The former Heirling stared at the entrance before him.

All he had was his confidence.

What a terrible thing, if he died before the Game even began. If any touched him, now before he had even the protection of a Servant’s name and place, all his plans may just disappear. He could simply die.

He squared his shoulders, then relaxed them, establishing the tone of a casual worker going about a task they had done so many times before they need not even consider the next steps. With his mind centered on what he wanted others to see, he entered the servants hall.

The noise was intense. The hall was completely full. The hall was the first great hall, and was large enough to comfortability hold thousands over the multi-tiered floors that circled three of the four walls. There were multiple kitchens on each of the balcony levels. Daniel had been in the servant’s keep Hall before, but as a young Lordling delivering a message to the Servant Chamber Master. When he’d been here then, he remembered only the ground floor had been in use.

Today all five balcony floors were full. The ground floor also appeared less occupied than normal. It made sense, Daniel reasoned, as most would not wish to interact with him, but merely see the fallen Heirling. The large central audience room had been refitted over the centuries, losing many of its ornamental aspects to new renovations that decided that this statue should go where the important people could see it, and that stain glass would be perfect for this tea house, until the old hall of the first king bore more patchwork and “quick fixes” like boards sealing the gap where the window once rested, and bear earth where flagstones had been removed. It seemed functional but semi abandoned.

Daniel entered the main floor, coming from the door where the first king had once entered. The insult was not lost on him. Daniel came out to face the servants and the spies of the high fae, their hangerons, their minions.

If he had been a nobody, the room wouldn’t have become so deathly silent as the denizens of fae watched him with glowing eyes.

It hurt. It hurt more than he thought it would. He saw so many strange faces, but he also saw many he knew by name. He saw the servant who had once helped him clean the mud he’d tracked into the white carpet before his minder returned when he was nine. He saw the gardener who once helped him out of a tree when he had tried to hide to avoid lessons, then been left there as punishment by his tutors. He saw the old bloke who would bring special teas from his hometown. He saw Matheus, his former steward, sitting there alone as everyone avoided someone of such high station. Matheus didn’t even acknowledge him.

Which was wise, because the Game was apparent to everyone today. Daniel entered the vast cavern of a room and purposely controlled where his eyes lingered.

While the servants of the Citadel gawked at him, trying to see how much he had fallen in rank, Daniel could also use this moment. Who was startled? Those could be written off as safe to ignore. He spotted the livery of house stewards amongst those who were visibly startled. Who was excited? Those could be troublesome, but again anyone so obvious to show excitement was less likely to be a high level confidant and therefore could be put in the watch but take no direct action list. He saw a few he knew to be spies for the great houses among that lot. Who remained the same, not changing their routine as he entered the room? Those were the ones he needed to mind. Those servants and stewards may not be against him, but if they had enough training to not react to the reentry of the former Heirling of the Red Sword, that meant they were dangerous to him.

He spied those he needed to watch, and his stomach fell slightly as he recognized several high level stewards who had no business to be here arrive. A steward from the O’Tells was present. The Oresgate’s Household representative lingered near a pillar. Standing like a thick scarecrow was a servant from the Walsa Alliance.

The first lowling who spat at Daniel missed, the wad of spittle landing with a small ‘thwap’ sound on an old flagstone tile. Daniel kept his shoulders relaxed but hated the sudden movement. He memorized the face of the servant who did it, and knew that he would have to make that unfortunate soul regret the day and the hour that he existed. But his retribution would come later. Daniel couldn’t react now, or else the entire room would turn on him. The entire room would have justification to do so.

Like a stone disrupting a still pond, conversations and murmurs rippled out, jeers at Daniels, gossip about “the fallen one’s face.”, and yet a few more spittle infringed upon Daniel’s vicinity. Someone near him laughed that “the fallen one can’t handle a little spit.”. Spitting? Really? He had been prepared for lightning strikes and poison dripping from the ceiling, prepared to rip apart fae glamours and gnaw his way clear of dark and jagged bones of spells. They thought that bodily fluid was enough to actually make a difference to him?

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Because he also knew that the fae lords insults and attacks hadn’t even started yet. The Game had yet to start. Three matches, to prove his worth. He had to survive. But he couldn’t control when the actual Matches would begin. He needed to legitimize his status as a servant. While being a servant was an astronautical difference from being a Lordling, a servant was at least part of the court.

If Daniel couldn’t establish that he belonged to the Fae Court, then his enemies could annihilate everything that Daniel had built. Several villages would be destroyed within hours if he failed. So he could not fail. And if he could not establish his name, then Witness would die and the wrongdoings would never be made right.

He shook his head, purposely bemusedly and deliberately absentmindedly, and headed toward the center of the room. The crowd, mostly made of lowlings and the lowest of the servants, parted for him, so that he didn’t even need to brush shoulders with anyone. Not because they respected him, he was sure, but because no one wanted to be close to him when the opening salvo of the Lords and Lordlings began. They wanted to stay out of danger as much as possible, no doubt.

Daniel watched them, and firmed his resolve. He also would not remain a servant. He needed to survive, win the Game that was going to befall him, establish his identity to ensure continued support over the rural places. And then once those impossible things were accomplished, he would break free of the bonds on him and escape.

This was the first king’s hall, but for centuries had been used for housing the servants and key household staff. Many old chambers had been turned into massive dormitories, and the great hall itself was retrofitted to serve as an eating hall, common area, and also a small administrative area was added, with half walls and bookcases on the old area where the dais of the first king once rested. While the administration buildings were the brains, where they compiled and completed paperwork, this little office was the mouth and the hands directing and dispatching thousands of servants. Orders were given out. Dozens of office workers would handle the front line here, and hundreds more in the actual administration buildings would handle the planning and completing.

Daniel would be given his first orders here.

Of course, if his Lordly Father had wanted to help his son to have even a smidge of privacy, he would have allowed Daniel to register and receive orders directly from the administration building. But that would take away the spectacle that would unfold here. His Lordly Father wanted to punish him, wanted to make an example out of him. Wanted everybody to have a clear view of what had happened to the next heir of one of the Houses, and that he was heir no longer.

And it also allowed his enemies a chance to remember and look upon him. To remind the entire Citadel of the Fae courts of this upstart of a lordling and his proper punishment.

Daniel ascended up the dais steps, to the clustered desk. There were about ten large desks that faced out, with around thirty tables behind, piled with documents and reems of paper. Daniel could count on that behind every desk held a spy. Not every day, but today everyone would be sending their fingers and claws over this matter. It wasn’t just arrogance on his part, but merely a fact. Even if a faction had nothing to gain from attending to this matter, they would have to show up, even if only to create a smoke screen of misdirection to disguise their true aims and purpose.

He approached the center desk. He felt the fae bindings on him relax slightly as he had completed part of his orders. The spies behind the front desk shifted. Many of them had been in the “startled’ category, they had incorrectly assumed he would run out the clock, and only report at the last possible moment. These people he could listen to them, or not, and not fear terribly for the reactions of their factions. He may even be able to be defiant and disobedient. Daniel had come early. They had set the maximum deadline, but Daniel hadn’t let the clock run at all.

“Presented as called.” Daniel said, unconsciously shifting into his speaking voice he used for addressing audiences.

While many were startled, he did note several were not startled. He didn’t know which factions these administrators held loyalties to. The white haired Strifen, all long limbs and twisty joints, he would hazard a guess of the Castalas faction, given the proximity of the Strifen homeland and the Castalas house foundation. The dark eyed Water nymph he would guess belonged the Lord of Pacicern, given the current army that reported to Pacicern. The Dew Wing, with her wings translucent and ethereal, who gleamed and seemed close to a highborn fae, he just had a lingering suspicion that this female reported to Mical, although Daniel had no idea why he considered this.

These were the three to watch.

Things about the fae game were fair, to an extent. Things were done in threes. Punishments, praise, purpose, rewards, retribution. Each one action allowed one to receive three opportunities, or dangers if your luck was ill fated, as Daniel’s had been this past cycle.

Daniel stood before the center front desk, as though he were a normal servant, and continued his first public words since that disastrous tournament.

“Reported as ordered, one humble servant and devout supporter to further the brilliance of this kingdom.”