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The King’s Palace in Cartagen was the apogee of early Lorian architecture and the realization of famed King Lucius the first, grant vision for the Kingdom of Regia. Heavily influenced by the Imperial era he’d heard about in his youth and helped destroy as a man, the King poured so much marble and gold into what was to be a Barbican originally that in the end the walled huge building complex Lord Nattas entered an hour later, came to be known as the Palace of the Hundred Windows.

Whether there were so many he didn’t know. Storm paused to catch his breath, since climbing up the many marble steps to reach the columned acropolis guarded entrance had tired him to the point of derision. Autumn was always mild in Cartagen and even the approaching winter wasn’t expected to bring more than a heavy rain once in a while. Perhaps a bit of chill as well, but all that was far into the future, far as Lord Nattas was concerned.

At the moment the noon sun was burning his tanned skin. He took another deep breath, wiping his sweat with a silk cloth, while resting on his cane, the eyes of the Royal Guard watching him either filled with pity, or disbelief at the golden brooch he wore, marking him as an unlikely member of the King’s Council. It was doubtful he was recognized either way. Cartagen wasn’t Novesium, or even Alden. Nattas sighed and with a slight nod of the head, he went past the Guards and walked under the grant marble entablature to enter the King’s Palace.

“The King’s Master of Silence. Lord Nattas,” Demeter Deco the Queen’s Chamberlain announced, after letting Storm pensively stare out one of the many floor to ceiling columned windows for a very long half hour.

He entered walking stiffly, sweat under his armpits, the long rectangular cedar table holding the lunch he’d apparently just missed, situated before the marble throne, dominating the long room. A striking blue cover embroidered with the Alden tiger in silver, was being cleaned by two servants, the Queen sitting at the top of the table facing the double doors that closed behind him.

She wore a white gown, vertical blue thin lines matching the table’s cover, silver decorating her deep v-shaped neckline and wore three platinum and gold chains on her neck that intertwined to create a single necklace, named after the two prominent rubies attached to it.

The Tigress Eyes.

Queen Miranda had the clear face and square jaw of all the Aldens, a straight nose and striking blue-silver eyes that could make a man squirm in lust, or fear. More fear, than lust, Storm thought and executed one of his patented deep bows that would probably destroy his back one of these days and leave him a proper cripple.

“Your Grace,” He said as the Queen untied her long blond hair and left them fall on her shoulders. She checked her painted white nails once and then the table, before apparently satisfied, set her hands on it and looked at the already uncomfortable and hurting Storm.

“You missed lunch,” Queen Miranda said, sounding concerned and uncomfortable. “Was my missive, unclear Mr. Nattas?”

Storm would have rolled his eyes, or slapped her, but knew better than that. So he took the mockery and ridicule with a straight face.

“Apologies, your Grace,” You evil bitch had me waiting outside, while you feasted. “It wasn’t easy for me to reach the grounds.”

“A member of the King’s Council should be punctual, especially one as long at his position, as you,” Miranda cautioned him, but kept it civil, as if she was willing to forgive him this once.

Storm swallowed, feeling a vein throbbing on his temple.

“I shall strive to move faster,” He managed to say, failing to show any enthusiasm.

“You live very near, are you not?”

“Actually I’m not, your Grace,” Not that she didn’t know, he thought. “Though right now, I hope I was.”

Miranda shook her head, hint of a smile forming. Sometimes it was easy to forget, she wasn’t even thirty, Storm thought. Queen Miranda was actually twenty six, just like Lucius.

“Well, I hoped to discuss it over dinner,” She said after collecting herself. “But it seems I may have to chance a favor.”

There’s a weird fucking turn of phrase, he thought.

“I serve Regia,” Storm replied tensely, moving his weight on his good leg, a mere second before his swollen limb gave and collapsed in front of her.

His cane had saved them both from a very embarrassing scene.

“You served a Queen once,” Miranda started, watching him squirm in discomfort pitilessly. There were at least ten free chairs between them, Storm Nattas noticed and he was still fucking standing. They had red velvet cushions on and comfortable sloped backs. These were some really good chairs and his fury for not being allowed to rest his tired legs was growing with each ticking second. “You hold this position for many years now.”

“Eleven, your Grace.”

“She appointed you there quite young. I heard it was scandalous,” Miranda raised a perfect brow questioningly.

“The King made the decision, your Grace,” Storm corrected her stiffly. And her name was Queen Vasia. It’s choleric little you that spreads all this refined claptrap!

“I heard another… more lewd story,” Miranda insisted and almost managed a blush, while playing with her necklace. “It makes a girl wonder.”

Keep your fuckin’ eyes to her face, Storm urged himself.

It’s a ruse.

Abrakas kindly offer a helping hand here, ye lily livered rotten turd!

“She was a friend,” He said with difficulty. “And a very generous patron.”

“Unfortunate she died shortly after,” Miranda added, giving up on seduction.

“On childbirth,” Storm breathed once deeply. “Queen Vasia gave three sons to King Alistair. I honor her memory.”

“As we all of course,” She replied with a flinch, her eyes turning cold. “It’s a difficult time for us.”

“It is, your Grace.”

“Sir Lucius decided on adventuring, and the King stays in Alden for whatever reason. I am left to handle the kingdom as well as the royal family… it is not an easy task, lord Nattas.”

“I will help the Queen of Regia,” Storm said simply. He didn’t mean it, but it was impossible to refuse.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Miranda sat back on her comfortable chair. She puckered her well-shaped lips once and then looked around, fake surprise allover her pretty face.

“You must be awfully tired, lord Nattas. Walking all this way, in this dreadful heat. You are allowed to sit, in my presence.”

“Your Grace, is exceptionally kind,” Storm replied, forced smile on his mouth and reached for the seat nearest to him. He almost collapsed onto the sturdy armchair.

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“Wine?” The Queen offered. A servant had appeared next to her and filled an engraved glass chalice with extreme precision.

“I will partake, your Grace,” Storm said wiping the sweat off his face with a fine cloth that smelled of roses. There was one neatly folded next to every cutlery set. He put it down, when the austere servant approached him to fill a silver goblet and the frocked man snatched it away, as if he was afraid Nattas would steal it.

A spiteful Storm wished him a slow death from cockrot, despite the thought crossing his mind.

“You know secrets, Lord Nattas,” Queen Miranda said, snapping him out of his trance. He tasted his wine before answering. It burned his throat, too sweet and sparkly for his likes, but he kept the discomfort off his face. You don’t insult the Queen’s wine and expect to get away with it.

“Fewer than I’d prefer, your Grace,” He croaked, her next query as surprising.

“Is Prince Kasper engaged?”

“That information hasn’t reached my ears, your Grace,” Storm replied after a thoughtful pause. He stomach protested and he put his goblet down deciding that was enough. “I believe, he isn’t.”

“You’re not sure.”

Ahm, no?

“I haven’t heard anything, and something usually bubbles to the surface,” They both stared at their cups for a moment. It was rather awkward.

“It’s a new vintage,” The Queen explained, sounding troubled. “It’s nicely sweet, is it not?”

“I found it excellent, your Grace.”

It was a truth of sorts. Between having to drink piss and this, he’d go for her wine.

She smiled pleased and waited for him patiently to have some more. Storm forced himself to drink slowly, his eyes watering and his mouth turning all gluey.

“So I was thinking,” The Queen continued, as Storm moved on his chair, his stomach getting worse with every passing second. “To force the issue. I understand Lucius is unmarried,” widowed, Nattas translated. “but with the Princess of Kaltha gone…” She trailed her words, looking at him knowingly.

Storm had no idea, what she was angling for and his discomfort reached new levels.

“She isn’t dead, your Grace.” He managed to voice, fresh sweat on his forehead. He’d flog Sudi for his idiotic suggestion upon his return, Lord Nattas decided. Then disembowel that cursed conniving Dottore.

Slowly.

For a whole week.

“Eh, isn’t it the same thing?” Queen Miranda asked, sounding genuine.

No it isn’t ye lecherous cunt!

“You want to learn, if Prince Kasper is to be wed?” He asked, adding quickly when she raised a brow at his slipup. “Your Grace.”

“Yes.”

He’s like ten?

“Ahm, I will find out, your Grace.”

“I want more than that, lord Nattas,” The Queen said, her tone changing abruptly. “I want you to make sure, when he does… his choice is agreeable to us.”

Right.

Storm smacked his lips and moved forward placing his elbows on the table.

He should have seen this one coming.

“You want him to pick Lady Sylvie.”

The girl was barely six years old.

“That is what we want.” Queen Miranda agreed.

“Does the King—”

“The King will decide, what is best for his only daughter.” There was steel in her voice now, all pretense gone.

The King will decide, what is best for Regia, not you, he thought.

“There are may be a war soon,” Storm said instead, keeping his composure.

“What do I care about war? Regia is allied to Kaltha. That won’t change.”

You don’t know that, Storm thought, now worried. If Alistair refuses to help the High King tensions will rise. Antoon would rather cut little Casper’s cock off, than letting him marry little Silvie. And if the treaties were voided, the alliance would be severed as a result.

Friends will turn enemies, in the blink of an eye.

“I will make enquires,” He said, trying to avoid her stare. “But the King must be informed.”

“You offered to serve me earlier, Lord Nattas,” No I didn’t you fucking cunt! “Will you back away from your word now?”

Storm licked his dry lips. He felt sick, whether it was from the ‘treatment’ he had and Storm was making sure he kept his doses at a bare minimum, or the dreadful Queen’s wine, he didn’t know. Regia’s Master of Silence, was certain for one thing though.

This talk hadn’t helped him at all.

“I will look into it, your Grace.”

The Queen appeared pleased from his reply.

“Make it happen, lord Nattas.” She ordered and seeing his discomfort added, sounding quite frustrated. “And don’t look so down for Uher’s sake. Serving me is in your best interests.”

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Storm puked whatever he had in his stomach a mere block from the palace. He reached his own villa drenched in sweat and green in the face, huge dark circles under his eyes. Titus frowned when he saw him collapse on a couch next to the door.

“You don’t look too well,” The former adventurer, among other things, noticed.

Sharp as a fuckin’ skinning knife!

“I may need a dottore,” Storm hissed.

“You too? Is it a bug?” Titus asked.

“Fuck should I know?”

“Baro is upstairs.”

“The Dottore?” Storm croaked, raising his head, eyes red and gleaming with fever.

“Ye know another?”

Storm threw him his cane, aiming for his head. It was a bad throw, he had to begrudgingly admit, no real strength behind it. They both stared at it awkwardly, until it stopped rolling on the tiles, a couple of meters from the couch.

“Why is he here?” Storm asked finally.

Titus shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Sudi collapsed earlier,” He explained. “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

Storm dry retched, when he tried to speak under the eyes of the unimpressed mercenary.

“Bring me some water, you stupid fuck!” Nattas snapped, as soon as he felt better. The latter a misnomer, if there ever was one. “And bring that idiot Baro down right now! I’m more important than that drunken idiot!”

“Sudi didn’t pass out boss,” Titus clarified, getting up to fetch him a carafe with water, under Storm’s intense glare. “He’s in a bloody coma. Dottore Baro said, he was poisoned and not by the stuff he's being giving you.”

It took a dragging moment for Lord Nattas to realize what his man was saying. Then that last part hit him, like a carriage laden with bricks.