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The dolls part the curtain and there is the Crown Prince, sitting on one of the several sofas, one arm thrown over the back.
He looks like a creature of shadow— dark clothes, dark hair, dark skin— a witch's cat on a moonless night. Only his earrings and eyes gleam gold, bright and striking. He does not smile. A coat of dark feathers drapes over the red upholstery behind him like an extension of himself. His gaze sets upon Sanji and fixes, tracking him across the room as he approaches.
Sanji cannot say anything. The bracelets on his wrists are charged with power and their unfamiliar weight reminds him insistently that they are there. He can't greet the hosting royal the way he should, but he needs to make as good of an impression as he possibly can.
The unfamiliar Germa uniform Sanji wears is fancy, new and jet black, and the row of medals he hasn't earned on his chest threaten to clink, and the stupid dress boots with no sygaldry on them threaten to squeak. Still, he keeps his head up and he meets that golden stare as he walks up directly before the Dressrosan prince.
He crosses one foot in front of the other and bows, arms spreading in an elegant forward sweep that does not crease the sleeves of his dress uniform. It is a social bow with a soft curve to the torso, soft curves throughout the entire body down to the fingertips, a dancer's bow between people of equal station, rather than the stiff military one that his uniform would be associated with.
The Prince Donquixote's eyes gleam with interest, and he stands in response to the invitation in Sanji's bow. He does not bow in return, instead just inclining his head. He holds his hands out, palm up, an unspoken request for Sanji's hands.
Sanji gracefully comes out of the bow and extends one hand to shake, but the Prince Donquixote doesn't clasp hands to shake, instead grabbing Sanji's wrist.
He pulls Sanji's hand closer and looks at the mage-wrought bracelet, turning Sanji's wrist to see more of it.
"This is a high grade explosive artefact," he says. He looks up into Sanji's eyes and smiles with absolutely no friendliness in it. "If you want to assassinate me, you'll have to do better than that, General Stealth Black."
Sanji shakes his head, mentally cursing, both generally and his brothers in particular.
The Prince Donquixote raises an eyebrow and looks at the bracelet again. He uses his other hand to turn it on Sanji's wrist. His own hands were inked with sygaldry that Sanji was not familiar with enough to read.
"Tandem magic," the man muttered. "Three components. Metal for the physical form, fire for the explosive, and electricity for the trigger. Electricity from the nerves, thus the skin contact."
He reaches absently for Sanji's other hand.
Sanji lets him take it, watches him examine the bracelets.
Prince Donquixote looks up suddenly.
"Is the trigger your voice?" he asked, certainty and a bit of satisfied pride creeping into his voice and face. He was already a handsome man when frowning, albeit a bit gaunt, but the hint of a genuine smile made him breathtaking. "Don't speak, just nod."
It would be arrogant if he wasn't correct. Impressed, and a little stunned, Sanji gave a small nod. Then, hopeful, he made a motion as if removing the bracelets and looked at the Dressrosan prince.
Prince Donquixote scoffed.
"Any weaker magic’s meddling would just trigger it. The tandem magic of the Germa princes is renowned for a reason, you know. There's no individual mage in this world who can overpower it by brute force."
Sanji knew this, but for a moment, with the man's quick analysis, he'd hoped for some alternative. With a very unprincely shrug, Sanji started to withdraw his hands.
Prince Donquixote's grip caught his fingers.
"I didn't say it couldn't be done," he said, and suddenly there was a sound of metal hitting carpet, a dull sound, and Sanji looked down and bit his tongue not to make a sound because there—
— his hands—
Prince Donquixote was still holding Sanji's hands, and Sanji could feel it, feel the cold hands holding his, except there was a seam of white-blue, a cross section neatly exposed—
— and his hands were over there and Sanji's arms were…
… over here .
"You can scream if you want," Prince Donquixote told him, throwing Sanji's hands back at him. Sanji fumbles to catch them with the stumps of his arms. "It won't help though. The doors have anti-magic sygils and a small army on the outside, not to mention the two combat dolls inside here meant to chaperone "
Sanji ignores him in favour of trying to put his hands back where they belong on the ends of his arms. He finds that his hands reattach quite readily, and work as perfectly as they did before, but his heart is still racing from the sight of his hands being cut off.
After stretching his fingers a bit, to reassure himself that yes , his hands were fine, he looked back up, unsure of whether he wanted to yell at the foreign prince or thank him. He sees that Prince Donquixote had picked up the bracelets from where they had fallen on the floor and was examining them. When he noticed Sanji looking at him, he pocketed them and let himself fall back onto the sofa with the black feather coat draped over it.
"Now, General," he said, gesturing for Sanji to sit as well. "Tell me why you're wearing these very impressive shackles to a marriage negotiation."