Molt, the next morning, met with a representative from the NATO nations.
"Your Imperial Majesty," The representative greeted with a smile. A member of the US' own senate. Part of him found it strangely familiar that they also had a senate, but the absence of a monarch was baffling, especially given how long their nation had apparently lasted.
The Saderan Republic had barely lasted a generation, before corruption and greed tore it apart, being replaced by the current Empire, nearly a thousand years ago.
"Senator," Molt Sol Augustus returned the friendly look.
They, along with a small entourage of aides, sat within a pavilion, hidden in a more private part of the Count's estate.
"As I understand it, you did not request this meeting to discuss details of the treaty?"
"Correct," Molt nodded with a sigh. "I intend to negotiate a show of good faith. NATO is supporting the Warrior Bunnies, yes?"
"As well as others," The senator, who had earlier introduced himself as Jeff Palmer, nodded. "What are you getting at?"
"I have gathered a large number of Warrior Bunnies, as well as some other demihumans, that had been enslaved. I hereby release them into NATO custody," Molt said. "This is the total number, with several august personages amongst them named."
Jeff blinked as he took the offered gold embossed vellum note from one of Molt's aides.
His eyes blinked, then narrowed as he saw the number of people and one particular name.
"I… see. On behalf of NATO I formally accept this gesture in the manner that it was offered," He frowned. "However, I must ask, I was under the impression that Queen Tyuule was the… property of your son. Is he likely to cause any issues over this?"
"I have seen to it he will not cause any issues on this matter," Molt frowned, ignoring the distaste with which the senator spoke of slavery.
"I see," The senator nodded. "Now, how do you intend to transfer these people to us?"
"I have brought several of them with me, the rest would need to be supplied either on their march to your territory or transported with your flying… things. They are not beasts, from what I understand?"
The senator winced as he realised the sheer number of supplies and logistical complications that would arise.
'Not so easy to build up an army, while feeding refugees, is it?' Molt kept the smile from his face. 'Both need food, supplies, bedding. You can't invade the Empire should negotiations break down, if you have a refugee crisis to deal with.'
"Correct. They are machines, but I will let others discuss those details with you," He sighed. "Alright, I'll get on the horn and call in some support to transport them. About the ones you brought with you, however…."
"I felt it would impolite of me to deny them the ability to reunite with family," Molt said. "And Queen Tyuule needed aides and courtiers appropriate to her station."
Tara glanced between Richard and Giselle later that evening.
"How!?" She demanded, careful to not raise her voice too much.
Giselle just gave her a look to convey her confusion before returning to the platter of food she had secured from the servants.
Richard, sitting on a bench in one of the Count's more secluded gardens, simply continued to give the twin dragon hatchlings attention, rubbing their chins and necks.
"Fire dragons are considered impossible to train," Tara groaned as one of the dragons nudged her hand. It leaned into her touch as she petted it. "How did you tame them?"
"Giselle did," Richard shrugged.
"Yeah, but they weren't like this," The Demigod countered through a mouthful of food before swallowing. "You've somehow turned them soft. Most of what I did was magic and raising them away from their mother."
Richard noted the synchronised look the two dragons gave her. Their expressions were too inhuman to be easily readable.
Tara sighed and sat next to him.
"Something wrong?" Richard asked as the two dragons moved away.
"I'm just… nervous," She admitted. "We tried so hard to avoid him, the count that is, yet, here we are in his estate, at a party. It's… not what I am used to."
Richard snorted.
"You at least have some idea of what to expect of the politics here," He said. "I'm fumbling and running off of second and third-hand accounts of six-to-ten-hundred-year-old politics to make an educated guess. I don't have the goodwill like I do at Alnus to cover up or excuse mistakes or insults."
"Oh, if we insult the wrong person, we might damage the treaty," Tara realised with a groan.
"…Riiiight, Molt's children are here, as are several of the senators and their families," Richard slumped. "We're going to need to be careful."
The pair sat in a depressed silence. After a moment, Tara put her arm around Richard.
Giselle gave a squawk of surprise as Mowto knocked her over, letting the two dragons snatch her snacks from where they fell.
With a shout of anger, Giselle leapt up and chased after the two, who bolted into the air.
"Should we be concerned?" A voice asked.
Richard and Tara leapt up in surprise, blinking.
Molt, his face impassive, stood next to Senator Jeff Palmer.
Tara's eyes flickered over them, to focus on a third figure with them.
Richard paled at the appearance of the Saderan Emperor, but he didn't notice the way the Warrior Bunny who was part of Tara and his protection detail tensed.
"Tyuule, I presume," He said.
Molt suppressed a slight smile at the absence of Tyuule's title.
"This is Queen Tyuule, yes," Jeff confirmed in English. "Ah, my apologies. Sir Richard, may I introduce His Imperial Majesty, Molt Sol Augustus, Emperor of the Saderan Empire. I am Jeff Palmer; I believe my friend General Jameson has mentioned me?"
"Yes, I believe you called during a meeting about this festival, actually," Richard replied, giving Tara a sidelong glance at her continued silence.
"Yes, well," Jeff gave a nervous cough. "Why don't we continue our discussion and leave Tara and her sister to talk in private?"
Richard glanced at Tara.
With a deep breath, she shook her head and shooed him off.
"Alright," Richard said, tentatively, falling into step alongside Molt and Senator Palmer. "What do you wish to speak about?"
"Well," Jeff began. "I suppose I should explain the situation. His Imperial Majesty has made the effort to secure the release of many of the Warrior Bunnies taken as slaves. Including Queen Tyuule. NATO is organising the logistical concerns to transport them to Alnus."
Richard winced.
"Senator, I don't suppose it would be possible to organise additional support for the Alnus community?" He asked, thinking of the troubles faced from the last surge of refugees. "Construction, funding, food, etc."
"Oh, yes, certainly," Jeff blinked. "I will see what I can do. But… I don't suppose, either yourself, Sir Richard, or you, Your Imperial Highness, know much about healing magic?"
Molt hummed.
"Healers of various sorts will promise miracles, I find, for pay," He said. "But rarely do they fulfil my expectations."
"I seem to recall something about a god of healing," Richard said. "But that was just rumours. As for the rest, most of what I have heard is the result of elixirs, and within the realm of our medical technology, allowing for embellishments."
Jeff sighed.
"I see, thank you,"
"You are in good health, I hope?" Molt asked, glancing at the senator.
"Oh, I am well, yes," Jeff replied. "Thank you for your concern, your Imperial Majesty. But it is my daughter who is unwell. Beyond what our capabilities can restore, though she is at least stable."
"My condolences," Molt expressed his sympathy. "My firstborn was lost to plague. It is… unpleasant to lose a child before their time."
"Now, speaking of children and the future," Molt glanced at Richard. "Sir Richard, what do you think of my daughter?"
He didn't miss the way the senator stiffened.
"Why do you ask, your Imperial Majesty?" Richard asked. Emotion bleeding into his voice. Fear and unease.
"If this treaty is to be sealed, there need to be ties between our nations," Emperor Molt explained. "I acknowledge that your traditions are likely different, but surely family is still sacred?"
"Ah," Jeff interjected. "Not particularly. I will spare you the long-winded explanation, as it can vary between individual nations, but no, family is seen as too easily broken."
"Compared to reputation and legitimacy in politics, anyway," Richard said, relieved to have avoided the topic of Pina. "That isn't to say dynasties don't exist, but they are generally informal and not all of them are viewed with respect, dependant upon their related politics."
"I see," Molt hummed. "But, there is still the matter of this world and it's politics. From what I understand, you are of noble descent, Sir Richard? What of your relationship with your king?"
Richard blinked.
"Uh," He fumbled. "I only met his Majesty once, and… I think the noble family I am distantly related to was related matrilineally to the House of Stuart?"
Molt frowned.
"And the current ruling house is…?"
"The House of Windsor, formerly House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, now a cadet branch with the death of her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second," Richard replied, more confidently. At Jeff's look, he shrugged. "A matter related to one of the papers I wrote for university."
Molt hummed in understanding.
Tara offered her sister a seat as she stared.
On the surface, it appeared the rumours had been true, that she had been a pampered prisoner, not a slave.
She was dressed in a blue dress in Saderan fashion, made from exotic fabrics, that went well with her eyes and hair. She smelled of what once might have been called expensive perfume – though Tara had encountered superior products through the Gate – and jewellery decorated her form.
But there were gaps. Cracks in the facade.
The way she walked showed signs of injuries that didn't heal quite right. Suspiciously placed, if well done, patches of make-up. Scars that could be seen beneath the dress.
And the hollow look in her eyes, almost in shock.
Tara remembered the look well, having worn it while escaping from a Saderan camp, under the nose of a sentry, with Richard.
The look seemed completely alien, more than any of the bureaucracy of NATO had been to Tara, on Tyuule's face, who had always either worn a look of impassivity and determination or when they were along with family, away from prying eyes when they were younger, a warm smile.
"So, is Molt really just… letting you go?" Tara asked. "What about Prince Zorzal?"
Tyuule glanced at the singular guard a short distance away.
"Do you trust them?" She asked in a low voice.
"Yes?" Tara replied, confused. "He fought alongside us when we broke out of enslavement."
Tyuule's face twisted into a sadistic smirk.
"Molt and his eldest are opposed. Zorzal is most likely infuriated with my freedom," She looked at her sister. "I've been slowly feeding poison into his ear, even as he abused me. If he takes the throne, it will destroy the Empire."
Her breathing was erratic, even as she forced her features to form a collected mask.
Tara saw the fire behind her eyes.
"But with the treaty…" Tyuule narrowed her eyes. "What prevents the otherworlders from destroying the Empire?"
Tara blinked. The fire… scared her.
"Is… is revenge all that is on your mind?" She asked. "The destruction of the Empire your only goal?"
"Our people hate me," Tyuule hissed. "Our homeland is gone. Our people are scattered and enslaved. It is all I have left, and at least if the Empire falls, our people at least have a chance."
Tara slumped. She had had a hope, however faint, that her sister might be able to take the throne.
"Richard and NATO have been helping us rebuild. Our homeland is lost, yes, but our traditions are being restored. Our people survive. NATO is strongly against all slavery, which will likely be a point of the treaty," Tara explained. "As for the treaty, NATO fears the results if they did crush the Empire. Warlords across Falmart, disease, famines, guerrillas, chaos."
"Emroy's halls would be overflowing, as would Hardy's," Tyuule sighed, slumping. "Was it all for nothing?"
Tara winced, reaching up to comfort her sister, as her shoulders shook.
A noise came from Tyuule, a sobbing laugh that grew with each breath.
"You never answered my question, Sir Richard."
Richard suppressed a flinch as Molt spoke.
"You daughter," He began. "Is a stalwart, clever, and principled woman. But I have gotten the impression she does not particularly like me."
Molt nodded.
"She seemed to have been under the impression you were one of the people that stood to gain from the Empire's destruction, initially. However, now I believe the dislike is a matter of perceived interests," Molt said. "I suggest you take the time to speak to her. Now, I believe we have taken enough of your time today. Return to your lover and her sister."
Jeff snorted.
"Just don't miss the banquet in a few hours that our host is putting on," He called out to Richard as he began to leave.