special decorative symbols on it reflecting the shrine he worked at. Neither of them spoke for the longest moment, until Ny’Saki finally broke it.

“Do you know where we’re going? Fyllikenkrasjlander only informed to dress well before leaving.” Ny’Saki giving a very, polished tone. Speaking in a language Hjalmar didn’t speak even remotely understand. His Nys’tat’en being, even by other Borean Nys’tat’en speaker standards, extremely hard to understand and archaic.

“I do not understand a single thing you just said.” Hjalmar replied in a stoic tone, attempting to get through him by speaking in Codexian. Which naturally Ny’Saki also did not understand. Hjalmar has been trying to learn Nys’tat’en but to say it was difficult would be a massive understatement.

Ny’Saki tried again this time in flawless Ulvrikian, a language that has not been widely spoken outside of clergy since the 13th century. Which got a similar response from Hjalmar. In effort trying to better become friends with his wife’s first husband, he reached over to open the liquor cabinet part of their car as all upper-class Borean’s cars have. Pulling out a strange bottle filled with a light blue liquid and covered in sparkles. He raised it towards Hjalmar, giving a small shaking motion while raising his eyebrows.

Hjalmar glanced down at his wife’s second husband, then towards the bottle before shrugging his shoulders as he reached out to get themselves two glasses. “When in Borea.” He muttered half amused to himself as Ny’Saki poured for the two of them.


(Joint written with Luna)

(CW: Flirtatious language)

“You should be so happy that I love you so much.” Johanna said giving a warm yet tired look towards her elven boyfriend, and technically her boss. With her carrying both of their smaller bags as they exited the Jarl’s private plane, with Jørgen following right behind her.

“It’s important venture you know, diplomatically and business wise. My family is quite invested into Lapliszna and other parts of Akuan Borea.” Jørgen gave a smile, letting his bodyguard Yuri carry his other bags. Not that he could carry the wardrobe he brought with him anyway. “Beside, I’m your boss anyway. So shouldn’t you be doing this because it is your job hmmm~” He gave a joking tone.

“You should be careful what things you say, dear. I know many ways to muffle you.” Johanna said giving a look over her shoulder towards the Jarl, her eyes both glint of teasing and danger before she looked forward again. “And you should understand, boss, that this is a political risk for me. Almost within months of me becoming prime minister I go towards a diplomatic visit to the country that reason I lost my previous position.” Her tone, while still professional, did not hold the same coldness as most people who knew the ‘Ironhanna’ of old. Instead her tone fitted more with the ‘elder sister’ nickname her Valkyr fans have given her. “So I’m expecting you to repay me for this. And no, buying tight suits will not be worthy repayment this time.”

The good Jarl smirked at his girlfriend as she gave him a casual threat before listening to her again. In which his smirk dropped and he nervously scratched the back of his head. “Ah, yeah… I forgot about that whole…. Thing.” He gave a very forced chuckle at it. “Yeah Blaskog yeah…” He started to trail off before he recovered back into usual forced smiling all the time self. “Well, I suppose I have to buy you a dozen birds then.”

Johanna let out a small sigh as she noticed the immediate mood shift from the young elf, placing down the bags she was carrying she immediately turned around to face him. Putting a hand on his collar as she pulled him in for a loving kiss on the lips, ignoring the paparazzi and journalists taking pictures of them as she did so. “I’m gonna be alright, don’t worry about me. Just letting you know the reality of the situation, okay?” She said in a warm tone as she looked at him, smile on her lips as she did so. Though he was slightly taller than her, yet that did not change the actual dynamic of their relationship.

“Sorry, I uh, really did forget about why you got fired from Norgsveldet.” He gave a charming smile despite his tone, giving her a kiss back before he heard Yuri give a grunt. “We best get a move on before Yuri decides to carry me in front of the cameras again.” He gave a real genuine smile and a soft chuckle at that.

“Well I’m certain the magazines have plenty to write about from seeing that cute flushed look of yours.” She said with a small chuckle as she gave him a peck on the cheek before turning around again and then picked up the two bags before once more leading the way towards the airport.

“Shush, I am extremely manly in the Norgsveltian way.” He gave a very ‘manly’ hphm, which sounded more like a spoiled, yet adorable child. “I believe Esta sent someone to pick us up, we are staying with her and Estrid.” He waited a few moments as they walked forward. “By Esta sending someone to pick us up, I mean her butler Ny’Jon did. So don’t worry anything too crazy.”

Before Johanna could even comment she couldn’t help but notice that the moment they entered the airport, with plenty guards guarding them, that in the distance was Princess Estrid and a short brown haired kemonomimi butler. With the Princess waving excitedly to them. “Seems like she sent two.” Johanna muttered under her breath as the two of them walked towards the pair that had been waiting for them.

“Ah! Estrid darling!” Jørgen being the very good boyfriend he is, walked ahead of Johanna to give her a very large hug. “It has been too long.” He gave a kiss on the cheek, before giving her some personal space. Well, some personal space for Akuan standards. “How have you been? Did you do something with your hair? Does my eye spot a different shade of black hair-dye.”

Estrid couldn’t help but giggle from the kiss but gave him one on his cheek as well. Having gotten used to the closeness Akuanists have expected by her by now. “Hey my black hair is natural I’ll have you know.” She gave the Jarl a playful shove. “I’ve been good! Esta been a little bit trouble maker, but I’ve stopped her from doing anything too bad."

“By stopping her, she means she told me to stop her.” Ny’Jon said in a stoic tone as he gestured with his hand for Johanna to hand him their bags. Which she naturally did. “I’ll get the limousine ready for the three of you.”

“Thank you, Ny’Jon!” Estrid said in a warm tone as the butler walked off. “He been of a lot help, honest divine gift for Esta I swear.”

Yuri stare blankly at Ny’Jon then back at the very small, not at all sized properly limousine. Then back at the small man in front of him. Walking past him to place the bags into the back of the car rather than making Ny’Jon suffer trying to hold onto his boss ‘packing lightly’ wardrobe. Then proceed to look at Jørgen with a raised eyebrow.

“I ordered you a rental, it be in the convey.” Jørgen looked around and saw a very large shiny Gyllir SVU. “There it is, I ca-”

Yuri gave a grunt, crossing his arms looking at the Jarl.

“Yuri, I be fine, we have a small army worth of guards around us an-” He was cut off again by Yuri giving a harsh grunt with a squint.

“You will be right behind us Yuri. We are completely safe here.” Jørgen gave a charming smile at the Ursine.

Yuri gave another grunt shaking his head. “Don’t worry Yuri, I still have my emergency necklace.” Jørgen reached into shirt to show off that he was indeed wearing it. “It just be for a little while Yuri.”

Still unconvinced but finally accepted it, giving a strong, harsh stare at Johanna. Pointing at his eyes, and then pointing at the woman. Then proceed to walk towards his rental car.

Johanna couldn’t but just give a confused look towards the ursine before shaking her head. “Well It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness.” She gave a small bow towards Estrid, though the Princess surprised her by pulling the prime minister into a hug.

“Oh you don’t need to be formal with me, you dating Jørgen you practically family.” Estrid said with a wide smile as she gave Johanna a tight hug before pulling away. "Let’s get going, Esta currently talking with Wilan about something important before he gets coronated. So she couldn’t be here with us.”

Jørgen gave a warm look towards the two of them hugging. “Yes, let’s get moving before Yuri starts texting me if I’m okay.” He gave a chuckle, entering the vehicle first and giving a quick thanks to the butler for holding the door open. Taking a middle seat, which while annoying for others to cross him, is unfortunately something he is required to-do after a very stern warning from Yuri and Olav.

The raven haired and snow haired ladies joined him soon with Estrid on his left and Johanna on his right. “Oh I forgot to say, but congratulations on the election. Can’t say I wasn’t surprised when I heard you got involved in Valkyr politics.” Estrid said in polite tone looking over Jørgen and towards Johanna.

“Well It certainly was quite different from Norgsveltian politics… There was no chibi version of me during Norgsveltian election nights I’ll say that at least.” Johanna couldn’t help but scratch back of her head nervously a little bit as the limousine driven by Ny’Jon began moving towards Esta’s private residence in Kungstad. She would make a comment about there also wasn’t v-tuber models of her in Norgsveldet either, but she was gonna spare Jørgen that conversation with how often she complained about the… ‘realistic physics’ of the models.

“She deeply troubled by how we in Vakrestrender insure people are involved in the voting process.” Jørgen gave a small smirk, looking towards Estrid. “I was more surprised that Johanna was unaware of our process with visual elements of politics, after all one only needs to turn on the news to see it at any given point.” He gave a gentle joking tone.

“In my defence, most my NNN coverage is from Osfjord, not Vakkerhavfruebukt.” Johanna said crossing her arms as she gave a firm look towards Jørgen though made clear it was joking in its nature.

“I mean, hey. I’m certain Johanna’s model really got people out to vote.” Estrid couldn’t help but tease, one could almost sense that Esta has rubbed off on her, Though Johanna severely hoped that the only thing that rubbed off on her was such teasing comments and nothing else.

“Well, at least your able to pronounce the capital of Vakrestrender without making mistakes and in one go now.” Jørgen looked towards Johanna now with a teasing smirk. “I remember when you first came here, and you thought it was a collective prank on you that it is the actual city’s name.” He leaned over to give his girlfriend a kiss on the cheek before she hurt him. “Don’t worry, Norgsveltians outside of Vakrestrender can’t pronounce the names of our cities easily either. Kirkeland still mispronounce the name regularly.”

“It has literally 17 letters for one name…” Johanna muttered quietly under her breath before letting out a small sigh.

“You should see some Nystatinne town names. Longest is 30 letters, and has only 200 people living in it.” Jørgen smiled brightly at his lovely girlfriend will most certainly will not hurt him for this later.

Johanna just let out a small chuckle at the Jarl’s comment simply rolling her eyes. “The names are much easier to handle now and I’ve gotten used to them. Though I will probably never get used to my nickname of the ‘elder sister’ or how I now look in the news.” Johanna couldn’t help but let out a small sigh over that fact.

Estrid couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at the reference of the nickname. “From Ironhanna to elder sister, certainly a new look. I’m certain Jørgen considers it an upgrade."

“Why does everyone assume I’m interested in older people? It’s only happened twice.” The Elven man crosses his arms, giving a playful shake of his head. “Though elder sister Johanna is a very cute name, for a very cute woman.”

“Because you are.” Both Johanna and Estrid said at the same time giving him a knowing look.

“Okay, then I just have to date a younger woman and then you both will stop?” He said with a cheeky grin until he turned his head to see a very serious look on his girlfriend’s face. “I’m joking, I love you and I will buy you a horse if you forgive me.”

“Jørgen your girlfriend is not Esta, only she can be bribed with random purchases of animals.” Estrid teased the poor Jarl.

“Don’t worry I’m a forgiving person but he has to earn it later.” Johanna said in a simple tone, though a teasing glint was in her eyes as she reached out to the liquor cabinet of their limousine to pull out a cocktail bottle.

“Well… That is deeply troubling for my future. Might as well get this out of the way then, while we were flying, I also greenlight another season of that anime inspired by the Sisters’ Conspiracy and I helped design your V-tuber politician design. Also I bought an ostrich ranch in Nyveldet.” Jørgen gave a warm smile as he listed a handful of his very normal actions. “Oh, also I had a new design made for your V-Tuber model since you’re the Prime Minister now.”

Johanna was just quiet at all that giving him a firm look but not saying anything. As such the silence in the limousine instead was broken by the princess. “Is that why it has ‘physics’ to it?”


Jon VII read the letter over a cup of coffee. He’d been handed it some time ago, but he’d only opened it to read it after he sat down for coffee with Duke Viktor II of Yoria, his long-time Minister of Foreign Diplomacy. Viktor waited patiently, he already knew the contents of the letter, or at least he could hazard a very good guess at what was in it. After a few rounds of looking at the letter and taking sips from his cup of coffee, Jon finally put the letter down and looked at Viktor.

Simply put, the man was getting old. He’d be turning 87 later this year and had been Minister since the mid 70s in the latter parts of Jon’s father’s reign. While his mind was still strong, there was no doubting he was getting weaker physically. He’d more or less required a cane to walk for the past several years now. The cane which had assisted his walking for several years was now more or less required for him to get about and he traveled as sparingly as he could nowadays, only going back and forth between Yoria and Stromharad when necessary, but given the nature of his job, that meant he more or less lived in Stromharad now, with his own son Jon acting essentially as his regent in Yoria. But his eyes still shone bright.

“Another coronation to go to, another chance to travel the world,” Jon mused. “I’ve never actually been to Borea, so this should be interesting.”

“Another king to witness being crowned, another son to give condolences to,” Viktor nodded his head. “Though let’s not forget, this is still Borea we’re talking about. Eastern Borea, even if it is Blaskog.”

“Yes yes, it is still Borea, but things do seem to be changing. It’s not the Borea of my youth nor is it the Borea of yours,” Jon waved his hand dismissively. “And while assassinations are almost never good signs of things to come, Wilan does seem to be wanting to take Blaskog in a new direction, one away from that of his father’s. Whether that’s for the better or for the worse, I suppose I’ll get a feel for that once I’m there.”

“Of course, Jon. Do take extra security though, one can never be too safe.”

“I’m not daft Viktor, extra security was still a given, especially since I’m going to be bringing Alexander with me. I’m not giving him a choice in the matter, it’s the perfect opportunity to socialize with foreign figures, and Ademar-knows he needs to, much as he dislikes it.”

Viktor tapped the rim of his cup idly for a few moments before he spoke again. “I suppose we should have a response drafted quickly then. Shall we start going over one soon?”

“A few hours from now perhaps. I’ve a few things I want to do first and I want to tell Alex he’s coming along before we start drafting it.”


To say that Olav had mixed emotions when the private plane landed on Kungstad’s international airport is to put it mildly. On one hand his mind reminded him that now there was a chance of change within Blåskog. An change to Carlist doctrine, and change to the aristocratic system in Blåskog. That reform under Wilan might be possible. Yet looking outside, towards the cold weather that the East Borean landscape was known for. He couldn’t help but feel. Uneasy in a way. Though he trusted Jørgen’s judgement over Wilan’s character, especially with the young king having his brother Prince Torster involved in government affairs. From what he heard the Prince have proven to be quite successful in getting the parliament on board. Though any reform would be fought harshly against by the Royal Council, and unless Wilan is willing to break that apart by force. Well, Olav couldn’t help but be pessimistic. Which his wife seems to immediately recognise and chastise him about.

“I can see it in your eyes, sweetie. You being negative again.” Wilhelmina said in a soft tone as she reached over the table to give him a gentle poke on the nose. Earning her a chuckle from the Norgsveltian king.

“I’m sorry dear, Blåskog unfortunately has that effect on me.” He placed a hand on hers, his much larger hand easily covering it.

“Jørgen did state that Wilan is very different from his father, how much he absolutely hated what his father stood.” She looked up at him, giving him a small smile.

“Well how much does that hatred stem from morality rather than family drama and trauma?” Olav raised an eyebrow at that as he looked down at her. “I’m not saying I do not trust Jørgen’s judgement but-”

“But you do fear our boy’s naivety?" She kept the dear smile he loved so much.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, I do. Perhaps Wilan is genuine in his idea of reforming Blåskog. But I fear he might not succeed, or worse reform it to something that is no less democratic.”

“Well, almost anything is better than what Blåskog currently is, right?” She taunted, earning her an actual smile from him.

“I guess that is a fair point. Almost any reform would be welcome.” He let out a small chuckle as he finished his cup of Eyjarian coffee before standing up, his hand reaching out to lift her up from her seat. “Shall we get going than?”

Placing her small hand on his before being lifted up from her seat and soon enough with him having wrapped an arm around her waist. “You know, the Côtois be mad that you drinking Eyjarian instead of theirs.” She had a teasing smile on her lips as she leaned up against his body as the two walked towards the door.

“Well you better keep your mouth shut than.” He gave her waist a squeeze earning a giggle from his wife as the two walked down the stairs and down towards the ground. A huge crowd of people were already there waiting for the arrival of the Royal couple. Journalists taking pictures of the two as they walked out of the plane, many yelling questions. Ranging from the king’s view of the soon to be coronated elf and some being more fashion related that the king personally had little interest in.

Olav was wearing his black royal uniform with purple highlights, with several medals on his right chest and a golden necklace with a raven head symbol on its end hanging from his neck. The medals being mainly from his time in the navy while some others came as a result of his royal lineage. The necklace meanwhile was one inherited by all Norgsveltian monarchs, and was one worn by all during ceremonies during ceremonies as Fylkir.

On her end Wilhelmina was wearing a deep blue kimono one fitting nicely around her form, with the kimono itself having several flowery and royal symbols on it. In many ways representing a mixture of her personal devotion to Akuanism while keeping in mind her being Norgsveltian.

The couple kept moving ahead being escorted by a large security team as the crowd of journalists and paparazzi kept following after them. Much to the king’s annoyance yet was able to keep a smile on his face as he held his wife close. In which soon enough as they got closer and closer to the airport, there became larger and larger crowds. Though this time journalists and paparazzi was switched with supporters and fans. Ranging from old elves from the Carlist clergy bowing their head in deep respect to their Fylkir, to younglings holding copies of the light novel made about the Queen asking for her signature. With plenty of yelling that they loved them. Though Olav might find the attention about them bit much at times, Wilhelmina however was far more content about it. Smiling warmly as she waved towards their supporters.

“Lovely its popular in Blåskog as well.” Olav muttered under his breath as he kept his smile on his face as he gave a wave towards the crowds as well.

“It’s popular around the globe, sweetie.” Wilhelmina said quietly rolling her eyes at her husband’s known dislike about the series about their romance.

“Unfortunately.” He mutter out before getting a small nudge to his side. “Fine, I’ll stop, I’ll stop.” He let out a sigh as he opened the door to their limousine for her.

“Good.” She said teasingly as she stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek, in which the king still had to hunch down a little bit so she could reach his cheek. In which she then sat down and scooted over to the other end of the limousine.

Olav let out a small chuckle as he turned around towards the crowds to give them a final wave before entering the limousine as well. In which it soon after drove off.