The proceedings of the festival announcement went accordingly. Valen, after a bit of rest, a change of clothes, and a re-review of his speech notes, did as he was often expected to do; Stood before a crowd of nameless, faceless people and gave a delightful, heartening speech declaring the event and it's associated fanfare with all the vim and enthusiasm that a young, engaged, bright-eyed duke should be expected to-- all to the great enthusiasm and enjoyment of his audience. He looked the part as much as he sounded it-- Having been fitted and changed into an impressive, silver-embroidered, navy blue doublet, on the shoulders of which sat quite the dignified nobleman's cloak; Lined with tiger's fur that had been chemically dyed white, and embroidered with the noble stallion upon which the Duchy stood for.
His smile, as brilliant as his golden tresses. His voice, a proud, yet gentle beacon of unity and innocence. A better puppet Duke he could not be. It was no wonder that the lower-- and even middle-class women often paid him such awed gazes. People see what they want to see, after all.
Before long, he stepped down from the stage, and as was often the case with these public orations, he was practically swarmed by his adoring public... practically, being the key word. There were more than enough members of his personal council and assigned guard to prevent that from happening as he took the opportunity to slip out of the main hall, his smaller stature allowing him easy-enough egress. There was a small, quiet library chamber that he could use while he waited for the post-speech fanfare to die down.
Why was his entourage so protective of him? After the events that occurred on the afternoon of his appearance at the noble's gathering in Ardal's main estate were investigated and found out proper, public events with the duke had become much of a risk-factor. Ardal was, despite the high morale of it's people, not in a position where it would survive an assassination of it's duke in public, and the council knew that. Even his father, despite... well. Even he knew he couldn't afford to let his son be killed off in public.
As he entered the room, and the silence of solitude fell on his shoulders, his mind drifted back to that day. He'd nearly died... had it not been for a certain spy's timely intervention. It almost seemed as though fate had conspired to see them cross paths, he felt-- for her to save his life, and then... well. He'd pushed the events in the marsh to the back of his mind, not having given himself a lot of time to truly process any of it. Perhaps that was for the best-- perhaps he could do that now, while he waited in silence.
...Or perhaps not, he thought to himself, as his ears-- then his eyes-- caught wind of a very familiar pair of footsteps, belonging to a very familiar figure. Conspiring of fate, indeed...
"Ah, so you were here. I was just thinking about you." Valen near-tactlessly blurted out, revealing his presence. His father had always taught him one thing, and one thing above all else-- complications didn't disappear. Better to simply address them head-on where possible, else they become worse.
