Old Wounds

Mardy tore down the tent by trying to peak her head under it to speak with Parceval. As the main pole came tumbling down and sent the advisers scrambling, Parceval stepped out of a slit with the grace of a dancer and quipped, “May i help you, your Eminence?”
“Sorry about that, i guess i don’t know my own strength.”
“It’s OK they need the practise of getting out from a collapsing head quarters, anyway.”
“Well i have a request to ask of you prince?”
“I am not a Prince!”
“You will be when we kill Blue Britches.”
“What is your request, and I’ll see if i can accommodate you.”
“Oh dear Prince you can accommodate me, and you will accommodate me.” Mardy replied, no longer being coy.
“Then what is it that you COMMAND my liege?”

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