The hurricane arrived in silk boots.
Cylvia clapped her hands once, and the doors flew open.
Three male elves entered like they owned the room.
Tall.
Sculpted.
Smirking.
They wore faux-adventurer gear — leather straps, mock armor plates, decorative blades clearly meant more for display than battle.
They strutted forward with the confidence of men who had never once been told they were not magnificent.
The room exploded.
Shrieks.
Laughter.
Wine nearly spilled.
Cylvia was already on her feet.
"Yes! Finally!"
The trio bowed theatrically before beginning their routine — dramatic flourishes, spinning cloaks, exaggerated poses.
They shed their outer gear piece by piece.
First the cloaks.
Then the armor straps.
Then the boots.
The women roared approval.
Most of them.
The Queen watched calmly.
The Vixens exchanged glances.
Dawn crossed her arms.
The performers were impressive.
Objectively.
Broad chests. Defined shoulders. Confident grins.
But something was… underwhelming.
Zee leaned toward Llandra first.
"…Is this what other men are like?"
Bunny squinted slightly.
"I guess so."
A pause.
"It's not really that much, is it?"
Llandra flushed immediately.
"I think they're considered large for elves," she defended weakly. "We're just… accustomed to something else."
The Queen, who had been listening carefully, narrowed her eyes.
Not at the dancers.
At the Vixens.
She remembered Nyxian's earlier description.
The gasps.
The disbelief.
Now she was studying the girls' expressions.
They weren't disappointed.
They were… spoiled.
Ah.
Interesting.
Dawn tilted her head slightly.
"I don't have much reference," she admitted quietly. "But I'm happy with…"
She trailed off.
The Vixens nodded in eerie unity.
Expectation versus reality.
The dancers continued their routine, moving from guest to guest — but the boundaries had been made clear early.
"No touching," Nyxian had stated flatly.
The Queen had echoed it.
"We observe only."
The dancers respected the rule.
They performed.
They flexed.
They posed.
Meanwhile, the real chaos began among the women.
"If he does that spin again, drink."
"If someone screams like that, two drinks."
"If Cylvia throws a coin— three."
Within minutes, the drinking game took hold.
The Queen watched, amused.
Then leaned forward.
"Instead of sipping," she suggested casually, "how about we do shots? The Royal Reserve."
The Vixens froze.
Then grinned.
The Queen ordered the maids to fetch the Royal Reserve.
Dawn blinked.
"You're serious?"
"Very."
The Queen poured the first round herself.
Glasses clinked.
The night shifted again.
Gossip flowed freely now.
Comparisons.
Teasing.
The Queen asked more pointed questions.
"How does he balance attentiveness with endurance?"
Nyxian nearly fell over laughing.
"Oh, Your Majesty…"
Llandra covered her face.
Cylvia was wide-eyed.
Dawn leaned forward, far more interested than she intended to appear.
The Queen felt something she hadn't in years.
Youth.
Mischief.
Belonging.
The spark her husband had shown earlier now burned in her chest too.
Tonight, she wasn't just a queen.
She was a woman among women.
And she was having the most fun she'd had in decades.
Across town, the tavern roared.
Jax had already claimed victory in arm wrestling.
Then axe throwing.
Then darts.
In the final round of darts, paired with Vaelrith, he landed the closing combination:
Bullseye.
Triple fifteen.
Double twelve.
The room erupted.
To the tavern crowd, he was lucky.
To the King and Vaelrith, he had been calculating.
Legos challenged him next.
Then Heiron joined.
A "double" arm wrestling match.
They tried to cheat.
Friends piled on their side.
Eight men in total.
Jax leaned back casually.
And pulled all of them forward in one smooth motion.
The table cracked.
The tavern exploded in laughter.
The King was red-faced and hugging everyone.
Vaelrith, surprisingly tipsy, allowed himself a visible smile.
Legos eventually passed out in a corner chair.
Heiron was upright only through stubbornness.
Then someone shouted—
"Keg stand!"
Jax blinked once.
Then shrugged.
He was hoisted upside down.
Pixie Mead poured freely.
"Seven!"
"Six!"
"Five!"
The countdown roared.
He did not falter.
Thirty seconds.
Clean.
He flipped back onto his feet.
Collected his winnings.
And walked directly to the bar.
"This covers every drink in the room tonight."
The bartender stared at the pile of coin.
Cheers erupted again.
Jax left a tip large enough to be remembered for generations.
Heiron never noticed.
He had intended to pay.
He was currently arguing with a chair.
The guards "blending in" were now actively carrying Legos toward the caravan.
Back at the castle, the dancers had finished.
Most of the women were flushed and giddy.
The Queen leaned back, watching Llandra laugh freely with the Vixens.
She could see it clearly now.
They loved him.
Not just physically.
Fully.
And that… mattered.
She lifted another glass.
"To tomorrow," she declared.
"To tomorrow!" the room echoed.
The men rode back toward the castle under starlight.
Legos half-asleep.
Heiron humming tunelessly.
Vaelrith surprisingly steady.
The King leaned back beside Jax in the caravan.
Drunk.
Happy.
"You know, Altherion," Jax said casually.
(The King's first name settling naturally between them.)
"You should reconsider your isolationist policies."
The King turned slowly.
Jax continued.
"There's prosperity waiting on both sides. Trade. Innovation. Shared strength."
The King thought of the wyvern feast.
The spices.
The refrigeration unit.
The bow.
The way his people reacted.
He thought of feeling alive again.
He thought of his daughter's smile.
He thought of this human sitting beside him.
Soon to be family.
Soon to be a bridge.
The King exhaled.
Perhaps it was the drink.
Perhaps it was clarity.
Perhaps it was both.
"When we return," he said quietly, "we will open negotiations."
Jax raised a brow.
"With Solmere?"
"With the United Kingdoms."
Jax looked shocked, but happy.
The King leaned back.
Decision made.
Tomorrow would bring marriage.
But tonight—
A kingdom shifted.