Lying in the overly large bed in what the castle staff were calling The Royal Chambers, Myrl wondered who had been sleeping here in this set of rooms before he, himself, moved in. The darkness of the predawn castle was not quite complete, a dim flicker of wavering light scrabbled and played languidly beneath the door to what was now his personal chamber. He sat up in the overstuffed bed, and threw off the covers. He counted four different blankets of incredibly thin, and expensive weave.
In winter, they would probably be quite comfortable.
This morning, their combined weight was more than a little stifling.
The air here is more dry than Myrl had expected. Relative humidity wasn’t something he had paid attention to as a child. Both Jibiril’s Keep and Ghlow were coastal, but being on, essentially, opposite coasts the weather conditions had been very different. Ghlow was much further south.
It was a very different atmosphere. The very air felt different to Myrl as he performed his morning ablutions in the near lightless room. It was taking him several days to adjust to this new space. This new set of schedules. To everything, really.
He had now been in the palace… HIS palace… for three days. This last night was the closest he had come to getting a full night’s sleep.
But, here he was. Again. Awake before the sun.
The sun, Rhoona, was the primary physical representation of his people’s faith. Once they had just worshiped the sun, from what he had read, but for several centuries now his people worshiped a pantheon of gods and goddesses, chief amongst which was Rhoona, Mother of All, and Goddess of the Heavens. All bodies in the heavens were her lovers, and her children.
Devout men sang to Her Divine Light at Dawn. Down in the harbor, which he could just see from his window, devout women sang Rhoona to sleep at dusk, and devout men sang welcome to Her every morning.
It made Myrl wonder if there were devotees of every object in the night sky. Some obscure Holy Orders that sang to the small red planet, Hirit, that could be seen just above the horizon every Autumn, maybe? People who sang to the moons, Uaine, Luch, and Argidd?
Probably, he thought as he pulled on a pair of rough pants from his wardrobe. He didn’t light any of the candles, he had already memorized enough of the room’s layout to navigate in the dark space. And lighting candles would bring his two body servants running. If these last few days were anything to go by, they would be distressed at not having gotten up before him, and had a chance to, assassin-like, start setting out his clothing for the day around him as he slept.
Was this what my Aunt and cousins did?
``Your Uncle, King Filian, Your Aunt, Queen Lurgetha, and Your Cousins, the Prince, Hyrel, and the Princesses Meolina, Caolia, and Unshedhni, have all... passed.” he heard an echo of Duchess Kalenia’s voice say in his memory.
It was an odd thought, as Myrl pulled on what he hoped was a neutral collared tunic, and grabbed for his belt where it hung just to the left of his hanging jackets in the wardrobe. He slowly cinched the belt, adjusting its position by feel alone, and let his mind wander back to last night, trying to remember where he had left his boots.
Reaching up to the top shelf, which he would admit he couldn't see, Myrl grabbed a pair of the knit ankle hose that he preferred to wear with his boots and shoes in warmer weather. He then remembered that the younger body servant, Paiste, had taken his boots for cleaning and polishing.
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He wanted to curse.
Loudly.
But, that would bring the two busybodies running, and tut-tut-ing over how he was dressed.
In a low, and breathy voice, he whispered a long and drawn out “Fuuuuuuuuuuck.” And almost jumped out of both the clothing he had just put on, and the skin beneath as Elbana’s voice came to him out of the blackness of the room, just to the left of the door.
“Sire, I have your boots here. Lord Ashe knew you would want them this morning, and asked me to retrieve them for you. Cleaned. Polished. And the threads on the right heel tightened. Havram wanted to throw them out, and get you a new pair cobbled. I told him to get three pairs. all different cobbled, and to just mend these for now.” He could hear the smirk in her words, even if he couldn't see them on her face.
Myrl exhaled slowly, forcing his heart to slow back to a normal pace. With a word, and a push of his will, three candles on the far side of the room by the south window flickered gently into yellow white light. Myrl looked to where Elbana stood at a relaxed attention, uniform clean and newly pressed, gold trim of her new rank and office gleaming in the flicker candlelight. His boots hung from her extended left hand.
“Sire, you shouldn’t scowl. You’re too young to start your collection of wrinkles.” Her face as clear of any expression as her voice was filled with what he could only think of as sass.
“Sass suits you, Master Elbana. If my life is threatened by anyone, your cheerful wit can devastate them down to their very souls.” He raised an eyebrow to her as he took the boots from her extended hand.
“Have a care, sire!” She feigned a gasp. “The walls have ears, and we cannot give you foes any hint of the viscous reserves of pleasant jocularity that may meet them on the fields of battle.” With that, she matched her offside eyebrow to his own onside raised brow.
She broke first, but Myrl felt it may have been a kindness on the part of his Master of Defense and Horse. “Shall we head to the stables first to ride through the streets, or will you want to take some breakfast first, Sire?”
“Has Donk terrorized his staff into getting breakfast ready at this hour, or did he let them sleep a little longer today?”
“Of course he has them up already, and a breakfast is ready to be served to you is just waiting for you to show yourself in the dining room.” A slight pause, and then, “You do realize his Grandmother would be scandalized at your calling him ‘Donk,’ don’t you, Sire?” She turned toward the door and reached for the huge handle of wrought iron inlaid with gold spirals.
Smiling as he crouched to push his feet into his boots with hardly a grunt, then standing he said “Oh, she knows. And I have been told repeatedly by the old bloody-handed, flint-faced Queen that I must pay a Steel for every insult I offer her little Donkipoo.”
There was a most undignified snort that then exploded through the room. Myrl looked at Elbana. Elbana, suppressing a grin that any man with blood still moving through his body would find enchanting, looked at Myrl.
“Hrrm. Yes.” He said.
“Sire.” She responded simply.
“Let’s make for the dining room, then. And then, fortified for the day ahead, to the stables.”
As he passed into the hall, the two guards, one to either side of his door, snapped to formal attention. He took a moment, and looked at each man directly, catching their eyes. “Gentlemen.”
He then turned and moved down the hall, Master Elbana striding along at his right and just a pace behind.
“And how many of your men will you insist on joining us this morning on our ride about the city?” He was afraid she might repeat her actions of the last two days, and have a full squad of Royal Horsemen riding phalanx about the two of them.
“Just myself, and Lord Ashe this morning, Sire.”
“REALLY?” He would later admit he had been slightly startled, but the rise in his voice almost convinced Elbana Myrl had been pinched, and would retell the tale as her almost tearing off in the castle to hunt the goblins that would so horribly assault her Lord King.
But in the moment, she just said, calmly, “Yes, Sire. Ashe has details of tomorrow’s coronation to cover with you, and told me to tell you not to spend too long over your oatmeal.” A pause. “Sire.”
“Hrrm.” Myrl made his face look as serious as he could, before breaking into a wide smile. “Oatmeal.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Apricots?”
“No, Sire. However, I was told there would be ginger preserves.”
Without a word, Myrl began jogging down the hallway, before breaking into a determined run.