MPNS Ch 84

Chapter 84

Before they could even proceed to make their formal obeisance to the king who had graciously convened the banquet, two of the beasts who had been stationed opposite each other came striding swiftly to block the path of Nikiel and Lucian.

“A pleasant evening to you, Your Highness.”

With an expression that betrayed no such pleasure, Yullan was the first to offer a greeting. Nikiel could not help but widen his eyes, for he had never before seen Yullan grown to such stature. Trimly attired and with his usually unruly hair now properly tamed, the sternness of his mien was heightened, his sculpted looks brought into even sharper relief.

Raymond, standing at his side, was no less striking. His countenance, sharpened as though in recent days, combined with a perfectly fitted frock coat of deep green, lent him an air both refined and sorrowful.

‘So handsome even before—when adorned, they’re near oppressive.’

No wonder the other noble gentlemen kept their distance. Feeling self-conscious for having stared too openly, Nikiel answered Yullan’s greeting.

“A good evening to you as well, Your Grace.”

He then turned, intending to greet Raymond behind, but Yullan shifted subtly to intercept his gaze. With deft ease he slipped Nikiel’s hand free from Lucian’s grasp, and said,

“Forgive me briefly, Your Highness. I must have a swift word with you regarding the Hunting Tournament.”

It was not an unreasonable request, nor improper in form, and Nikiel—still startled by how smoothly his hand had been withdrawn—found himself nodding without thought. At that, Yullan nudged Lucian’s shoulder aside, as if to widen the space between them.

Lucian’s face tightened with irritation, yet there lingered a faint smile that seemed to say, “Do as you wish—try me if you can.” Nikiel had not even managed to exchange greetings with Raymond before all three lords had moved off to a distance far enough that he could see their faces but not hear their words. Bemused, he stood stranded in the middle of the ballroom as if forgotten.

At last the whispers of the nobles around him rose to his ears. Chiefly, they speculated that none had expected Nikiel to appear together with Lucian. Nikiel clicked his tongue. He had entered with Lucian precisely to display friendliness with the lords, yet he had not foreseen such an immediate reaction.

While he pondered it, the three beasts clustered together, their expressions grave as they conversed rapidly. Words were inaudible, but their faces revealed enough.

“What are they saying…? O…Oh, they’re fighting.”

Raymond had shoved Lucian’s shoulder. Lucian, unyielding, retaliated with a sharp kick to Raymond’s shin. Both exchanged in kind, yet neither relinquished the burning glare of murderous hostility. Beside them, Yullan, hand planted firmly at his waist, appeared to bark stern words.

“Now what’s this about….”

Curiosity gnawed, but with the distance, there was nothing for it. Crossing his arms, Nikiel waited. Lucian then turned, scowling, as if to stalk back toward him—Yullan caught him at the shoulder, only to be thrown off once more. From Raymond, Nikiel could read the lips distinctly enough:

“…you sly, slithering snake…?”

The insult was obvious even if unspoken aloud. In answer, Lucian raised his thumb in scathing mockery. The boldness made the ladies nearby gasp and cry out in shock, their exclamations carrying across the floor.

“Why on earth are they suddenly fighting?”

Baffled, Nikiel tilted his head. Could it be their wrath arose solely from his appearance with Lucian? The thought occurred—they were all opposed to him, yet one had now appeared at his side, even entering the banquet with him. Perhaps this was their attempt at repression.

“Not schoolchildren…. Can’t they let me spend time with a friend or two? How mean-spirited.”

Pouting faintly, Nikiel was surprised as Lucian strode toward him with long strides, his earlier dourness now swept aside for a gentle smile. Taking Nikiel’s hand again, he said,

“Shall we proceed, Your Highness?”

“Is your discussion not unfinished?” Nikiel craned his neck, peeking past Lucian’s shoulder to see—but Lucian shifted slightly, blocking the view of the two lords behind. Smiling faintly, he replied,

“All is settled. I’ve no wish to waste further words on minds quite so vacant.”

At his rare note of sharpness, Nikiel could only answer, “…Very well.” Lucian’s hardened expression called to mind the coldness of their first encounter. Still faintly uneasy, Nikiel turned and strode toward the dais where his father sat enthroned. Along the path draped with crimson velvet, he and Lucian walked shoulder-to-shoulder, his hand—still gloved in lace—firmly clasped in Lucian’s grip.

And then—

“If you wished to offer greeting to His Majesty, you might have gone with us. Yet seeing you so hasty, I daresay you prepare for hibernation early this winter, Duke Serpent.”

Startled by the voice, Nikiel looked to his right. Yullan had somehow fallen in step unnoticed, impassive, shoulder to shoulder with him. Facing forward, Nikiel saw only the sharp line of his jaw.

Another voice arose—this time at Lucian’s left.

“Slow and sluggish as you ever are, always coiling in your lair—who knew you possessed such agility? …Perfumed as well, are you, Duke Turun?”

“Pervert, are you? Why sniff another man’s scent? Begone.”

Lucian’s retort rang with undisguised contempt. Overhearing this quarreling left Nikiel bemused.

‘So…they all have such filthy tongues?’

Apparently it was not reserved solely for him. Simplifying the matter in his mind, Nikiel continued to walk.

Four men, each taller than 180 centimeters, fell into line abreast. The surrounding nobles shrank nervously aside at their passing. Nikiel wondered if this rigid march was truly the only way to approach the king at a banquet. Perhaps he ought to suggest they separate slightly.

At any rate, they soon reached the dais. Nikiel paused at the base of the steps, preparing to pay respects in accordance with etiquette.

The king’s eyes were already upon him. Indeed, it seemed he had been watching since Nikiel entered with Lucian, for now that they drew near, he straightened in his chair, peering down from the dais.

“Oh, my son Nikiel. Come closer to me.”

When did the cautionary distance disappear? Nikiel, reluctant to approach too near, forced only the faintest hint of a smile as he advanced. The lords, of course, ascended the steps just behind him.

It took but a handful of steps, then Nikiel, recalling hastily-learned etiquette from Paul, offered his obeisance. The lords bowed thereafter.

The king, rarely so jovial, appeared pleased indeed. Handsome in youth, he still bore something of that charm, smiling warmly upon them.

“And all of you, you come to enjoy this evening with our Nikiel, do you not?”

There was a kind of eagerness in the voice—impatience, even. The king, who knew well how the lords so often slighted Nikiel, seemed fraught with agitation over their presence at his son’s side. Hence his mercantile manner now—hawking his own son like goods at market. Nikiel, stifling his sigh, only struggled to appear impassive.

Strange, having scarcely known this man, yet he must call him father. What ought he to reply? But at that moment, a movement below the stair drew his notice.

A group in white clerical robes knelt at the foot of the steps. From among them stepped a dark-haired man, speaking in a clear, modest voice.

“Servant of God, Oryx Ziments, offers greeting to His Majesty, guardian of peace in the six provinces.”

As he bowed, hair black as ebony spilled forward. Seeing him, the king’s face brightened with delight.

“Chancellor Ziments! Come forward at once.”

The always-weary king looked buoyant this night, and Nikiel understood why. Every one of the three lords stood now at his son’s side. For one born a true son of the former monarch only to see power fractured among Baltaga, Boltwik, Turun, and Griff, this moment was balm indeed.

Moreover, for this year’s Hunting Tournament the Temple had dispatched not a mere auxiliary bishop, but the Knights of the Holy Order themselves. Whereas in other years the Pope—aloof though eager enough in commerce of steel—had merely sent proxies, now he had sent his personal guard. Never once before in this reign had such occurred. No wonder the king was radiant.

The Holy Order, haughty and aloof though bound in commerce, now stood beneath his gaze; three of four lords stood at Nikiel’s side. At last, the king must have felt lord of the world entire.

‘Your smile will split your face, Majesty. Dignity, please….’

Nikiel labored to hide his exasperation while the commander of the knights, Oryx, ascended. At the final step he came face-to-face with Yullan, grinning. The path to the king’s chair was blocked by Nikiel, Lucian, Raymond, and Yullan alike. Fixing his eyes particularly on Yullan, Oryx said,

“In answer to His Majesty’s summons, I ascend. Your Grace must kindly step aside.”

The tone fairly dripped with provocation. Nikiel gaped, staring at Oryx—nay, at Naet.