A few seconds too late, voices registered on Damon's brain. He turned his eyes to see a broad, silken expense before colliding into it.
"Goddess!" snarled a voice as he stumbled back. "What in the Hells -- Your Highness?"
Shaking his head, Damon looked up to see a man who was even taller than Yavarond, and a good deal broader than the lanky half-elf. He had a full but neat beard and moustache, a soft brown cap on his black locks, and intense brown eyes in an aristocratic face. The silk wall Damon had collided with was actually the front of his tunic, purple offset by a cream sash and a half-cape, scarlet without, trimmed in gold and lined with more cream. Black trousers dominated by a large cream codpiece were tucked into gold-trimmed black leather boots.
Setting off shirt from trousers was a narrow belt, black leather with cream stitching; a rapier hung off his left hip and a purse or coin pouch his right. Forearm-length gloves, edged with scarlet embroidery, completed the ensemble.
Damon stared at the codpiece. He'd never heard of this particular element of Renaissance dress, and found himself oddly intimidated by it, his own balls clenching. Looking back up, he found he was intimidated by more than the apparent size of this guy's manhood -- he was huge, handsome, and that gleam in his eyes... And when Damon's "new" memories kicked in, he felt an icy chill as he recognised him.
"M-my Lord Duke!" He stammered. "I'm, er, sorry, er -- forgive me, I wasn't watching where I was going..."
This was Duke Caesar Aristarchus Beauregard, the most powerful nobleman in the country. With all his lands, wealth and levies, some said he even rivalled the King. And he had strong ties to the River Trading League, vastly increasing his political clout. Like his father, he had worked hard to build his power, and Damon knew Roderick both respected his courage and intelligence, and feared his ambition.
He even had a very distant claim on the throne -- his mother's mother had been a royal princess. Fortunately the kingdom had agnatic-cognatic succession -- meaning power could only be passed through a woman if there were no legitimate male heirs -- and there were many men between Caesar and the throne.
Still, he was not someone the newly reborn prince wanted to offend. To his relief, the irritation the Duke had shown seemed to be fleeting, as he smiled down at Damon.
"Think nothing of it, Highness," he said. "No harm was done." And indeed, Damon realised, that where he had staggered from the impact, the Duke had been unmoved. Wow...
"So, this is Prince Damon?" The second voice took Damon off-guard. He had been so preoccupied by the Duke that he had forgotten that he had been talking with someone else.
Now he turned his head, and was nearly as impressed by the stranger as he had been by the Duke. She certainly had nothing on the Duke in stature, being about Damon's height and delicate in frame, but by the Goddess was she hot!
She had to be at least DD in bust size, and her hips seemed determined to outdo that, giving her a sort of bottom-hourglass shape. She was not ashamed to flaunt it, either; wearing only what amounted to a few white silken scarves wrapped around her chest for a bra, and a skirt that clung to her lower curves. More lengths of silk reached from her shoulders down to bands at her wrists, floating with her movements.
The brilliant fabric matched her hair, also white and silky; and contrasted with her black skin. Her pointed ears identified her as an elf -- or drow? As Damon vaguely remembered from a few attempts to get into DnD. Her body was further accented by white gems -- in silver necklaces and braces, in her ears, and in her navel.
"Your Highness," rumbled the Duke's voice. "Allow me to introduce Lady Eressea Nightwolf, Marchwarden of the Dark Elf Queendom of Undershade."
"A pleasure to meet you, Prince Damon," she purred, holding out her right hand while her left idly spun an umbrella above her. Training kicking in, Damon took and kissed it, marveling at the smoothness of her skin and the sparkling of her rings. He wondered if they were magical.
"The pleasure is mine," he replied, fairly truthfully. She smiled with lips tinted a pale lilac. The Duke chuckled.
"You seemed abstracted, Your Highness. Is something amiss?"
Damon looked back at him. "Well... no, I... was just admiring the buildings." He waved awkwardly at the mansion. The Duke quirked an eyebrow, amused.
"You have surely seen my town house before, Prince Damon."
Oh snap. This is HIS place? Of course now he remembered that.
"Well... surely... I-I mean, of course --" He blushed and lowered his eyes -- which meant he was once again looking at the Duke's crotch. Goddess, he must be huge! How can it be legal to show off like that in public!?
The Duke's mouth quirked in a strange smile. "Why don't you come inside?" he suggested kindly. "Something is obviously on your mind... perhaps a little rest and a cool drink will clear your thoughts."
"Uh... m-maybe..." Damon found he could not say no to the man. He rationalised it as not wanting to offend him further. Meanwhile the Duke turned to the Dark Elf.
"You, my lady?"
"Nay, I must be on my way to the castle to pay my respects. Nor would I keep you from entertaining your royal guest."
So saying, she bowed slightly to the Duke, who bowed back; then to Damon, who almost didn't noticed, so flustered was he by the Duke's codpiece. And he barely remembered to merely incline his head since he was royalty and did not bow. Then she went on by, trailed by a pair of armoured Dark Elven women carrying glaives -- guards Damon had not noticed until now.
He was going to have to be more observant if he wanted to prove himself as prince!
"Come, Your Highness," said the Duke, his voice deep, suave and compelling. "Let's get you inside."
Damon started to follow as he walked across the sidewalk to the gate that surrounded the front yard of the mansion, then hesitated. He had butterflies in his stomach. Did he really want to go alone into the house of this powerful male? I mean, I am a prince. What could he do to me?