The Hand of the King had not so much forgotten about her appointment with the Morrigan scion as she completely lost track of time. Managing the affairs of a kingdom expanding rapidly into empire was a feat unto itself; managing those affairs while the king langured bedridden was another matter entirely. Kennet was spent, and when the guard at the announced the arrival of one Lord Morrigan, it was all she could do not to sink further into the cushions of her divan.

Her slippers were halfway across the room, and she had spent the better part of the last hour with her hand embedded in her hair reading the missives that now littered divan, table, and floor alike. With a weighty breath and a weary look at the apologetic guard, Kennet finally nodded.

“Give me a hand first, would you?”

The witch, to her credit, was already moving to assist. With the guard’s help, Kennet’s slippers were returned to her feet, her hair was combed through, and the scatter of papers was restored to a tidy stack on her desk in a matter of minutes. By the time the witch returned to her post to let Lord Morrigan know the Hand would see him, Kennet was standing behind her desk with a single missive in hand, absently scanning its contents in picturesque form.

She had already chosen the smile she intended to wear, and it lit across her features at the sound of the door opening. “Lord Morrigan.” Precisely which Morrigan he was, Kennet was struggling to recall at the moment, but she was confident it would come to her shortly. “Do come in. I admit,” she remarked, voice lilting in a practiced arc as she waved an inviting hand to a circle of divans in front of a flickering hearth, “I have been looking forward to this for some time.”

He was the intrepid one, she was certain of it, the one with the enterprise at the docks and his eye set on Coheed. Kellan…Cillian…

It would come to her.

Keelan wasn't much of a smiling person, he wasn't much in the way of letting his emotions out it was like a very high tower had been built around him since he was a child. However when he was greeted by Kennet he wore a respectable smile and his decorum as a guest was impeccable, "Likewise Lady Kennet, I do hope my presentation for you is of the highest standards of course I'd be a liar if I hadn't been working on this since the mere mentioning of our kingdom's expansion," he was ready to get down to business but in due time, "and I heard our majesty is on the mend from his illness?"

Keelan. The man’s name fell into place the moment he stepped toward the fire, drawings tucked tidily under his arm. If nothing else, the momentary lapse confirmed what she already knew: that Adder Morrigan was a prolific bastard, and—perhaps more relevantly—that she was in desperate need of some rest.

With an easy smile of her own, Kennet followed Keelan Morrigan to the plush circle of seats she had offered. The low table in front of the fire had been cleared of any remnant missives and stood ready to support whatever drawings or proposals the Morrigan had at the ready. Rather than claiming a seat for herself, Kennet slipped past the long divan toward the cabinet on the adjacent wall.

“For once, it seems, the rumors are true,” she mused, tossing a grin over her shoulder and retrieving a pair of glasses from the cabinet. “His Majesty is in fine spirits and rather looking forward to the parade. Shall I pour us something before we begin?”

Keelan when he did truly smile had a haunting look about his face, "Oh that would be lovely Lady Kennet, I enjoy a good splash of liquor when I tend to celebrate," coy and calm as always, Keelan Morrigan felt without a doubt that he had the exclusive shipping deal in the bag the rest would just be icing on a cake. The Morrigan wasted little time as the drinks were poured to set up and roll out his plans and documents of his research, "...I will be honest you make think of me as greedy by the end of our talk Lady Kennet, perhaps a little I obsessed on iron details but you won't doubt my tenacity to serve our King."

The first presentation was of the shipping trade to which he had a copy for Kennet as he went along, "To start I want to handle exclusively the future of trade and sea transport of good to and from Nevermere, I have a small fleet of well crafted ships sitting in port ready to transport anything from goods to the materials for the future expansion into Coheed," she could read the entire proposal but Keelan was still going to present it in his own words, "No ones better equipped my lady, I promise not another shipping family holds the weight I do. None have stepped forward to offer what I have. Not only can I support the load but I can unburden our majesties Naval ships of the responsibility seventy five percent of those I employ are retired, maimed, and discharged soldiers they afford added security while transporting..."

Of the myriad of stones Kennet weighed others against, greed had never been one of them. What was greed, after all, but a shallow word used to criticize some more explicit purpose? As far as she was concerned, it was an obfuscating and entirely irrelevant sentiment. Rather than voice as much, Kennet grinned over her shoulder and she set to pouring their drinks.

Behind her, Keelan Morrigan straightened his papers and—true to his reputation—cut straight to the matter at hand. Kennet did not bother to smooth the arc from her brows as she turned, whiskeys in hand. Instead, she crossed the room with a bemused smirk, setting one glass on the corner of the table for Lord Morrigan and carrying the other with her to a plush cushion in front of the crackling hearth.

“Exclusive trade.” Green eyes danced from Keelan to the proposal on the table and back again. “And what,” Kennned mused, “do you suppose we do with the other shipping families?” The Caerns, for instance. Despite the arc of amusement in her voice, there was a thread of intrigue weaving its way across the table, an unspoken invitation to persuade and convince.