"Why don't you just ask the elves to give up one of theirs?" Dante muttered, his eyes lingering on buildings and shapes in the distance. He sighed and shook his head softly, letting his posture be forgotten and tilted his head forward. His smile was undeniable. He didn't want to go, but nor would he have chosen to stay among the kingdom.

His mind drifted to what it had been like the last few weeks there along the people who were there. Too many spiteful looks had he suffered, and so many more men had spat on him, despite his rank. He had begun to loathe the people there. Too many days had been spent waiting and watching the ones who would speak ill of him, those who would never rise above him, yet still thought that he did things incorrectly.

The elven king stood atop the stairs, at the end of the road that led all the way to the castle, though it was not meant to be a road as such, he allowed the humans to beleive it so and bring their carriage built on laziness and grandeur down all the way to the base of the stairs. His sigh was gently and good-natured, wondering if his daughter would be ready in time to recieve their guests. He watched as down the road the carriage ambled along.

Danttro squeezed his wifes hand. "He'll return one day, more a man than I ever was," he promised her and looked to his son. "He'll thank us one day, I'm sure."

Dante made a face, and then caught his fathers' eye, turning his eyes back out the window. "At least you were kind enough to leave me with my sword... Are you not afraid that I'll kill the king?"

"You won't kill a king just to spite me, Even less reason for you to do it, if you think it will have anything to do with me..."