They walked for about fifty more meters before finally finding the king himself, surrounded by the others, and a few animals they had chosen for the feast. They quickened their pace to reach them before being seen, but one of the guardsmen noticed them.
"Ahah! There you are, my sweet! Thank you, Thorsen," Truls said loudly as he turned to face them. "Yes, I am here, my lords. We have concluded our tour, and went looking for you," she gave a short curtsy.
"Our small journey led us here, though we were hard pressed to find you," she continued. "You could have simply asked one of the servants," he replied with a bit of distrust. "I could have, but where would the adventure be? I have never been in such a crowd as this one, nor do I think I ever will be again," she said with a chuckle.
"Adventure, you say? It was foolish and dangerous to do so; doubly so in the company of one who has yet to learn the truth of the world," Truls glared at him with a darkened tone. "Nevertheless, I am glad you are both here with us," his tone shifted back to normal.
"Thank you, my lord. I apologize for our tardiness, as Her Majesty's knowledge of the castle was enthralling," Bashaa returned with a low bow, but Truls subtly sneered at the man. Elhael, noticing the strange tension between them, decided it was time to step in.
"My lords, the day has grown quite hot and I do believe we need to prepare for the feast this evening," he said diplomatically, getting a low, frustrated rumble from Truls. "You're right. I don't want to show up smelling like I've just come off a battlefield," he sneered, then whistled for a nearby servant to take the animals they'd purchased back to the palace to be prepared.
"How long do you think that will take to prepare? I wager twenty thousand crescents for them to prepare it in four hours," Mads leaned in toward Elhael. "I wager thirty for them to do it in three," he responded with a grin. "Now, now. Bear in mind we have some of the best chefs on the Continent," Leona chuckled, overhearing their wager.
"I stand by what I wagered. A man never backs down on his word like that," Mads huffed and held out his hand. "Your loss," Elhael shrugged, though he hesitated to take the extended hand as it wasn't customary for elves to exchange physical contact.
Bahsaa and his father, however, were regarding Leona as she laughed heartily at the exchange. "Magnificent, isn't she?" Bashir asked his son in a whisper. "Hush, father. Truls might hear you. You know he can speak our language," Bashaa cautioned, but struggled to maintain his concentration as the memories of the cellar replayed in his head. "Like all the other ruling kings, we all must know each other's languages as though they were our own," he continued.
"However, his guards don't speak it, so we're free to comment on whatever we like as long as we keep it down," Bashir scoffed. "It is unwise to risk it anyway," his son retorted. "Oh, undo the calamity that is thine mammaries, Bashaa. You know as well as I do that she is a goddess amongst men and women of this world. Are you so dense that even mana would bend around you to not acknowledge her beauty?" he asked.
It's probably for the best that he doesn't know what we did, Bashaa thought, still feeling the sting of the insult that clearly shook him to his core.
"I understand, Father. I just do not wish to do so whilst in the presence of the king himself," he said in return. "Fearing things that may not come to be reality is folly, my son," his father said dismissively. "Take a gander at her while we're still here, and when we have departed, no one will know you have. It's what your mother would have wanted you to do," he continued.
"I'll consider it," Bashaa replied with a slight grin. His father smiled back and nodded, returning his posture to its regular state. He looked over at Elhael, who seemed not to have been paying attention, and was content at the fact.
As Truls and his entourage passed through the market, guards and merchants alike knelt before them and opened the way for them to walk freely.
"Your people love you, it seems," Elhael said, walking beside Truls and noting the kneeling citizens. "I couldn't give a turtle shit about them. They kneel for you and the others, not for me," Truls growled, shocking Elhael to hear him speak like that.
"I am saddened to hear that. May I ask why?" Elhael asked, hoping to glimpse the humanity a king was supposed to have, but Truls only shook his head. "I'm not sure you would understand," he said. "In my tongue, my name means wise one," Elhael said, raising a thin eyebrow. "Very well," Truls gave a relenting sigh.
"It began long ago, a few short days after my coronation. My father's passing was taken as a heavy blow by the society you see today. He was a just, fair king who was loyal to his subjects, and did everything in his power to ensure that his people would want to leave the place where they wanted for nothing," he began, glancing around at the kneeling merchants.
"Unfortunately, he fell ill with some dark sickness. Some say it was a curse, others say he was being poisoned, but I think he was searching for something," he said, with a dead stare aimed at the ground beneath a wicker basket to his left as a memory of his dying father flashed in his mind.
"I'm assuming you have your own theories," Elhael said, attempting to capture the king's divided attention. "Forgive me," Truls said, getting a nod from Elhael.
Memories of his father. I wonder if he somehow found out the truth, Elhael thought momentarily.
"Indeed, I do have a theory of my own, although I am not at liberty to share it with anyone other than myself. I pray you understand," Truls sighed. "I do, however, I must respect your privacy," Elhael said with a pained smile.
"At any rate, this benevolent lifestyle of his came to an end when his bookkeeper came to him with the large amount of debt he owed. There wasn't even enough gold in the kingdom to pay it off, though he felt something was off and began investigating the cause since this place has been a central trading hub for centuries," Truls shrugged.
No, that's not it. He's leaving something out intentionally, Elhael thought, but said nothing.
"With the massive debt, his reputation was tainted, and at just seventeen, the resolution of that debt was passed on to me. After investigating the cause for myself, I was forced to do everything I could to get rid of that debt, but my people grew to hate me for it. Gods, even my own wife hates me for how I've become," Truls scoffed and shook his head.
"I had no idea it got so bad," Elhael said in as comforting a tone as he could. "Fuck them. They can hate me all they want, but I know that Isaved this country with everything I've had to do. Do you see why I know they're not bowing for me?" he spat, furrowing his brow. "I do, though I believe it's because they never knew why you did those things," Elhael put a hand to his sharp bare chin. "No, not even that would change a thing," he shook his head in dejection before they continued walking.
A few hours later, everyone reconvened at the vast banquet hall for the feast. The tables were set out as a large T, a custom handed down from generation to generation. At every feast, the tables were laid out in the form of the first letter of whatever the king's name was. The tablecloths had the castle's insignia sewn into each one; a daunting task, but the seamstresses around the castle were glad to have done the work.
They had been well remunerated for it, after all.
Along the long table of the joyous feast were trays of pheasant, venison, pork, lamb, and copious amounts of ale or vodka; far more than enough to satiate the entire palace. Jokes were made, food was thrown and stuck in beard hairs, as gravy, wine, ale and mead ran down chins.
All in all, the feast was in full swing, and all seemed to be going smoothly.
"This is a grand feast, if ever I've seen one, King Truls, and this venison is incredible! You must tell me what the secret is!" Mads had to bellow his sentence over the uproar below.
"Thank you for your kind words, King Mads. However, I regret to inform you that my chef is a magician when it comes to food. As everyone knows, a true magician never reveals his secrets. Sadly, not even to his own king." Truls raised a mug toward him, prompting Mads to pout momentarily. After a few moments, he raised his own drinking horn, blindly thinking it was in his direction.
Instead, it was raised toward the men's lavatory, where one of the palace's male servants had just stepped out. Seeing the horn raised in his direction, he winked at the king in response. Mads' eyes opened wide, and his face paled. He quickly proceeded to drown himself in the remaining alcohol in his drinking horn.
Elhael had seen it happen and burst into an almost uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Axes, arrows, spears, bears, and monsters; you have encountered all of these, and yet one wink from a man who does not share your sexual preference and you go white as a sheet of clean linen," he said between laughs.
Mads became mildly infuriated that someone other than he and the noble had noticed, mainly because it was the overly observant elf. "Now, now," Elhael said, raising a hand to try and calm Mads down. "We are never going to speak of this again," Mads said coldly, getting a quick nod from the elf, then a burst of laughter which infected Mads as well.
The male servant anxiously returned to the table designated for close servants of the palace, where Meliss, Clare, and a handful of others were seated. "Oh, hey! What's that on the f-floor?" Clare said, looking down at the stone floor.
"Behold! It's a f-fuck to give. I think you've lost it, Leland," she said cheerfully, jolting her head up. Leland looked at her in confusion. "He won't kill you over something so s-simple as that. It's a feast, and people have been, hic, drinking for a while," she continued, slurring her words.
"Fine, but if my body is found with a slit throat tomorrow morning, at least we'll know why" Leland said, flicking his dark hair over his eyes. "Calm yourself before you burst a vessel," Meliss threw in her two cents in a vain attempt to calm him down, passing him a full mug of ale. "Chug, you nervous wreck, chug!" she said with a smile.
He looked at her, then at the mug, which seemed to magically have appeared in his hand. He threw the contents of the mug down the back of his throat as fast as he could and shook his head. "There. Now do that a few more times and you're good to go," she said, still smiling as he nodded back to her gratefully.
"I don't blame you f-for doing what you did, Leeeland-uh," Clare began with a heavy hand on his not-so-muscular shoulder. "Hell, I'd have done the same if Prince Bashaa did that to me," she said. "You fancy him?" Meliss asked. "Of course! Have you s-seen his eyes, and the way he looks at you with them?" she asked playfully.
"They are marvelous, indeed. It's no wonder the lady he was with earlier couldn't resist him in the cellar," Leland said in agreement. "And that's supposed to mean something to me?" Meliss asked. "Wait a minute," Clare said, reaching for a moment of clarity. "He was with the queen for the better half of the afternoon. You don't think…?" she stopped speaking halfway through, realizing Fulco, who was walking right behind her as she spoke, had suddenly frozen solid.
He sighed and said nothing, but his expression told the group everything they needed to know.