John stood there, his green skin feeling even greener under the gaze of seven nobles who looked at him like he was a particularly unpleasant stain on their expensive marble floor. His silver-gray curls were still messy from sleeping in the chair, and his leather armor was still torn from the fight. He was acutely aware of every scar, every patch of dried blood, every imperfection that marked him as something other than human.
Sir Draven stepped forward, his tall frame blocking some of the stares. He placed a hand on his chest and bowed to Duke Ashford at the far end of the table.
"Your Grace," Draven said, his voice steady. "This is Gob Lynn, leader of the goblin village on the eastern border of Greystone. He has come to negotiate the future of his people and their relationship with Thornheim."
The duke didn't move. Didn't blink. His clasped hands remained on the table, his weathered face unreadable. The other nobles, however, were not so restrained.
A young elf with too much confidence and not enough sense leaned forward, his pointed ears twitching. Auger Strewts, son of Banet Strewts, the spice monopolizer. He looked like he had never been told no in his entire life, and his eyes were fixed on John with an expression of pure, unfiltered disgust.
"A goblin?" Auger said, his voice dripping with disdain. "We're negotiating with a goblin? Have we fallen so far as a duchy that we need to sit at tables with vermin?"
John's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. He walked toward an empty chair near the middle of the table and sat down. Draven sat beside him, his presence a quiet anchor.
The nobles shot John death glares. All of them. Even the ones who hadn't spoken yet. Their eyes bored into him like they were trying to set him on fire with sheer disdain.
Draven cleared his throat. "Your Grace, honored nobles. Let me explain what transpired in the forest."
He spoke for several minutes, his voice calm and measured. He described the orders to clear the eastern forest, the fourteen goblin villages they had exterminated, the encounter with John's village. He described the fight, the way John had faced them alone, the way his people had not attacked but had run and hidden. He described the negotiation, the agreement, the promise of safe passage.
When Draven finished, the room was silent for a moment. Then Auger slammed his fist on the table.
"So you're telling me," Auger said, his voice rising, "that we slaughtered fourteen villages of goblins, spent gold on weapons and supplies, and now we're supposed to just... let the last one live? Because their leader can string a few sentences together?"
Belamy Volsh, the fish monopolist, nodded vigorously. His greedy eyes darted from Draven to John to the duke and back again. "I agree with the elf. This is a waste of time. We should kill the goblin, burn the village, and be done with it. The forest is Thornheim territory. We don't need permission from vermin to clear it."
Belin Bonne, the elven archer commander, said nothing. He sat perfectly still, his hands folded on the table, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance. He was twenty-one years old, younger than Auger by decades in elf years, but he carried himself with the stillness of someone who had seen too much violence to be surprised by anything.
Darwin, the thirteen-year-old son of the Duke of Jossle, kicked his feet under the table. His chair was too tall for him, but he had found a way to perch on the edge so his feet touched the ground. His face was flushed with indignation.
"Why are we even talking about this?" Darwin demanded, his voice high and petulant. "Just pay them off. Offer them gold. Goblins love gold, right? Give them a few coins and tell them to move somewhere else. Problem solved."
Gwin Franson, the frightened merchant who had lost most of his capital in the Mousche explosion, wrung his hands. His face was pale, his eyes darting around the room like he expected someone to stab him at any moment.
"I don't care about goblins," Gwin said, his voice reedy. "I care about my money. My shipments from Mousche are gone. My warehouses are empty. My investors are demanding returns I can't provide. Can we please focus on something that actually matters?"
Aris, the spoiled younger brother of the Duke of Lonis, leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. He was twenty-two, handsome in a soft, pampered way, and he wore his wealth like a second skin.
"Do you know who my brother is?" Aris said, looking down his nose at John. "The Duke of Lonis. He could buy your entire village a hundred times over and not notice the dent in his treasury. So why should we listen to a creature that probably can't even read?"
John opened his mouth to respond, but Rowdrin, the Duke of Xesil, cut him off.
"Now, now, let's not be hasty," Rowdrin said, his voice booming with false joviality. He was a human man in his thirties, broad-shouldered and red-faced, with the kind of smile that made you want to check your pockets. "I'm sure the goblin has something to offer. Perhaps he knows the location of valuable resources. Or maybe he can serve as a guide through the forest. Xesil won the tournament last year, you know. Best archers in Thornheim. We could use some live targets for practice."
Nobody laughed. Rowdrin's smile faltered, then returned, undimmed.
Auger slammed his fist on the table again. "This is ridiculous. My father would never stand for this. Wait until he hears that we're negotiating with goblins. He'll have all of your heads!"
"Your father is three hundred miles away, Auger," Belamy said dryly. "And he doesn't care about goblins. He cares about spices. Which, by the way, are still not arriving because Mousche is a smoking crater."
"That's not my fault!"
"I didn't say it was."
"You implied it!"
Belamy shrugged. "Take it however you want."
Darwin kicked his feet harder. "Can we please just offer them gold and move on? I have a riding lesson in an hour. I don't want to spend all day arguing about goblins."
"Nobody is offering gold," Auger snapped. "We're not giving them anything. They're goblins. They don't deserve gold. They don't deserve anything."
Aris yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Do you know who my brother is? He could buy and sell your entire spice operation, Auger. So maybe don't act like you're the one in charge here."
"OH MY GODS, NOBODY FUCKING CARES ABOUT YOUR SLUT OF A BROTHER!" Aaris yelled from the back which made aris jump in fear.
"I'm not acting like I'm in charge! I'm just saying—"
"You're saying a lot of words that don't mean anything."
Auger's face turned red. He looked like he was about to cry. "Wait until my father hears about this! He'll—"
"Your father will do nothing," Belamy interrupted. "Because your father is old, and tired, and he doesn't care about goblins. He cares about spices. Which, again, are not arriving."
Rowdrin chuckled, slapping the table with his palm. "You know, this reminds me of the tournament last year. Xesil versus Lonis in the finals. Down to the last arrow. The tension was unbearable. My son was crying. My wife was praying. And then—"
"Nobody cares about your tournament, Rowdrin," Aris said.
"Xesil won."
"I don't care."
"You should. It was a masterclass in archery. The way our captain adjusted for the wind, the way he—"
"I said I don't care."
Rowdrin's smile finally cracked, just a little. "Well, you should. It's important to celebrate the achievements of your neighbors." he muttered sheepishly under his breath.
"They're not my neighbors. Lonis is on the other side of the kingdom."
"Geographically, perhaps. But spiritually—"
Aris groaned and put his head in his hands.
Gwin, the frightened merchant, was muttering to himself, counting on his fingers. "Forty percent of my capital. Gone. Just... gone. And now I'm sitting here listening to people argue about goblins and tournaments while my business collapses."
"Nobody is collapsing," Belamy said. "You're being dramatic."
"I lost forty percent!"
"Then you have sixty percent left. That's still a majority."
"That's not how percentages work!"
"It's exactly how percentages work."
Gwin looked like he was going to cry. "I want my money back. I want my shipments. I want Mousche to un-explode. Is that too much to ask?"
"Yes," Auger said. "Mousche is gone. The crater is still smoking. You're never getting your money back. Accept it and move on."
"You don't know that!"
"I know that you're annoying."
Belin Bonne shifted in his seat, the first movement he had made since sitting down. He turned his head slightly, his eyes passing over the arguing nobles without interest, and then he went still again. John got the impression that Belin could have sat there forever, unmoving, unblinking, while the world burned around him.
Darwin pulled out a small leather pouch from his pocket and jingled it. "How much gold do goblins even want? A hundred coins? Two hundred? I'll pay it myself if it means we can stop talking about this."
"You're not paying anything," Auger said. "You're a child. You don't have authority to spend gold."
"My father gave me an allowance!"
"Your allowance is not diplomatic funds."
"It could be!"
Aris leaned across the table, his voice dripping with condescension. "Do you know who my brother is? He could declare your allowance invalid with a single letter."
"My father would never—"
"Your father is not here. My brother is not here. We are all not somewhere else. So can we please focus?"
Rowdrin laughed again, a booming sound that filled the room. "You know, this reminds me of the negotiation after the tournament. Lonis wanted a rematch. Xesil said no. They argued for hours. In the end, my wife had to—"
"Nobody wants to hear about your wife," Aris said.
"She made a wonderful stew."
"I don't care about your wife's stew."
"You should. It had wild mushrooms. Very rare."
John sat in his chair, his feet dangling, his hands folded in his lap. He had been completely forgotten. The nobles were arguing about spices and tournaments and percentages and allowances, their voices overlapping, their faces flushed with indignation. They weren't even looking at him anymore.
He glanced at Draven, who was watching the chaos with a patient expression. The knight caught his gaze and shrugged, just slightly, as if to say, "This is normal. This is how it always is."
John sighed and settled in to wait.