After spending years establishing herself in Arynn Frey, it was strange to be packing away her life with so little warning. Others had been sent to gather her belongings from the other spaces that she had occupied, but Alinore had seen fit to clean out her office herself. With a little help, of course. The skeletal creature reached her shoulder and skittered about on two legs as it transported stacks of paper and other possessions around the room. There was a pile to be burned, while those items and files that were to be kept were packed safely away.

Bowen Belcourt’s presence was announced by a familiar knock followed shortly by a familiar voice. When he poked his head through, Alinore was standing behind her desk, examining and sorting through a pile of parchments, one of many. At his words, she looked up and offered a smile. “Minister Belcourt,” She greeted him as she paused in her work, a piece of paper in hand. “I wondered when I would be seeing you.” She set the document in its proper pile, then added, a tad unnecessarily given that he was part way through the door, “Please, come in.” The audacity was one of the many things she would not miss about Arynn Frey.

With an imperious wave of her hand, she directed the summoning to clear a nearby chair on the other side of her desk for him should he decide to take it. Over the years, she had learned that he was a conscientious man, aware of his size particularly in relation to a woman of her stature, and keen enough to realize that she did not particularly care to have a conversation while craning her neck upward to meet his eyes. “You may sit over there, if you would like.” It was an invitation - she would hardly banish him from her office should he refuse, and he knew it - though it was one she expected him to take all the same.

“I would offer you some refreshments, but I am afraid they have already been packed away.” As she abandoned her stack of papers in favor of her new company, Alinore dismissed the summoning, circled around the desk, and leaned a hip lightly against the side as she considered Bowen. Though hardly anyone would suspect such an unlikely partnership, the man was one of the few tolerable aspects of living in Arynn Frey.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Despite herself, she was rather curious as to the gifts he had brought, but it would hardly do to immediately inquire after them; she might have spent the past several years living among Arynnites, but she still maintained her proper, Nevermerean sensibilities. “However, I can send for some. I believe they have something similar to that particular brand of Nevermerean tea I seem to recall you favoring. Will you be here long?”

Perhaps because of the way they valued knowledge or perhaps due to their lack of exposure to such magic, but Arynnites were always fascinated by her witchcraft, and Bowen Belcourt was no different. As he approached the summoning, Alinore momentarily paused in her work to watch him examine the spindly creature. When he straightened and delivered his verdict, she arched an eyebrow at him with a smile on her lips. “Cute?” Her tone was vaguely amused. “I daresay most would disagree with you, but if I have learned one thing over the years, it’s that you are not afraid to have a unique perspective.” Perhaps that was why they worked well together, and their professional relationship, a minister of Nevermere and a minister of Arynn Frey, that had become something akin to friendship. Alinore was not familiar with the concept, but for what it was worth, she held Bowen in higher regard than she did most other Arynnites.

The man in question sat and waved away her offer of tea with self-deprecating humor, to which she offered a smooth, “I expect you know better than most the significant difference between needing and wanting, Bowen, but I will hardly force refreshments upon you.” Despite the power tied to his position within the Arynnite government - and even the nature of the posting itself - he was a surprisingly good-natured man, friendly and genuine in a way that most Nevermerean nobles were not. On the surface, the contradiction seemed like it ought to have been irreconcilable, yet somehow he made the pieces fit together. That wasn’t to say he lacked the shrewd perceptiveness of a Nevermerean courtier - certainly not, for he had attained the job he had for good reason - and perhaps that was why Alinore preferred his company to that of most others: he might not have had the same inclination for wordplay as she, but he reminded her of a kingdom of those who did.

And, of course, it helped that he always treated her with the respect and deference she deserved.

Alinore did not find it surprising that he inquired after the circumstances of her abrupt return to Nevermere. “My posting here was never intended to be permanent,” She said, letting him draw from that what conclusions he would. That particular statement had never been confirmed to be wholly true for her, but she liked to think the king wouldn’t have sentenced her to a lifetime away from Nevermere, even if it did further their kingdom’s interests. “King Cassian has seen fit to utilize my services elsewhere.” They might have developed a partnership of sorts, but Alinore never forgot who he was. She might have invited him to Nevermere but for the fact that he was the minister of internal affairs and she knew better than to bring a snake into her home, even one with a friendly smile. “If you do,” The witch offered instead. “You may always write to me, but our kingdoms are close allies. I would not be surprised if our paths crossed once more in the future.”

Her lips quirked upward in a smile. Though he might not have known it, Bowen had stumbled upon a fitting word indeed for the people here: silly. For all the information that the Arynnites liked to collect about the world around them, Alinore had often found herself of the opinion that she knew more simply for having lived in it. Perhaps Nevermere wasn’t as bright and airy as Arynn Frey, but the shadows that clung to her kingdom taught important lessons that very few from this insular utopia could hope to understand. Protected by their isolationist tranquility and with every need met rather than worked for, Arynnites had a childlike quality to them that Nevermereans lost by the time they started training - if they ever had it at all.

“If I am the older sister,” Alinore mused aloud, arching an eyebrow at him. “Then I suppose that would make you the younger brother.” A slight pause. “One who knows exactly how to take advantage of the leniency granted to him by people who only see what they want to see.” Or, perhaps more accurately, what he wanted them to see. Even if his position in the Arynnite government hadn’t clued her in - no one made it to any seat of power without developing a duplicitous mask of some sort - like recognized like. Bowen Belcourt simply disguised his thoughts with far more joviality than she.

As he spoke of stuffy old men and no longer being challenged by her work here, she neither confirmed nor denied the truth of his statements, instead offering him a smooth, “I suspect you know that you are hardly the horrible company you make yourself out to be,” before the conversation continued. It was with no small amount of curiosity and interest that she regarded the box he handed her, glancing at him as she took it before revealing its contents. The items and accompanying explanation had a genuine smile rising to her face. “I truly was not expecting such gifts. Thank you, Bowen.” She set the box down on the desk beside her and inspected the pen, running a finger over the gem set in the middle. “I daresay I would be unacceptably rude not to write to you now,” Alinore observed, glancing over at him as she indicated the object in her hand, “after all of the effort you have gone through to make it so easy for me to do so.”

Setting aside the pen, she admired the bouquet of flowers for a moment. “And these are absolutely lovely. They will never wilt? It is quite remarkable what your enchantments can achieve.” Alinore delicately lifted the flowers to her nose and breathed in the familiar aroma before a faint memory prickled in the back of her mind. She tilted her head slightly as she considered the Arynnite before her. “If I remember correctly, these are the same kind of flower from when we first met, are they not?”

In the time she had spent in Arynn Frey, Alinore had very quickly discovered that very little seemed to change with any particular frequency within the kingdom. Perhaps it was due to their extended life expectancies, which she had been shocked to hear were about twice her own, or perhaps it was because the queen sought the stability that would allow her to consolidate her power and earn the confidence of her people. Regardless, word of the shift in who filled the position of Minister of Internal Affairs had spread like wildfire throughout the palace and was about as difficult to extinguish.

For all she had heard of him, Alinore had never met Bowen Belcourt in person, and the man who walked through her door was not who she would have imagined filling such a delicate role. Having been seated at her desk filling out paperwork, she stood now and rounded the desk to greet him. Often she had to look up to address those to whom she spoke; rarely, however, did she have to look up so far. Alinore found that she did not enjoy feeling so small.

“Minister Belcourt.” The words were accompanied by a pleasant smile as she welcomed him, gracious as ever. “Please, come in. Take a seat.” If she recalled correctly, and she usually did, the Minister of Internal Affairs was charged with handling internal threats to the kingdom. It was no small accomplishment, but she couldn’t help but wonder: what was the mettle of a man who acquired this position in a land as ostensibly peaceful and harmonious as Arynn Frey? “It’s a pleasure to meet you. May I offer you anything to drink?”

Let the game begin.