Salvador

"If it isn't Duke Salvador," Etaria muttered in a voice as happy as it was fake. She squinted her eyes and even went as far as to rise from the simple stool she was sitting at. 

"My princess!" A man as wide as he was tall, stepped under the cloth of the open tent that protected the princess from the intense rays of the sun. "It's a pleasure to meet you!"

If the princess was the epitome of beauty, the absolute that other humans could only ever hope to achieve, the duke would be on the exactly other end of the spectrum, presenting himself as the prime example of who parents would never want their child to turn into. 

Stepping into the shade cast by the princess' tent, the duke pulled out an embroidered piece of cloth so finely made, that it likely cost as much as the equipment of one or two hundred of his soldiers.