KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
"My Lord!"
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
I groaned, writhing on the white linen sheets of my bed.
When I returned to my guest room in the Keep, I considered my options. I was going to meet royalty—first impressions were important.
My plan was perfect.
I would find Dugan's room, wake him up, and have him heal my face. I couldn't meet the King looking like a walking wound.
The plan was perfect. I was just a little tired.
I sat on the feather mattress, running my hands along the soft, cool sheets. I lay down for a few minutes, and now, it was morning.
I gave the sunlight streaming through my window a vengeful squint.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
"Come in!"
I turned to the middle-aged maid barging through the door. Her eyes went wide, and she screamed.
"Stars and spirits!"
I tried to smile through thick, scabby lips. My face weighed an extra five pounds from the swelling. I patted a swollen cheek and winced.
So much for plans...
"My Lord, what happened?! Were you assaulted by Revisionists?"
I racked my brain for an excuse, an explanation other than being beaten to a pulp by my adoptive mother.
What came out was the first thing that flashed in my mind.
"I fell."
# # #
Five maids and two butlers did their best to salvage my appearance. They dragged in a wooden tub to give me my first real bath since leaving Steeltown. They dropped dried chamomile flowers into the heated water. They said it was to ease the pain. All it did was make the room smell like apples. Two maids scrubbed the dirt from under my nails while others washed my clothes. They washed my hair, polished my boots and oiled my weapons belt.
After thirty minutes, I sat in front of the fireplace, drying off next to my clothes.
After an hour, I was walking out of my room, fully dressed, with my chin held high.
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I would smile if it didn't hurt so much.
A guard was waiting for me in the hallway. He was younger than I expected, with short, blonde hair that was artfully tousled in a way that reminded me of Castille. The symbol of the royal family, Luskaine Castle looming over cresting waves, was stitched into a navy gambeson that went down to his knees.
His eyes widened, either from the patchwork of bruises and scabs on my face or because I was a half-elf. The hand he rested on the pommel of his long sword twitched.
"Took you long enough."
"Is that how you talk to guests of the Crown Prince?"
He shrugged.
"Yeah, I guess it is... What happened to you?"
"I fell."
"You fell?"
"It was a big fall."
His eyes narrowed.
"Right... Well, not my problem. Caf asked me to take you to the solar. Your friends are waiting."
I nodded and gestured down the hallway.
He turned on the balls of his feet and walked with catlike grace.
I fell in behind him, raising an eyebrow and wincing from a twinge of pain.
"Were you trained by Caf?"
He looked over his shoulder, a wry smile on his face.
"You could tell? You're not half bad, uh..."
"Jacob."
"Angelo. You want to spare some time? See how good you really are."
Angelo grinned and, to my great discomfort, I grinned back. He flicked a thumb at Gentleman's Jest.
"Afraid I'll have the reach advantage. What's that? Some kind of sword cane?"
"Are they that common?"
"No, just tacky. You shouldn't wear it on your hip. Then everyone knows it's a weapon."
I shrugged.
"Doesn't matter, I usually get the Last Laugh."
Angelo narrowed his hazel eyes, trying to catch my hidden meaning. After a moment of silence, he spoke.
"Let's spar soon, Jacob."
"I'd like that."
Angelo led me through winding corridors, leading me higher up the Keep. We passed more servants and guards, and I received the full range of reactions. Gasps of surprise, double takes and stares of disbelief. One old man dropped his jaw, and then the bundle of scrolls tucked under his arm.
"Sorry," I said.
He didn't notice them rolling on the floor. He stared at me, mouth agape.
"Those eyes..."
I paused mid-step and stared back at the man.
"Jacob! Come on, we're late!" Angelo said.
I started walking, stealing one last glance at the old man. He had a bushy white beard, white hair that fell to his shoulders, and pale, sun-starved skin. He looked like some kind of scholar. I memorized his appearance. I would have to look for him later.
Walking up another flight of stairs led us to an open area, and the rest of my party. Isla, Castille, Dugan and Thor stood in a huddle in front of large wooden doors.
"Found him!" Angelo said.
They turned, and I realized I wasn't the only one who received some personal grooming.
"Jacob! What happened to your face?!" Isla asked.
She wore a new light blue dress that hung loose on her small frame. She cinched it at her waist with a leather weapons belt that held her sceptre and dagger on either side. Her brown boots were replaced with dainty leather shoes that matched the brown patina of the belt.
"I fell down some stairs," I said.
"Did you hit all of them on the way down?" Castille asked.
The Northern woman was back in her metal breastplate. It was polished to a mirror sheen, but my eyes were drawn to her face. Her wild, wind-tousled hair had lost a battle with a comb, the straightened strands falling past her shoulders. They matched the black patch over her right eye, and... was she wearing blush!
Dungan stepped forward to heal me. His long, brown beard glistened with scented oils. Even Thor's coat of fur was brushed and scented with rose water. As Dugan reached up, Angelo knocked on the doors of the solar.
It swung open on well-oiled hinges to reveal the face of a grizzled older guard.
He nodded to Angelo and opened it wider. Sunlight from the room beamed into the dimly lit corridor, the white light mixing with the orange glow from the lamps.
Angelo jerked his head to the door.
"You're up!"
Dugan paused, looking from me to the open doorway.
"It's OK, Dugan. Let's go meet the King."
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