He was awoken in the early evening by a footman who brought a summons to attend the throne room. Vulkan dressed in the fresh garments that had been laid out for him and was relieved to see that the dress tabards fashionable in Dashane fell to just below the knee, so that his unpredictable organ might remain suitably covered.

Vulkan was eventually ushered into the king's presence, where he joined a short line of folk waiting to be called to the foot of the dais. Whilst he waited his turn, Vulkan took the time to survey the gathering of knights who were seated on two long, crescent shaped benches arranged on either side and slightly forward of, the dais upon which Leopold sat in the larger of three grand thrones, the other two, usually occupied by his wife and daughter, Vulkan surmised, were empty. The seneschal, Maximilian, stood beside the king and seemed to be acting in the role of Master of Ceremonies, organising the calling up and dismissal of those who had come to seek the king's favour.

Evidently, the knights were there to offer their advice, either that, or they were the frigging bouncers snorted Vulkan to himself derisively. When he sat on Leo's throne, he promised himself, those benches would be the first pieces of crap to go in the moat.

Vulkan looked around, noting sourly that the were no women present at all! Apparently, the Knight's Court was a male only talking shop – how unutterably fucking tedious he thought – another custom to be ditched. Nonetheless, the prince had to agree that the keep itself and indeed, all of the surrounding land he had glimpsed from his chamber windows were most impressive. The granite keep seemed to rise like a small mountain over an area of at least ten acres; a truly monumental undertaking and obviously the result of many generations of effort and far superior to his father's ramshackle holding.

The prince was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of his name being called and adopting the most scrupulous punctilio, he strode forward and gave Leopold his deepest bow.