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This place… it reminds me of days of old; of long, hard training and evenings spent in the company of fighting men, with good food and cold beer.
I catch snippets of conversation. Men talking about the usual things; fighting, swords, equipment, horses, women, finances, politics. Scars of war aside, my men are as content as they can be, considering what they’ve been through. The least I can do is ensure they’re the best paid soldiers in the empire.
As I step into the mess hall, the chatter dies. The men are seated at long wooden tables. Swords rest against benches in well-worn plain leather scabbards.Myrnimsmoke drifts through the air, mingling with metal and sweat and leather and the aromas of the food.
These men have known me for years. They’ve fought alongside me in the Northern War.
They’re tough, loyal men. I should know. I’ve hand-picked each and every one of them. Some of them are family men; they’ve been given land near Sanzar where they’ve settled with their wives and children.
They’re sons. Fathers. Husbands.
The hardest bunch of bastards in the empire.
Now look at them. They all look like they’ve just seen a ghost.
“At ease, lads,” I drawl, hiding my vexation behind a wry smile. “I’m not here on account of anything official. Just catching up with an old friend. Listen up. This evening, we’ll do an old fashioned fight tournament in the great hall. No weapons, no armor. I want to see your best grappling and ground game. As always, striking is permitted. Winner gets fivetaelinsand an open bar at the Cherry Blossom Tavern. Those who get knocked out in the early rounds are permitted to wager. You may take the afternoon off to rest and prepare.”
The tension dissipates. The men visibly relax. A few grin in anticipation.
The highborn officers of the Knights’ Academy would frown upon me for allowing gambling and drinking amongst the ranks, but they have very little experience in actual battle.
They don’t know what these men need.
The winters here are bitter and harsh.
Enough to drive a man insane if he doesn’t have an outlet.
“One more thing,” I add, catching sight of my friend across the room. He’s shaking his head in exasperation. “Kaithar is forbidden from participating.”
“About bloody time,” a grizzled old veteran called Timur cries. “Give someone else a shot at the title for once, you invincible bastard.”
Kaithar pretends to be upset. “Have I done something to offend you, Your Highness?”
“Not recently. It’s just that if I let you join, you’ll spoil it for everyone else.” Slowly, I walk through the mess hall, passing the men.
Now more than ever, I need them to see that I’m the same old Corvan. Lord and commander. Soldier.
Empress Helia’s son.
The same as I ever was.
Even if I’m not.
I reach Kaithar. He’s sitting alone at the back of the room, tucking into a hearty meal of gravy-soaked lamb shanks and potato. “Don’t look so miserable, Kaith. You’d pulverize everyone. Besides, I need a referee—one that can pull the men into line if things get too heated. You’re the only one that can do it.”
“Corvan.” Kaithar stabs his fork into a large chunk of meat and puts it in his mouth. “Since when have you decided to stop being a miserable recluse and show your face in polite company again?”
“Polite company?” I chuckle. “Is that what you’re going around calling yourself these days?”
“We’re the Archduke of Tyron’s Elite Guard. We’re allowed to behave like gentlemen when it suits us.” He speaks while chewing, relishing his food. I almost envy him. “So? How’s your bride-to-be?”
“Finley Solisar is fine,” I say mildly, concealing the sudden rush of heat that arrives with the mere mention of her name. “Did you get anything out of her father?”
“Nothing but threats and vitriol. Apparently, there’s no way your daddy’s going to stand for such reprehensible treatment of amember of the nobility.Code of the Noblesse and all that.”
“He really does put a lot of faith in my father.” I take a seat across from him.
“Well, these minor nobles get funny ideas sometimes. We haven’t tortured him yet. I was waiting foryou.”
