Part 1 

The Subtleties of Nobility

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Gods, all of you, I wish I had never been adopted. Alex stood beside the Crown Prince as he haggled over the price of a new harp. It apparently did not matter that they had agreed upon the price weeks ago when Edwyn had the instrument commissioned, nor did it matter that the prince had access to nearly as many funds as the Rosamunds of the Hallows. Actually, the prince was an acquaintance to a son of House Rosamund and likely had access to some of that money as well.

All in all, the prince was arguing for the sake of argument whilst making the two young noblemen late for a joust. Luckily, the shopkeep did not know Edwyn was the prince nor that Alex was his sworn sword. The glorified bodyguard could speak as he wished here.

“Stop being a shitter, Ed. Give the luthier his coin and be on with it. Cheating good folk out of their earnings is despicable.” Edwyn’s eyes flashed toward him in an instant. Surprisingly, so did the shopkeeper’s.

Both spoke up.

“I’m not a luthier-“

“He’s not a luthier-“

“- and you will watch your tongue in my shop!”

“- and you will watch your tongue! There are children about!”

Alex just put his hands up and took a step back. There were some children in the shop. Two boys stared at Alex in awe, wondering if they had properly heard the swears. Their mother gave him a glare of disgust, scooting the boys out of the shop and smacking one on the head as he said “Stop being a shitter, mother!”

Let the elderly shopkeeper lose some coin, then. Not that he cared. The man could pay Edwyn to take the harp if that’s how he was going to act, but Alexander wouldn’t let these two get him in trouble for the sake of their nonsense. Edwyn knew that he had agreed to a higher price. The man knew that he was going to lose some gold. They argued anyway.

All the while, it was Alex Brightwing who would be dressed down by the Emperor and Gwendolyn for not keeping the prince on track. On track, like he was a horse rather than a whole person. The books said there were twelve gods and three supreme beings above the twelve. Why, of all the people on this All-forsaken world, had they chosen Alex for this job?

That brought Alex back to his prior thought. If he had not been adopted by Eustace Alden, then he would not have to watch over Ed. He’d have been up north in Venroth, a ward of King Jarlmund, and-“

And likely the sworn sword to his son, the Prince of Venroth, he thought with a grimace. I was born for this. The idea set his ire upon the gods again, but there was not much one could do about them. Even Edwyn, for all of his audacity, would have to take a knee if the long gone Null or Wintertide walked into the room.

“Ed,” he said, voice carrying firmness rather than the annoyance he felt, “we’re needed.” The prince nodded, a slight frown touching the edges of his mouth. He had been looking forward to haggling with someone who did not know him. So very rarely did the prince get to experience genuine interactions with others. Alex felt for him, he did. For all the boy was spoiled and frustrating, he was a good person. He had treated Alex as a brother throughout the entirety of the time they’d grown up together. As much as Alex inwardly complained, Edwyn would not let him get in too much trouble.

The prince agreed to pay for one Regalian silver cheaper than was initially agreed. Something about the principle of the matter. The shopkeep nodded quickly, almost greedily, and accepted the coin as Edwyn handed it over. Both would think they had gotten out ahead, and both would go on to play the haggling game again when the time came. Edwyn took the harp in hand, a simple work of solid craftsmanship as far as Alex knew, and they left the shop.

They stepped out into Regalia, the juggling city, and the seat of House Mara- the royal family of Mithrock. The road they stood upon, Stonehearth avenue, ran from the western end of the city to the eastern. Though there weren’t so many people out shopping, due to the nature of the holiday, this road was generally the busiest the city had to offer due to its centralized location and it being the only one which stretched the town.

The two headed east toward the palace grounds, white stone buildings with flat roofs raised on either side of them. The lower levels of each building were generally occupied by shops or other places of service. Three to four stories of apartments could be found above the shops, the only hint of their existence being the balcony openings which protruded from the rock and out toward the street. Some areas of the city would paint their stone structures different colors for a multitude of reasons: to help visitors understand where they are, to stand out, to be a bit more aesthetically pleasing. Others preferred to keep the pale white the dwarves had left them thousands of years prior. The sun shone high today, reflecting off of the stone enough to blind a man. A sensitive man, anyway, and one who probably whined too much. All the sun told Alex was that they were further behind in their schedule than they thought.

“You should not call some a luthier when they aren’t one.”

“Huh?”

“You insulted the shopkeeper when you called him that. You got him off balance for me, which I appreciate, but you should not call him what he is not. It can hurt a man’s pride.” Edwyn would know, but why make a point of it? It was important to him though. His emerald eyes gleamed as he spoke.

“What should I have called him then?”

“If you don’t know, calling them a shopkeeper is safe. Woodworker might be appropriate, because he does make more than harps, but he does not make lutes. People take pride in what they do, even more so when people are aware of what they do. To give him a name which shows ignorance of his craft whilst you are in his shop- while swearing, at that!- is enough to anger even a gentle man.” Edwyn harrumphed and looked ahead. There would be no more talk on the situation.

“Consider me dressed down, Your Grace.” Alex said it with sincerity, looking to the side to catch Edwyn’s nod. He had not wanted to offend the shopkeeper. These kinds of things often eluded him; enough to the point where a seventeen year old had to explain it to him. Alex was eighteen himself, but differences in their demeanors were enough to make him feel odd, if not a bit immature, at times.

Alexander took in the scents of the city to clear his mind. The western side of the town always smelled so pleasant. Bakeries, taverns, and restaurants were preparing their midday treats and meals. Scents of blackberry pie and cooked potatoes flooded his nostrils. If Edwyn hadn’t taken so much time with the woodworker, they might have been able to stop for a quick bite. There would likely be something good on the jousting grounds, but there he would be expected to guard Edwyn until the festivities were all but over. It would be a long while before he could eat. His stomach growled, somehow sounding both angry and hopeful.

Edwyn stopped, contemplated for a moment, and walked straight to the bakery on their left. Idara’s. Alexander had been here many times on his few days to himself. Their blueberry quick bread had gotten him through many stressful days. “Ed, we don’t have the time-“

The prince put his hand up though he kept walking. “You can’t guard me on an empty stomach. Getting to the joust on time doesn’t matter if I’m attacked and you can’t perform to your utmost best.” The little bell atop the door rang as they entered. Idara looked to them from a stone counter, white like the walls outside of the establishment. She had the matronly feel to her that you’d want to find in any baker. She was a skinny thing. Her hair ran in long black curls and her eyes seemed to have a bit more age to them than the rest of her. Everyone loved being fed by a mother; even more so if you never had one.

The kitchen was hidden by the wall behind Idara and Alexander could only see one serving girl. There were no patrons. Most everyone would be at the ceremony grounds that the two should have been attending hours prior.

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Idara smiled. She knew Alexander and she knew that he tipped well, even though he did look the serving girls up and down a bit. She likely had ascertained Edwyn’s identity though she said nothing.

“Lord Brightwing. Bard. I don’t have much today. Michael took a cart and hauled most of the makings toward the ceremony.” Her voice was kind though there was a hardness there. Every shopkeep had to have it, else how would they let an unruly guest know they were acting out of line?

“Not a lord, Idara, and I do not have too much time. Do you have the quick bread?”

“’Course I do, son. It’s fresh as can be. Ten Nickys per piece.”

He gawked. “You normally take three Nickys per!”

She showed him a sly grin. “Your attitude is shit today, son. Only folk I know with shit attitudes are nobility and people looking for fights. Both pay more for my wares.”

Alexander felt his face growing as red as he was embarrassed. She knew that it was Edwyn beside him. No doubt she was likely relishing the idea of dressing him down before the boy his sword was sworn to. Edwyn had a light in his eyes; one slightly different than his gleam. He was getting a kick out of it too.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We were supposed to be at the ceremony grounds ages ago and I need some food. I really didn’t mean any disrespect.” Would everyone give him a hard time today? Had someone changed the meaning of the holiday?

Idara laughed and fetched him some quick bread. Five pieces, steam still rising from the crust. Alexander readied his coins. She quickly put the bread in a small paper bag and handed them over. “You’re one of my best customers, son. You’ve likely paid for these a hundred times over. Get going so you can protect our Prince.” She smiled and pushed them both out the door before he could even thank her properly. Women. The two continued down the road.

“You let her talk to you as such? You are the Prince’s sworn sword.” Edwyn seemed more curious than angry, though one could not always tell with him.

“I do. She’s a good woman.”

“Benevolence doesn’t take away from the blatant disrespect of it all.”

“No, but it changes how I perceive it.”

“Good enough. I would like to go there more often, then.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Edwyn gave another nod that was so natural you’d think he’d inherited it with his titles. Authoritative, as though he was stating all was well in the world because all was well with him. The wind could tell him it was going to blow and he’d give it that nod. They were off, and Alexander ate his bread. It tasted even better than usual.

- - - -

We have four bastards born from our house. One betrays us and becomes the King’s Right Hand. One was not even born to us though we act like it anyway. One cannot even make it to simple functions where his attendance is required. The last one was the only one I liked, and he left us all behind to live a simple life.

Alisia Alden wanted nothing more than to throttle Prince Edwyn. His sworn sword being Alexander only amplified that feeling; she would love to give him a thrashing as well. Normally she would not mind. Sure, she was hungry, but one could make it through one of these functions without eating if need be. The hunger was not what annoyed her.

It was how they dirtied the image of House Alden, no matter how slightly, by being late. It had only been about ten minutes or so since the ceremonies were supposed to start, but every minute was one against House Alden’s name.

House Albright didn’t lay any claim to Alexander. House Mara was the royal family of the realm. Any and all negativity would flow toward House Alden thanks to these two boys, and House Alden needed no more help in accumulating such things. Uncle Alastor and Uncle Eustace had done enough of that, thank you very much. Uncle Andrew too, in all honesty. There was only so much Alisia could do for the family, especially since the only cousin of any quality had left her behind. Her father did what he could, but very few forgot that he was Alastor’s closest confidante.

Maybe she would let the hunger get the better of her. Properly utilized anger could be as helpful as serenity at times. It would also help her give the boys a more thorough talking to later on. Especially Alexander. It was his job to keep the prince on track.

The fact that Eldric had been pulled into their nonsense was the cherry on top. She felt like a balloon that was being inflated ever so slowly toward a needle. Eldric, for whatever reason, spent plenty of time with those boys. She had been lucky enough to be sat next to him during this event. The High King, wisely and infuriatingly, had decided that Eldric should be sent to go find the two when they failed to be an hour early.

Alisia had fawned over him as he left. He was a Half-Elf, though his skin was light brown. The sun had reflected off his perfect, shoulder length white hair and ice blue eyes as he muttered something about a harp and the western side of the city. Edwyn and his All-forsaken music.

Oh well.

If they were to be late, then she would have more time to mingle. Mingling could lead to scheming, and scheming could lead to the betterment of their House. One did not finish a harvest if she cried over every spoiled crop. Not that she’d ever worked a farm. Or been to one, really. It was something her father had said. Had he ever been to a farm? There weren’t many near the Talonport, though her father had traveled with Alastor a great deal before grandfather had passed.

That must’ve been it. She rarely, if ever, left the Talonport or its holdings. Thanks to Edwyn, who did and would need to continue to do his best to stay in her good graces, her sessions at court were much shorter than others. She only had to come up to Regalia for required events. These were not great in number. Most noble adolescents stayed here nine months out of the year. Alisia’s stays culminated into a month, potentially a month and a half.

Alisia stood up and left her House’s table. Every House whose blood was worth anything had their own. Her father was likely avoiding social interaction, or he had found it with some of his old war buddies. Men who had gone to war often struggled to relate to those who had not. Alisia only understood that too well. She struggled to relate with her father even the slightest bit.

There wasn’t much nobility left from that time. Many had died, and those who had not been fighting were raised in their place. Those who had not known that conflict firsthand would likely speak with an animate plague before her father. It was up to her, as always, to give it her best shot.

Mother was always so good at this. I miss her dearly.

Alisia found herself starting where she would be most comfortable. The table of House Rosamund. Almost all of their members were present and seated. The Lord Whelin Rosamund had the same elven characteristics of his children. Hair white as snow, blue eyes whose hues were more intense than ice. His ears were a bit longer and more heavily pointed on the account that he was fully elven and his children were half. His skin was a pale white where the children were all light brown. His eyes met hers with a kindness. Alisia wanted it to be genuine, but one could never know when it came to a man who brought his house to prominence through means of money and capital.

Lavender and Yurel, the young twins of the bunch, met her with smiles. They were young, hardly eight, and were the sweetest kids she had ever met. One of two women at the table met Alisia’s smile with a mixture of friendship and inquisition. Her look said “How did you get a hand in the seating choices?” while also relenting that she would rather it be Alisia than some other woman. Melara Rosamund was as beautiful as she was tall; and she was tall.

Alisia ignored the last woman. Joanna Poe was the stepmother to Lord Whelin’s children, and she was nastier than unwashed nails when she wanted to be. Alisia could feel Joanna’s gaze practically boring into her side. All of them wore fine silks of purple and white, their sigils planted on the breasts of their dresses and doublets. The rose of House Rosamund consisted of purple petals, a silver stem, and silver thorns. Their sigil seemed so lively compared to the golden bird on a red field of House Alden, but newly raised houses had the convenience of building upon the areas of nobility where older houses had faltered.

Alisia’s golden eagle, Venlox, flew in from the sky and perched herself on her master’s shoulder. The elven twins gasped in awe, looked at one another, and pointed at the bird. Excited words fluttered from their mouths. They loved Venlox.

Venlox, please play with the children. Kindly.

The bird spread its wings for a moment as it jumped off of her shoulder and onto the table. The children shrieked in jubilation as they began to pet the bird. Alisia walked over to Melara and grabbed her hands. It had been ages since she’d seen her friend.

“Your beauty grows each day, Melara.” The woman accepted the compliment with a graceful smile.

“And you, Alisia. My brother seems to agree, seeing as he was seated with you rather than his family.”

“It is odd, is it not? Men work in mysterious ways, my friend. You know that as well as I.” When would that man come to his senses? The more connections House Alden had to House Rosamund, the better off all of them would be.

“I might know that even better than you, my friend,” Melara said with a sigh. They both let out an exasperated laugh. Men.

Lord Whelin called to her from across the table, a smile still plastered on his face. A future daughter, or a future investor? Both? I cannot tell and that bothers me. “You take my son from me at a feast such as this. Soon it will be from my hands!”

“That, My Lord, is a conversation you and my lord father will have to have. Eldric and I are not growing any younger.” She gave her best smile, and he let out another laugh. It sounded genuine enough.

“You children near the end of your noble education and think yourselves old. There might be two old souls among the children your age, and one of them isn’t even here!” As though she had not been reminded enough, she was once again being told that an incredible resource was just walking the world freely, ignoring any and all aspects of political life.

Wait, who is the other?

She did not need to wait for the answer. The first had walked away from nobility. The second was in the process of doing so, to an extent.

Th second was also walking past Alisia, dark green eyes seemingly afire with a sort of jaded hatred. The woman snapped her head straight, her thick blonde braid floating to the left with it.

Ah, Ivalee Brineheart.

Alisia looked back to Whelin, his eyes still seeming to weigh the value of everything he saw.

I wonder what he sees in them. In me?

She wondered if she would ever know.