Mero yawned and stumbled to the kitchen. The sun was still several hours from rising, but now was the time when cooking began. He’d already sent for a boy to fetch water and his knives were sharp. Today, he was going to make omelets.

He loved omelets, white and yellow egg, celery, mushrooms, and a bit of cheese. He could taste it already.

And smell it.

When Mero entered the kitchen he saw a thin man sitting at one of the tables. He was eating an omelet. He appeared middle-aged, but was still fit, like a man in his prime. He wore travelling leathers, yet had none of the customary riding fatigue visible on his face.

“Mero, please, have a seat. There should be enough for the household here, though I am worried it will be quite cold before they wake.”

Mero sat. He was more bemused than frightened. If the man was there to harm him he had a strange way of going about it, “I can put it over a low fire.”

Mero grabbed one of the omelets and took a bite. The flavour was exquisite, instead of celery it contained parsley and ginger, ingredients Mero did not carry in his kitchen. “I must compliment you. You are an excellent cook for an intruder. I needed not have woken so early. I shall refrain from locking the doors ever again.”

The man smiled, “Please forgive my transgression. My need was great.”

“I can’t say the company goes unappreciated. It is rare to see another awake at this hour.”

“I hope I can provide ample companionship. Today, and for the foreseeable future.”

“Your own company?” Mero wouldn’t mind the man staying if he kept cooking Mero breakfast.

“Another’s.”

“I am most intrigued. But first, sir, your name?” Mero wasn’t sure if the man was deserving of the honorific, but it never hurt to be polite. Mero tried to always speak with a formal air when among strangers. The man appeared to do the same, furthering Mero’s belief that he was royalty.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“My prince, I am Lord Glove.”

“I don’t recall a Glove,” the man frowned when Mero said his name, which he thought was odd, “I’m sorry, did I give offence?”

“It’s Lord Glove, sir. The title is mine, I will keep it.”

“Of course, I apologize. I am far too informal at times,” Mero said.

“Thank you, my prince. It has naught to do with formality, though I understand the confusion. This title came at a heavy price and I shall not let it be forgotten.”

“Again you have my apologies. Was this price payed recently? I’ve not heard your name before. Perhaps you are new to the title?”

“New?” Lord Glove said softly, “Not at all Prince Mero. Not at all.”

His voice resumed to normal, “I have come to talk with you about your marriage.”

“My marriage? I’m not married.”

“Indeed. I hope to fix that. Do you remember one Princess Lija from a treaty with Syldom?”

If he was truthful to himself, he had thought of Lija the moment Lord Glove had mentioned marriage, “Aye. That was many years back. We were both quite young. Had a fancy for her at the time. But if that’s what you are here about, forget it.”

“Why is that?” said Lord Glove.

“Her brother. Didn’t like the two of us near each other. The older brother that is, the younger was a sweetheart, right enough.”

“Yes, quite the tyrant as I recall. It is of him I wish to inform you. There was a hunting expedition. The two brothers and four huntsmen went in search of the Golden Boar. They became lost. The huntsmen disagreed as to which way they should go, for the trail was confused. Or so they claimed to the younger brother. They had led him astray, hoping to murder him in the woods.”

Mero was aghast. The poor lad. Rivalries of this sort were not uncommon. Mero believed it all stemmed from the tradition of dividing land amongst one’s children. They always wanted more than they received. He was fortunate to be a single child. He wondered how Lord Glove had heard of all this. “Please, continue. What happened?”

“Through what fortune I cannot imagine, the younger brother escaped, wounding his elder brother in his flight. When the elder returned with his huntsmen, he had lost nearly all his blood and his leg was badly infected. He died of fever a few days later. The huntsmen were tried and exiled, and the younger brother abdicated in disgust.”

Mero shook his head. “That’s terrible. Lija must be devastated.”

Lord Glove stood and pushed his chair in, “Indeed she is. I am going to Syldom soon. I need an escort, not a large one, one or two nobles and their retainers, lesser amounts are preferable. What say you?”

“I… I… Who are you?”, but Lord Glove was already through the door. Mero’s boy returned a few minutes later. Mero told him to fetch the butler. He’d need to put his affairs in order. He had a hard journey ahead of him.