For Darius each long minute she took to read the message and give her answer only presented - in his mind - a testament to how ill-educated much of Connlaoth's fighting forces actually were. It was bad enough her own mordecai seemed ill-mannered and uncouth - and unclean at that - and even worse now that the very Grandmaster herself seemed to have a difficult time reading a simple dinner invitation.
Darius turned up his nose until he received his answer. With a tilt of his head, he bowed once again. "I will deliver your response with haste," he said in a soft gentle tone. The moment he could be free of these barbarians, he took it with a harumph sound and swung around on his heel. And turned his nose back up in that departure.
Roland was sitting in his office when Darius returned, stepping in as discreetly as was his gait. Roland looked up, hiding the iron band in his hand as he glanced up at the servant. "And? What is the verdict?"
"A proper beheading, I'm afraid," Darius smirked, an expression only met with a scowl from Roland. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I mean, she has accepted the invitation and would be happy to continue negotiations over food. Dinner will be served in a half-hour. Shall we make use of the banquet hall then?"
"No. This...is between me and her. Serve her soldiers a proper dinner in the hall, please. She and I will instead be taking our food on the third level sitting room."
"My lord? A sitting room? Seems a little...improper doesn't it?" Darius asked, genuinely curious.
"Yes, but these are negotiations between us. And I promise to maintain the highest sense of propriety. Now, go see to the food. Thank you, Darius. You're dismissed."
The servant chewed on his lip a moment before bowing out and doing as he was instructed. Roland watched him leave and he stood to ensure the door was shut properly behind him. In those few minutes, Roland hadn't realized he'd been gripping that iron band in hand, and he traced his index finger around the impression it made in his palm. He swallowed thickly, placing it back in his pocket and frowning.
He didn't know why she would bother to stay. If only throwing him into the fountain had been the end of it, that she would go back and report to her Grand Duke and prepare for war once again. That was how she became Grandmaster wasn't it? Because war was her creed. She served a man that gave no thought to the suffering of his people. She followed him, and yet here she was again doing his bidding.
The woman he had loved... loved still, now in talks with him over the fate of a province that had only garnered interest when it's ruler was no longer loyal to the crown! Roland saw this only ending one way. It was the only way, wasn't it? When he was either dead in battle or executed. He supposed a lot could happen between then and now, and that was a bridge that would burn once he crossed it.
Roland prepared himself. He'd never had anything so formal, and wore the crimson sash of the Red Legion interlaced with his uniform, a tunic beneath a black leather doublet, laced and buckled around his form. On the third level was an open sitting room, with a balcony to the far end of the room, a fire place on the opposite end, and wooden table closer to the open glass doors beside the balcony. It overlooked the courtyard, and those doors let in a cool evening breeze.
Roland waited beside the table where the food was served, not daring to sit until his guest arrived. Better late than never.