Once we got back to Dornish shores, we slowed the boat down, and pulled ourselves up and out of the water at a rocky beach that hadn't yet been cut and dredged to make a nice, deep harbor for docking ships, and began to trundle along overland towards Dornhelm, through the gates, and onto the streets.

Nel, it seemed, knew where we were going, and while I had forced her to take a ten hour break from driving to get some sleep and eat something, she was insistent on driving us the rest of the way there.

The Royal Palace of Dorn was a big complex, sprawling across sixteen city blocks- very likely, this was more than simply the King's private residence, but rather, was the administrative center of the entire city, with countless office buildings lining its internal streets- really, it was like they'd just built a perimeter wall around a four by four square of blocks, and otherwise left them untouched.

Getting in at the gate was surprisingly easy- Nel showed them her Delver's Guild Badge, and swore that she was here on legitimate business and would do nothing with the intent to harm or disrupt government business, and that seemed to be enough. They gave her directions to a stable where we were instructed to park our vehicle, and then... we were off, heading towards the stable.

I was the first one out of the van, yet I kept my attention on the van itself, as I helped Akane crawl out through the cab/cockpit- the biggest design flaw this van had, in my opinion, was the lack of rear doors, which would've made egress so much easier, but I suppose something was bound to be missed in a hastily-improvised vehicle.

"Now that is one hell of a wagon," someone said behind me. "Or... No, that's a boat on wheels, isn't it? Absolutely fascinating. I knew you were the right woman for the job."

I jerked, and whirled around to behold... a middle-aged human alpha, sitting at a simple, round wooden table that was remarkable only for how big it was. She was dressed in the manner of the typical Dornish desk jockey, in something that very closely resembled a three-piece suit that emphasized her height and her broad shoulders, but remarkably well-groomed for a bureaucrat, with her skin being unusually smooth and soft-looking, and her short dirty-blonde hair being immaculately coiffed. Who the hell was-

"Your majesty!" Akane gasped.

"Oh," I said, tilting my head to the side. "You're King Dorn, aren't you?"

"King Rebecca Dorn, the one and the same," she said, nodding. "You seem... unimpressed, if I may say so."

"You're not the first king I've met in person," I said with a shrug. "Get to know one long enough, and the divine majesty fades away, and you realize what you're really looking at: a high-ranked administrator who sometimes wears a hat made of gold."

"Roxy!" Akane hissed, sounding genuinely offended in a way I didn't know she was capable of.

"Oh, she's right," Rebecca said, straightening up in her chair. "I am, in fact, just an ordinary woman with an extraordinary job. Now, obviously, don't go talking like that in front of the court, that'll cause a scandal, but... well, this is a private audience, in a stable, and we're doing this here specifically so that we can actually talk. I have a job for you, and I don't need to hear an aristocrat trying to suck my dick through my pants, I need to hear a realistic assessment of whether or not you're up to the task."

"...How long is this going to take?" I asked. "Because I was kind of in the middle of something."

"There's not a super tight deadline, per se, but... well, if this works out, you can kiss your free time goodbye."

"You're really not selling me on this job," I said, curling my lip a little.

"She doesn't need to, Roxy," Nicky said. "She's the King of Dorn. When you joined the Delver's Guild, you swore an oath of service to the King, and that means she can just make you do anything."

"That is correct," Rebecca said. "In this case, however, I don't want to force anyone to do anything, because the job is complicated enough that if you don't want to do it, then it's just not getting done. The job itself, however, is pretty simple: I want you to become the new Marquis of the Glass Desert. Break the rocks, till the soil, re-green the blackened wasteland, and make it fit for human habitation once more, and in exchange, you get to be a Marquis."

"...What makes you think I'm uniquely suited for this?" I asked. "I've personally witnessed a mostly unremarkable Farmer in her late 40s turn a patch of arid scrubland into a prairie in the course of a few weeks. This skillset is something any well-read Dornishman could develop."

"Well, among other things, your work with the Purpleheart Collective," Rebecca said. "You were able to figure out how to corral impoverished bandits into becoming productive, taxpaying citizens who went on to heavily subsidize the local neighborhood's economy, stopping more bandit gangs from forming. You've got a proven track record of turning criminals into productive workers, so..." Rebecca shrugged. "I'm prepared to let you turn the Glass Desert into a prison colony if that's what it takes to fix things."

"That's... uh..." I inhaled sharply through my teeth. "Mm. Well, Rebecca, unfortunately, while I am pretty confident that I could plop down a self-sufficient port city on the coast of the Glass Desert in a week without help, the fact remains that I don't want to do that."

"...I beg your pardon- you can build a sustainable foothold by yourself in a week?" Rebecca asked, quirking an eyebrow. "That is- look, if you don't want the job long-term, then fine, I'll ask someone else, but you are spending the next week doing that much."

"Well, that's the thing," I said. "You know those supposed oaths of service that everyone swore as part of joining the Delver's Guild?"

"They're magically binding," Rebecca said dryly. "Breaking them isn't really an option."

"I don't have to break those oaths, because I never swore them," I said. "I got into the Delver's Guild without any of the typical training, because Cecilia Ironborn walked into a room full of bandits I had personally knocked out, and decided that I was, in fact, hardcore enough to be a Delver. I swore no oaths whatsoever, and it seems that this is the first time it has ever come up."

"...Oh," Rebecca said quietly. "Oh, you are kidding me."

"By the way, Nicky, what's Dornish law say about the King compelling service from anyone who hasn't sworn that oath?" I asked.

"It's..." Nicky cleared her throat. "By law, the King has no ability to conscript anyone against their will into her service. It was part of a deal struck with the lower aristocracy- they would retain the ability to conscript peasants into their armies when necessary, in exchange for the King having full dominion over all the Dungeon Gates in Dorn, which is what allows for the existence of the Delver's Guild."

"Fascinating," I said, turning back to face Rebecca. "Now, as it so happens, while I don't want to be the Count of the Glass Desert, I do think we can still come to an arrangement where we both get what we want." And with that, I finally sat down at the table.

"What makes you so confident I can't simply order a Duke to conscript you?" Rebecca asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"If I was the King and had a Delver's Guild full of well-practiced combatants who swore oaths of service to me, then I would absolutely pass an edict forbidding my subordinates from drafting them," I said with a shrug. "And if I were, perhaps, one of the past kings who was less good at loophole wrangling, I would've worded that law to care about membership in the Delver's Guild rather than the specific circumstance of having sworn an oath of service to the Crown." I leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table. "But the real reason I know you can't do that is because, if you could, then you'd just do that. So spare me the chicanery; it demeans us both, and I actually earned my pride."

Rebecca snorted. "Fine. Name your terms. Just don't talk to any other aristocrats like this- duels between nobles are perfectly legal, and they'll kill you."

"They can fucking try," I said dryly. "First and foremost: let's dispense with this ahistorical 'Glass Desert County' nonsense. That land is the Duchy of Shang, and just because that noble house was extinguished with everyone else who lived there back in the war doesn't change that fact. If I'm to be the aristocratic administrator of the Duchy of Shang, then I'm going to be the Duke of Shang, with the attendant privileges and autonomy."

Rebecca stared at me, silently and flatly, then sighed. "Fine. What else?"

"Two... in my travels, I've managed to unlock the Dungeon Master class," I said. "So, presuming you don't have any current Dungeon Masters, I demand I be allowed to mark all of the Dungeon Gates in Dorn as my own, so that I can get the XP. I'll provide magicka potion to fuel them, but I want that Dungeon Master XP."

Rebecca nodded. "That's far more reasonable. We'll have to negotiate the amount of magicka potion you owe, but... on the face of it, that's quite reasonable, and as either a Count or a Duke, you would've been liable for taxation in the form of magicka potions either way. Anything else?"

"Finally, you may be well aware that Neloteth, Veronica, Akane, and possibly also Anzerath have all also sworn oaths of service to you," I said. "They are my household and retinue. I need you to release them from those oaths."

"...Hrm." Rebecca leaned back in her chair, and hummed quietly. "...Alright. I can accept most of that, but... there are caveats. One: if you're going to be the Duke of Shang, then you're going to need to swear an oath of service to me, directly, as befits a Duke."

"I don't want to be the Duke forever," I said. "Is there... Can I get things set up and train a replacement who is the Duke forever?"

"As it so happens... yes, actually, that can be arranged," Rebecca said, nodding. "You'll need to marry whoever is to become the permanent Duke of Shang, but I don't foresee that being a problem; divorce is perfectly acceptable in Dorn, especially among the nobility, where marriages are about politics."

"Fair enough," I said. "What else?"

"If you're going to be Dorn's new Dungeon Master, then for so long as you're sponging XP off of our Dungeon Gates, then you'll also be liable for building new ones when I need them," Rebecca said. "Three: I will not release your retainers from their oaths of service, but I will instead transfer those oaths to you, with the caveat that you may not dissolve those oaths while you remain the Duke of Shang."

"That's... fair, I guess," I said. I mean, we were already fucking, and a dynamic of me being in charge was already there, so. Not like this actually changed much.

"And four... a Duke is a very important aristocrat, who is expected to maintain a well-appointed estate specifically for hosting many, many guests, such as visiting peers and their own retinues," Rebecca said. "You won't get to shirk that expectation while you're the Duke, but more importantly, I am now pawning off on you three high-born guests that you must host in the sort of luxury they've come to expect from life, for however long they decide to stay there. One of them will be my third daughter, a bookish young beta named Penelope, who is to be the Duchess-Regnant of Shang you are expected to marry. The other two will be quite familiar to some of you: Valerie and Vanessa Vega, a pair of princesses-in-exile from Vega."

"...Ah, shit."