Emotions ran high in the lands that divided those of the High King and Duchess Midnight. Oberon positioned his camp in the middle of the area, a stone's throw from the Silverthorn Gates. A green silk tent with golden trim covered the entirety of his camp, and a banquet hall sat in the center where he was holding court to a rotating guest list of noble fae and fantastical creatures. Around his camp, the other nobles did likewise, taking their cues from their King. None are fooled, of course. While flowery words fill the surrounding camps, they only serve as a thin cover for the political maneuvering that could, at any time, break into open warfare.

Who would be on what side of the war was the interesting question all of the Fae Lords were pondering. While all should be loyal to the King, half the assembled lords could claim a lineage that gave them at least a thin excuse to claim the throne. The other half simply lied about their claims, knowing that if they won, the history books and genealogies would quickly be rewritten. Every Lord had alliances with several of their peers. Some through trade, some through blood, and many to cover favors owed. And while those alliances were confusing, they were as nothing to the strings that could be pulled by Duchess Midnight.

She had been the spider at the center of the nobility for dozens of generations. She knew who had secretly sired an heir on his rival's wife, who had murdered or attempted to murder a peer, and every other small detail of a sordid history of backstabbing. She also had proof through signed confessions, visions held in magical mirrors, and even witnesses bound to her service and transformed into household items. A story was told of her attending court one day and bringing along an old chair and footrest. She sat in the chair and propped her slippers on the footrest, drinking wine and saying nothing. Seven nobles, sweating heavily, had a change of heart and a change of their alliances, abandoning a young prince in his time of need. Rumor had it that if they had balked, the chair and footrest would have regained humanoid form and told a strange tale about a certain night when an heir to the gnomish throne went missing.

The Beast Knights had triggered everything, converging on the front gate, angered at her actions in detaining a mortal who had aided their wounded compatriot in his time of greatest need. Worried that they might invade the Midnight Duchy, others came to join in the fun, defend the duchy, help burn the duchy, help destroy the evidence of their ill doings, gain the blackmail for themselves, and use the chaos to settle debts while no one was looking. When Oberon himself arrived, the stakes became much higher. There was always an excuse for civil war and a new king.

The small fae showed up in the thousands to sell wine and food, set up a merchant's fair, and offer every service they could to the nervous nobles who spent gold like water flowing down a river. When the fighting broke out, they would retreat quickly and return to loot the battlefield of what they could. The noble Fae treated the lesser fae with disdain and a heavy hand. They were rewarded for that at every chance a lesser fae might find. Being slain on the field of battle was a bad thing. But it was worse to be injured and found by a scavenging party of the small folk. Their memories were equal to their taller cousins and they had so many more grudges to avenge.

Everyone wished they could hear the exchange between the Duchess and the Captain. But while the keenest-eyed could see through the mists to the clearing where they talked, no one could listen to what was said, with the possible exception of a few who held great power. And so they ate, drank, frolicked, and plotted, waiting for something to happen. Oberon, wiser than many of his subjects, kept one eye upon the two mortals who accompanied Princess Sahkmet. The Courier had been in the party escorting Prince Leporidon and had also been the one to bring the Captain from the Smoke to the gates. The Shepherd was a Hero of some renowned. Princess Sahkmet had recounted a story to Oberon of his journeys through Hades, speaking with Typhon himself on one occasion and leading forth an army of mortals on another. He looked like nothing special, just a country bumpkin here for the food. This caused alarm in many of the older lords. Those were the mortals that always caused the most trouble.

The Sphinx was a delightful addition to his court. No less than 37 fae had taken the challenge of her riddles. So far, 36 had failed and bore various curses and transformations. Only the clever goblin, Gombindle of Tuckbottom, had answered correctly and claimed a beautiful and loving bride as his prize. The couple had been summoned to dine at Oberon's table, much to the delight of the bride-to-be. Gombindle showed his wisdom by following his father's advice: "If you find yourself in too high a company, just nod politely, keep your mouth shut, and drink sparingly of the wine." He contented himself with several plates of food, keeping his mouth full and talking little.

Princess Sahkmet stood now at the Silverthorn Gates, the Courier, and Shepherd at her side, waiting impatiently and ignoring the chaos that swirled around them.

Ozzy hadn't been offered a chair of any sort, so he stood in front of the Duchess, looking at ease, and smoking his cigar. The Hound seemed nervous in her presence and lay on the ground behind the Captain, seemingly cowed into silence.

"I believe, Captain, that I have something you want."

"You do, and I have something you want. That's how business is done. I'll admit that it would have been easier just to send an invite or stop in to talk, but I'm here now, so let's get down to it. What is it that you want from me?"

The Duchess sighed inwardly. She usually enjoyed the first few hours of negotiations. The polite talk with veiled threats and maneuvering with clever words. This mortal skipped directly to the heart of the matter, robbing her of her entertainment. She would add the cost of that to what he owed her.

"Firstly, you will apologize for the grave insult you have done to myself and my house."

He shook his head. "Nope. I hate apologizing for the stuff I actually get caught doing. I don't recall an insult, and I won't apologize for what I haven't done. If you're upset about something, you have to spell it out or let it go." He absently flicked ashes to the pristine lawn they stood on and puffed on his cigar. The smell of it was causing some of the surrounding fae to be ill.

Her eyes flashed, and the soldiers prepared to charge. A wave of her hand had them stand down. "You speak freely for a mortal addressing a Noble of the Fae Court. Have a care."

The Captain shook his head. "I'm a Captain of the Smoke. On my deck, I am the nearest thing to a god my sailors have. I've stood in the presence of gods, fallen angels, and an emperor. Even punched one in the face. Fallen, that is, Gus is too nice of an Emperor to punch. I'm here to do business, not banter with polite words."

While everyone else tensed, Duchess Midnight relaxed. The mortal had laid claim to a higher station, and thus speaking bluntly with him would not reflect poorly on her. And she was curious about his dealings with the fallen. Those were the true power brokers, dealing with both sides of the War of Light. It explained certain things about him. She could sense both radiance and darkness within him. It was well hidden, but she was old and used to finding secrets.

"Very well, Captain. You should know that you and I established a pact to do business. I assumed your word was your bond and have taken insult at your dealings with Alwyn, Lord of Summer. Striking such a blatant deal caused me much disappointment. You owe me an apology, and you will immediately break your agreement with the Lord of Summer. Then we can do business."

"Oh, is that what this is all about? There's a slight misunderstanding on someone's part. I can only assume one of your minions erred and brought you fake news. I don't have any agreements with Alwyn or any other Fae Lord. But I can see how the story could get fouled up. There were three Captains aboard The Splinter as we dropped down from the Smoke. Captain Woodrat commands the ship and negotiated with Alwyn and Baron Billy for a three-cornered trade agreement."

"So, I'm as innocent as a puff of white smoke of any double-dealing. To paraphrase Lord Bartholomew: I didn't do it. No one saw me do it. You can't prove anything."

There was silence for a moment and then a second moment. Duchess Midnight turned to her Knight. "Sir Trunstonal, I believe the news you brought me has proven to be in error." He bowed, mumbled an apology, and prepared himself. With a flick of her fingers, silvered daggers sprung from her hand, impaling him. The poison worked quickly, spreading across his skin and turning him black. Then he melted into a puddle of foul-smelling goo, with his weapons and armor slowly dissolving.

She clapped her hands once. "Well, that certainly explains things, simply an error by a minion. Let us continue with our talk and how each of us can benefit the other." All the Suzettes clapped and smiled.