Captain Anita’s voice followed a soft knock from the door of Stephan’s new bedchamber.
“Sir, are you ready?”
Stephan grimaced and dragged his disgruntled gaze away from the mirror. Gingerly, he walked over to the door. He wasn’t trying to move stealthily, but the thick carpet naturally swallowed the sound of his footsteps.
Everything felt wrong. His new pants restrained his natural gait, threatening to rip whenever he considered taking a longer step; his foppish shoes pinched like bear traps.
And it was a long walk from the mirror to the door even without hindrances; the new bedroom was bigger than his old house.
He opened the door, feeling ridiculous. The knee-high yellow stockings clung to his calves while the pants didn’t reach his ankles. He pulled them down as much as he could without revealing his underwear, but still couldn’t stretch them enough.
Captain Anita stared. Her jaw fell, mouth opening a crack. Unlike Stephan, she looked gorgeous in her black-and-yellow dress, with her hair up and pearls hanging from her neck.
They just stood there for a moment, sizing each other up. Then, she covered her lips and spun around, her shoulders shaking as she tried, and failed, to hold back her laughter.
“These clothes are a torture!” Stephan shouted indignantly.
“Sir,” she managed between breaths, “you’ve put your trousers on backwards, and you haven’t pulled them up all the way.”
She turned, trying to look serious, her lips strangely twisting while she regained control over herself. “Have you ever worn formal attire?”
“No!” Stephan’s cheeks grew red. “I owned a spare pair of underpants to keep decent when my mother washed the other one. I didn’t even pack my extra breeches. They were too big for the sack.”
The funny twitch of Captain Anita’s mouth vanished. The notion of a Knight laughing at someone for being too poor to own a sufficient amount of clothes sobered her up immediately.
“Do you need help?”
“Yes!” Stephan almost shouted before he realized the implications. “But isn’t it improper?”
“With all due respect, Sir, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. Besides, I’m nearly old enough to be your mother.”
That only deepened the flush on his cheeks, but he stepped aside and let Captain Anita in.
“Now,” she said briskly, “let’s make you presentable.”
Stephan had been wrestling with his clothes for the better part of an hour, sweating and swearing under his breath. Captain Anita had him sorted in a mere ten minutes. She turned seams, tugged laces, and folded cuffs. The discomfort eased. It was still there, but nowhere nearly as horrible.
She kneeled before him, her flowing dress carefully arranged.
“You’re supposed to curl them like this.” Captain Anita grabbed the tips of his pointy shoes and curled them back, making a near-full circle.
Stephan took a cautious step, glanced at the ridiculous thing on his feet, then looked at Anita.
“Can I just wear my standard-issue boots?”
“No, Sir.” She ruthlessly crushed his hopes. “You’ll grow accustomed to them.”
“Never gonna get the chance,” he muttered and shook his head despondently. “With these shoes and those stairs put together, I’ll break my neck before I reach the dining hall.”
Another laugh escaped Captain Anita, one she didn’t try to strangle.
“You have a good sense of humor, Sir. Now, we’d best get going. Lord Marshal sent me here to check why you were taking so long.”
Stephan survived the descent, barely. In part, because he was getting used to the stairs, but mostly, because he held a hand against the wall at all times.
They entered a long hallway, the thrum of low voices and the honeyed scent of melting wax and roasted meat reaching them even before they stepped into the hall. Within, candlelight shone on decorative armor and silk alike.
Everyone turned towards them as they came in, but Captain Anita calmly steered him through the press.
“Let me make some introductions,” Captain Anita beelined for a short, broad gentleman whose bald head gleamed almost as bright as his parade armor. “This is Captain Avery, my peer and one of the ten captains serving under Lord Marshal.”
She looked at Avery. “Avery, this is Stephan Cobblerson, the new Paladin.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” they said simultaneously, Stephan stumbling and Avery laughing.
“That was a really elaborate scheme Lord Marshal came up with,” he said before Anita could drag Stephan away. “I mean an entire class of body doubles, and then the assassination. Was it also fake, or did someone actually kill one of the lookalikes?”
Stephan frowned, his freshly recovered mood souring once more.
“A real attempt, I see.” Captain Avery nodded. “Well, the old fox prepares for storms before we even smell rain. I’ve served under him for twenty-two years, been a captain for eight, and let me tell you, Lord Marshal is the man you want supporting you and making plans for victory.”
“Hear, hear,” Captain Anita said with little heart, then pulled Stephan’s arm. “Sorry Avery, Dougal is over there, and Sir Paladin should meet all of us tonight.”
Captain Anita guided Stephan through the room, introducing him to various dignitaries, and since only important people could attend a formal dinner thrown by the marshal for the Queen, that meant there was politics at work as she navigated him around the hall.
First, Stephan met the nine captains, with Anita being the tenth. Then, he spoke with attending nobles, Captain Anita sorting them in importance from the most influential count’s son going down to the barons. And last, the merchants, famous artisans, and artists got their share of Stephan’s time.
Finally, she stopped before a woman standing oddly still, her eyes out of focus, staring into the distance.
“Lady Anne, it’s good to see you out and about.”
Before the sedated woman could respond, a man stepped in. “Captain Anita. I’ve given her a strong draught. I doubt she can understand you properly.”
Lady Anne swayed on her feet, the man holding her arm to support her.
“She will be fine. She just needs a bit of time to deal with her loss.” He turned towards Stephan and bowed. “Good evening, Sir Paladin. I’m Randal, the house Harrington’s Healer. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Lady Anne has suffered a family tragedy recently, and she’s still coping with the loss.”
“My cousin is usually a no-nonsense woman,” Captain Anita said before Stephan got a word out. “I hope she recovers quickly.”
“Indeed,” the Healer nodded, “she runs a tight household and supports her husband immensely. While Lord Marshal is certainly a competent man, no small part of his achievement lies with Lady Anne’s diplomatic effort.”
Stephan’s attention drifted away from the conversation. He was looking at Lady Anne and thinking about how harsh her life had been the past few weeks. Her face was pale wax. Sleepless nights marked the skin beneath her eyes. Whatever spirit animated her once seemed smothered under the fog of despair.
Her eyes shifted. They found him. She held his gaze while Captain Anita and Healer Randal talked about something.
The word “tragedy” cropped up often while Stephan searched for signs of intelligence in Lady Anne’s absent eyes. They just stared at each other for a moment, when a spark of recognition flashed in her eyes.
It lit, growing into a flickering flame of intelligence as she looked him up and down. Then that intelligence turned into a bonfire of malice, of rage and hatred.
Stephan’s spine stiffened. He feared she would attack him and cause a scene, but she was too drugged to move. Her lips twitched into a lethargic sneer before her hate guttered out and her face blanked, her gaze growing distant once more.
Did she recognize me? Does she know I’m the Paladin?
Before he could untangle the thought, servers called for the guests as the dinner was about to start, and the crowd slowly shuffled into the dining hall.
“Are you going to Blueburrow Fair?Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thymeRemember me, the one who lives thereFor she once was a true love of mine.”
A bard sang softly in the corner, enriching the ambient of the large feasting chamber. Five long tables covered in white cloth stood with cutlery neatly arranged, one elevated and presiding over the rest.
Anita steered him there, and a young serving girl approached, smiling nervously.
“Please follow me, Lord.”
Lord? Me?
The thought was flattering and surreal. And it was natural for the Paladin to be a lord, to lack nothing and to be welcome everywhere.
The maid guided him to a seat on the right of the central one. He had a larger, cushioned chair, and he sank into it. It felt like a throne, and it made him feel strange, especially because he was one of the few seated at the high table, so all eyes were trained on him.
The crowd settled into their seats, a select handful joining Stephan’s table. Lady Anne sat three places to his left, lowered carefully into her chair by the Healer before he moved to his own spot on a lower table.
Lord Silas sat next to Stephan, nodding and smiling politely.
Then Lord Marshal entered, the Queen at his side.
He looked much as he always did - composed and sharp, save for the absurd curled shoes that had replaced his regular, sensible footwear.
The sight would have amused Stephan if he weren’t wearing similar monstrosities on his own feet.
“It is my great honor to present Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor the Third,” he said in his commanding tone, receiving an applause.
Stephan joined in, wondering whether anyone was sincere or would even enjoy the evening. A war hung above their necks, and yet they were feasting.
The Queen smiled as she moved to the central seat beside him. As she sat, Stephan thought he caught fear and unease flicker in her eyes, but they vanished behind poise.
Lord Marshal took his place to her left, between the Queen and his glassy-eyed wife. Suddenly, every door in the hall banged open. Stephan’s muscles coiled, ready to jump. He reached for his mace, but it wasn’t there.
Thankfully, instead of enemies, an army of servants had invaded, carrying meats and breads and cheeses. Platters steamed in their hands. The scent of roasted meat and honey surged forward, rich and intoxicating.
A large silver goblet filled with wine found its place right in front of Stephan and everyone else at the high table.
Lord Marshal rose, lifting his own.
“Long Live the Queen!” his voice boomed, and everyone save for the Queen and his wife also stood and raised their cups.
“Long Live the Queen!”
With that cheer, the feast started.
A whole roasted boar dominated the central table. Its skin, lacquered with honey, crackled under knife and fork. Servants carved and carried plates to the guests. The choice pieces trickled to the high table. Servers bowed deeply as they set plates before the Queen and before Stephan.
The aroma alone made his stomach twist. Crisp skin shattered under his teeth, the sweetness of honey gave way to rich, tender flesh. It melted on his tongue. He had to slow down, reminding himself that others were in the room.
He set down the silver fork and the sharp knife as servants placed before him something he had started dreaming of. Steaming cornbread. He took a piece and put it in his mouth.
Stephan leaned back in his chair. Impossibly, war and politics vanished from his mind, leaving only the pure joy and warmth of an exquisite meal.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Anne stand. Stephan, the Queen, and Lord Marshal all turned their heads towards her.
Harrington opened his mouth to tell her something. Then she rammed her silver knife into his eye all the way to the handle.