He nods slowly. “That… does not seem so bad. My specialty is in wards and barriers, I could certainly be of use on that front. And you said some days ago that this would not interfere with my presence at Silvermoon?”

"Indeed. Most of your responsibilities will be for the summertime only, and in any case I can provide you, on your appointment, with the secret sigils both of the city and of Castle Volturgard - travel to and fro will not be difficult for you."

How exactly he got a teleportation circle for his personal castle is a long story, but suffice to say it's not widely known and extremely well-guarded. Wizards say you can control who may or may not pop out of the damn things, but then wizards say a lot of things. 

He nods again, warming slowly to the idea. Voltur certainly knows how to strike a good deal.

“I have only one extra condition to add. Well, two.”

"Very well. Speak."

The wizard draws in a breath, stealing himself. He turns to Eloise. “Miss Bridgerton shall put in a good word for me with her friend, a certain Miss Galora Kreel.” He blushes just saying the name. 

“Galora Kreel?” She echoes in surprise. “I hardly know her. Her family is rather insulated – I suppose I could try?” She looks to Voltur.

He frowns. A good word? What? 

"I see." He does not see. "I am sure Eloise can do so - and perhaps I too shall speak to her, and her family. Being made Court Wizard should benefit your suit in any case."

“That is,” he replies, a little flustered, “very kind of you.”

“And your second condition?” She asks curiously.

“Ah,” the wizard clears his throat, his ears turning pink. “My mother the Lady Deneith would like to know if His Grace is available for tea this week.”

Oh gods he's going to have to do etiquette isn't he.

On second thought... It is nice, in a way, to be the sort of person people's mothers want to meet, even if those mothers are great noble ladies. 

"It would be a pleasure," he manages. "Simply name a day."

“Oh! That is excellent.” He lights up, puppy-like. “Saturday tea is rather traditional, do you not think?” Is what his mother told him to say. “The invitation extends to his Duchess-to-be, of course. Congratulations on your engagement, by the way.”

She glowers.

He shoots her an apologetic glance. Well, he tries to look apologetic, at least. Has she not spoken to him of this? Is this not a friend of hers? Well, it has only been a matter of days. It feels like longer. 

"Thank you. Shall we, Eloise?" Apologetic glance again. 

“…I shall certainly see about it. My family may have a commitment.” She manages to look less like she is being held at wandpoint.

“Very well. I shall let my mother know.” He turns back to Voltur. “So, is there some form of contract to sign, or…?”

"An oath to be sworn. Down on your knees, and give me your hands joined. Talen?"

She is, of course, waiting outside with a priest.

He clasps Ambrose's hands in his own. He is to declare:

"I, Ambrose of the ancient house of Deneith of the Holy Empire born, now swear in the sight of the immortal gods, in Whom may I find faith in just such measure if I forswear: to the Duke Voltur by the grace of the gods Duke of Volturgard I shall be loyal and true, nor by force, by word nor by work, do ought of what is loathsome to him; to defend and uphold his person and his house and his property; to keep what secrets he bids me keep; on condition that he keep me as I am willing to deserve, and all that fulfil what our agreement was, when I to him submitted and chose his will."

…

Though somewhat disgruntled by being forced to his knees, he is humbled by the presence of a holy man. The wizard repeats the words of the priest, and his oath binds him to the Duke of Volturgard by the will of the gods.

“Right. Am I your court wizard, then?”

"Rise, Lord Ambrose, Court Wizard Right Venerable to the Duke Voltur."

Well now he feels embarrassed. Ambrose rises, as commanded.

It’s weird having to listen to anyone that isn’t Taralda. He wonders if she’d feel jealous.

“Lord? I like that.” He smiles. “Right. Any duties to fulfil, Your Grace? Uh– my liege?” He really should have put something in that verbal contract about not being bound to honourifics all the time.

Eloise shoots Voltur a meaningful stare with her doll-like blue eyes.

Not as blue as Ophel’s–

"Yes. Father, leave us." On balance, he's letting Talen in on this, if indeed she doesn't know already. 

And then, without ceremony, he draws out the dragon egg. 

He lays it on the table. 

It lies there, a perfectly smooth expanse of something like mirror-polished onyx, shot through with white veins, and a single hairline crack now halfway down its length. 

She doesn't even blink.