Your lack of response to Nightshade's unreasonable demands and your unshifting gaze elicits only the smallest reaction - he grins. His bloodthirst now has no reason to remain hidden and he seems to enjoy this foreplay.

The silence continues, communicating a thousand times more effectively than words would in this situation. The entire ensemble holds their breath with not a shuffle or sound of any kind.

When the tension becomes unbearable, a delegate on the other side of the table can no longer take it and blurts, "We only want what is best for the realm."

Nightshade's grin transforms into a grimace and he shoots the man a look that would wither anyone. The unnamed delegate's head jerks backwards as if he had truly been wounded and shrinks back in his chair.

"What is best for the realm," you repeat.

A familiar warmth spreads across your chest and you know you are not alone. Your father's sharp and strategic command coupled with your mother's unwavering resolve steep your thoughts. The warmth spreads into a powerful glow - a strong sense of pride for your people, outrage at this infraction, and willingness for personal sacrifice eclipse your previous insecurity. You grip the arms of your father's chair and speak.

"For many years, the citizens of the Central State have paid the price of your war. Your armies have crossed our territories unresisted and your clashes have burned our lands and killed innumerable innocent bystanders in the process. You have brought terror and violence to the grounds of this very capital."

"Furthermore," you continue, "you have snuffed the two greatest shining pillars of our culture for reasons yet to be declared. Our people are wounded and outraged. While your war chests are empty, our reserves remain untouched. You have mistaken our kindness for weakness - a grave miscalculation."

As if practiced, Michael places his hand on the hilt of his sword, signaling to the dozen guards lingering around the perimeter of the room. They all take a commanding step forward in unison, into the dim light of the Great Hall, making their presence known and punctuating your last point.

Your anger at the audacity of Nightshade's demands replaces any trace of fear and your condemnation crescendos. "Our borders have always been open. Our people have always been free. We have welcomed your citizens who fled your battle-torn regions, and continue to trade freely with both the East and West States. We have taken no stance in your war and issued no judgement against either of you."

"The crest on the wall above my head, embroidered by my own mother, reads 'Rooted in Freedom, Nurtured in Strength'. This is our creed and until now we have held true to the first part of this tenet."

"There will be no concession. Your armies will no longer enjoy passage on our lands or in our harbors. Our kindness and hospitality are depleted."

"If you would like to test our resolve, then murder my parents' heir, destroy my people's last firewall of freedom, and taste the strength of the entire Central State."