RE: Monarch

Chapter 166: Whitefall XXII

Chapter 166: Whitefall XXII

Armor doesnt make the soldier. Strapping a scholar, butcher, or brigand into a breastplate doesnt do much to change the man within. Theyll present as a better armored, potentially wealthier version of their previous selves.

Alten, though? From the moment the servants finished adjusting his ornate silver sheathing and stepped away, he looked complete. As if they had finally returned a part of him that had always been missing.

Heavy, Alten grunted, winding his shoulder back, getting a sense for his range of motion. Hard to imagine how men fight, weighed down like this.

The armor master let out an affronted scoff. Hed been pretending to busy himself with organization, casting concerned glances our way every time we so much as moved. Altens sharp eyes followed him as the man crossed behind me once more.

Who put the bee in his bonnet? Alten asked.

I smiled apologetically. Unfortunately, youll find Castle Whitefall overrun with nobles poised to balk at the smallest slight, and such reactions magnified when one they consider unworthy exceeds their station.

Especially that one. Cephur was posted up against the far wall, arms crossed. He shot an irritated look at the hovering armor master. As before, the ranger-turned-commander didnt seem pleased with this turn of events, but his reticence had softened somewhat after Altens history came to light. Took a good year before he stopped treating me like a backwoods ranger.

Right, Alten said. His face betrayed nothing, but he shifted uncomfortably in place.

Cephur strode over and studied Altens breastplate, and after asking permission, gave it a firm shake. Then stepped backward with an approving nod. Still, hes bein a little over the top. Probably on account of the history of this armor our noble scion picked out for you.

Whats the significance of the armor? Alten looked between us.

Heard of the Silver Swords? I scanned the armory until I found what I was looking for. The gargantuan display case stood out among all the workman-like racks and barrels, and Ithrew it open, perusing the contents as I spoke.

Cant say I have.

Well, no tremendous surprise there, I nodded. They carry out their duties competing for glory and treasure in the far reaches of the wilds. Their ranks consist of the strongest fighters Whitefall offers, and the audacity of their exploits is second only to those of the king.

Hard men, Cephur added. Loyal, but hard and valuable as diamonds. Its not uncommon for a member of the Silver Swords to see more action in their first deployment than most soldiers see over their entire lives.

Alten looked visibly uncomfortable for the first time. I do not wish to steal another warriors honor.

I spotted something promising on the top shelf and twisted back to look at Alten. Tell me if my intuition is correct. You prefer something light, but not too light. One-handed with enough length to the hilt to add a second, should the situation require it. Something sharp as a shaving razor but strong and wide enough to stop a claymore.

Iyes. Alten cocked his head, his expression puzzled.

After a few awkward attempts to reach, I gave up and dragged a stool over to the cabinet, stepping up and tentatively removing the sword from the shelf.

Cephur hissed, his eyes wide, but said nothing.

I unsheathed it and took a second to marvel at the craftsmanship of the blade. The hiltblack and segmented for gripfelt ancient to the touch, and while the blades sheen had grown dull from lack of care, it emanated power. It wasnt magical in the traditional sense, but the countless battles it endured left it with a cold and timeless aura. The blood groove that ran its center was well used, and there was a strange, uniform splotching to the material that ran down the edges and disappeared before they reached the central line.

Befitting the sword, its nameFadewas deceptively ordinary. But it referred to the eventual death of the pantheon coinciding with Ragnarokwhen, in legend, all realms would meet their end. There was a certain poetry to it that appealed to me, the idea of using a sword that represented the end of all things to wage war against that very end.

My father first showed it to me when I was barely into my early teenage years, and like any child would, I asked when I would be allowed to wield it.

It is a soldiers blade, boy. Not a kings.

Id thought this another one of his arbitrary distinctions, one made for no other reason than to deny me something I wanted. But now, I understood what he had meant.

I shoved the sword back in its hilt and tossed it to Alten. He unsheathed it and carefully took a few test swings, then smiled, surprised. Ive never held its like.

Its yours, I said.

Altens smile vanished.

If the armor master was displeased before, now he was openly scowling. At the rate his disposition was plummeting, inevitably, word of this would carry. He was likely to join the ever-growing line of pearl-clutching informants queued outside my fathers rooms in the morning.

But in this matter, I had complete trust in his ability to identify a worthy warrior.

I rested my hands on Altens shoulders. Your role as my honor guard will not be an easy one. It will be fraught with danger. The enemies we face are many, some obvious, some hidden. I would not hold it against you if you rethought your decision.

Altens mouth thinned, and he shook his head.

Then do not think of this as stolen honor. Think of this as a promise of the honor you have yet to attain.

He seemed to accept that, though from the grim set of his mouth and the way he squared his shoulders, he didnt take it lightly. It wasnt what Id had in mind, exactly. Returning the armor and weapons once denied him was a symbolic gesture, and I hadnt imaginedbeing a foreignerhed take a local accolade so seriously.

There was a clatter in the hallwaynothing alarming, likely a servant who dropped something going about their businessbut Alten and Cephur both snapped to attention. While Altens hand immediately went to his sword, Cephurs reaction was more muted, his face betraying a casual cautiousness that only came with experience.

Going to check the perimeter, Alten murmured.

We both watched him go.

Welp. Wasnt sure how he was gonna work out, but even I gotta say the boot fits. Cephur straightened and stretched, then checked to make sure the arms master was out of earshot. Sure you dont want a few more men to round out your detail? Little caution never hurt anyone.

I shook my head. No. Theres a reason my fathers guard always follows him from a distance. It projects the illusion of strength.

Illusion my ass. Cephur gave me a dead stare. Theres no aspect of it he cant back up.

I pressed on, ignoring the comment. Its logical for a monarch to have ample protection. Same for a prince, or any figure of authority. Most koss matches would be significantly shorter if players led with their kings.

Cephur snorted.

Problem is, much as Id like to surround myself with protection, people will always compare the two of us. My father and I. It doesnt matter how many backup plans he has, or contingencies, or knives in the shadows. What matters is the image. And if I ensconce myself with protection, while the king swaggers around, practically baring his neck, it doesnt matter how logical it is. Ill look like a coward.

It happened before, after all. Constant gossip about the errant, irresponsible drunken prince who couldnt go anywhere without an armed escort. How tragic it was that such a strong bloodline yielded such a weak heir.

The rumors bothered me to no end, largely because they were right.

So. Cephur cocked his head. Your solution to that issue is to find the baddest, meanest bastard in Whitefall, strap him in the armor of some equally mean bastards, knowing full well that word will spread when he makes quick work of the first poor idiot who takes issue in the physical sense.

Pretty much.

And youve had this plan in mind for how long?

A while now.

Pretty good for something you came up with when you were, what, twelve? Cephur chuckled. That being said, soon as a few of the Silver Swords pop back into the city for a little R&R, things are gonna get real awkward around here.

That was something I hadnt considered. I scratched at the stubble on my cheek, concern growing. Honor duels?

To start Cephur trailed off as Alten returned. He almost looked irritated at finding nothing, rather than relieved.

Someone was skulking about, Alten growled. Im sure of it.

Cephur and I shared a look.

Come. I gestured to them both. We have dark deeds to attend.

***

The banquet had reached a fever pitch in our absence. Royal musicians played at a permanent thunderous timbre to be heard over the shouting, laughter, and raucous conversations held by many too drunk to remember them by morning. King Gil still held fast to his throne, taking in the festivities from his elevated position, but the slight stoop to his shoulders told me hed been drinking as much as anyone.

Beside him, my mother was still alive. Perhaps that seems unnecessary to note, but I couldnt help but check every few minutes, just to ensure she hadnt disappeared in the interim. Every time she caught me looking, her stoic court demeanor would melt and shed raise two fingers in a subtle wave of acknowledgement.

It surprised me that Maya seemed more popular now than she had at the beginning of the evening. A coterie of noble ladies surrounded her, including Melody, and while her smiles and polite chuckles carried an artificial air, the sharp tinkling noise of genuine laughter rang out more than once. Annette lingered at the fringes of the group, and I watched as Maya expertly drew her into conversation. Several noble ladies followed suit, and Annette seemed dazzled by the attention, though not displeased.

This is going too well.

I shook my head and tamped down on the voice, approaching Alten with a tray of food. The poor mans head hadnt stopped swiveling back and forth from the moment we stepped into the banquet hall.

Its a party, Alten. Try to relax. I took a place beside him.

Never was much for parties, Alten said, barely sparing me a glance. His eyes lingered on the food on the tray for only a second before his focus returned to the room, specifically towards the table that housed my fathers bannerlords. All four heads of houses were clustered together, sharing drink, their grim dispositions and suspicious glances giving the table a disquieting air.

My fathers bannerlords, though its uncommon for them to share company this way. They usually keep to their own houses.

All due respect, my lord

Cairn. No need for titles.

Alten inclined his head. If they were looking at you the way theyre staring down your father, wed be in for a much more stressful night.

Thankfully, theyre not. I poked the tray against the chest of his armor with a resounding clink.

Alten looked down, and his expression grew dark. What?

Its food.

He set his mouth. I meant, what shall I do with it? Hold it for you?

Im guessing the meals served in your previous accommodations were less than satisfactory.

You want me to eat it.

Elphion. It was like pulling teeth.

Elder gods. Its not an order. I dont expect it of you. If you want it, take it. If not, Ill find some lout in need of balancing out the drink in his belly.

No, Alten said quickly, then hesitated. Shouldnt I be the one bringing you food? The gravel in his voice betrayed how much he hated that idea.

Youre a guard, not a servant.

He licked his lips subconsciously, reached out to grab the tray and froze there, eyes flicking back and forth as if mentally calculating something. How am I meant to defend you if my hands are full?

I rolled my eyes. Never in my life had I seen a hungry man go to such lengths to avoid eating. If were attacked, Ill do my very best to hold them off until you can make ready.

As you wish, Alten said, finally accepting this with a grave nod. He never stopped looking, though, scanning the crowd even as he hefted a leg of lamb and devoured it until the bone was all that remained. Methodically, he cleared the tray until there was nothing left, his still alert eyes slightly softening into a sated expression.

Out of the corner of my eye, a figure rose on the dais at the head of the room. My mother gently removed her arm from the servant who was supporting her and approached the front. Slowly, the excited voices and caterwauling of men deep in their cups faded to nothing. It always impressed me how easily she commanded the nobilitys attention.

Speech! a man bellowed drunkenly. I looked over in time to see one of his fellows cuff him on the back of the head.

Elaria shot the two a mockingly stern expression, then returned her focus to the room at large. With an even smile, she spoke.