“This old man is called Mercator. He’ll be attending to you while you remain in our care.”

King Claymore heavily patted the shoulder of a slim old man with white hair and a tidy beard and mustache. Prince Verde squinted, eyes bleary from poor sleep. The old man certainly looked the part of an attendant. In fact, it felt strange to see such a civilized-looking person out on the frontline.

Mercator bowed slightly, “Pleasure to meet you, your highness.”

“Sure,” Verde said with a mixed attitude. The presence of an attendant was important to keep him alive, but the old man was also an enemy who would be restraining and spying on him.

The King seemed content enough with their meeting, and retrieved his bow from beside his bed. “Right. You two get along now. I’m going fishing. No way we can catch enough for everyone to have their fill, but we’ll need something to tide us over for the days it’ll take our opponents to resupply, right?”

The King whistled a cheerful tune to himself and left the tent. Verde was alone with the civilized-looking old man now, his mind split between quiet awkwardness and idle thoughts about what his men could accomplish if he could somehow communicate the enemy’s movements back to them. Alas, he had no way to do so. The awkward silence gradually grew louder in his head until the prince couldn’t stand it anymore.

“So who are you, exactly?” he asked his attendant. “What do you do around here?”

The old man raised a hand to his chest and politely explained himself. “Originally, I’m his majesty’s attendant. Whatever he requires of me is what I do.”

The prince involuntarily recalled last night’s conversation with the King, who said something about a respected old man, heavily implied to prefer men. He gritted his teeth and mentally shook his head to banish those irrelevant and unproven associations from his brain.

“Right, so, specifically…?”

“Specifically, while away from our keep like this, I would carry messages to the soldiers and back, prepare tea and meals for his majesty, settle disputes, and offer advice or an ear when requested.”

Verde frowned. Either the old man was downplaying his duties, or he was trusted enough by the king to be valuable even as little more than a traveling companion. Perhaps both.

“You seem dissatisfied,” Mercator smiled faintly.

“It just doesn’t sound like you’re worth the rations to me.”

“Perhaps not to you, then,” the old man nodded without seeming bothered by his harsh words.

“Just how close are you with the king?” Verde asked the question innocently, but as he heard his own words coming out of his mouth, his mind involuntarily wandered again. A faint blush hit his cheeks and he snapped his mouth shut, lowering his gaze. “N-no, nevermind.”

Mercator raised a brow and inspected the prince’s unusual reaction. Then a thought seemed to occur to him. “Ah,” he muttered, “his majesty must’ve overshared again.” The old man shook his head and said, “There’s a good deal of trust between his majesty and I because I was his tutor during his youth. That’s all.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Verde blinked and the corners of his lips tugged down while he focused. He wasn’t that great at reading between the lines on a good day, and he was tired and hungry now.

So, basically, they aren’t sleeping together, right? It’s more of a student-teacher relationship?

If this old man taught the King military strategy, then that was reason enough for him to be here as an advisor.

Didn’t the king say something about his father last night?

It didn’t sound like Claudius Claymore was very close with his father. Well, the previous king was an utter despot, after all. So, if the current king was on bad terms with his now-deceased father but close with his tutor from childhood… Was this old man the king’s de-facto father figure?

He’s damn important then.

Verde frowned. “You should’ve taught him some common sense.”

Mercator laughed. “What I taught and what his majesty learned rarely seemed to coincide, I’ll admit. He was ever a precocious child.”

That precocious child grew up into an eccentric war-beast, you know, Verde thought, suddenly feeling a bit resentful of this polite old man and his role in raising his kingdom’s opponent.

The prince lifted his arms a bit, feeling the ropes around his wrists and the post they were tied to. He wasn’t bound as tightly as when he was first captured, but he was still heavily restricted.

“So, since I have an attendant now, can these come off?”

“I’m afraid I’m not as skilled in self-defense as his majesty,” the old man smoothly refused, “nor can I run quite as swiftly in my old age.”

Verde frowned. “I have to relieve myself.”

Mercator nodded, but before the prince could get his hopes up, the old man pulled an empty chamber pot out from under the king’s bed and set it at his feet.

“You’re not so violent as to wield this against me, I hope, your highness? Else, in that case, I’ve lived a long life, but you’re a bit too old to be relieving yourself in your trousers.”

Verde scowled, translating this one a bit quicker: “Abuse the chamber pot, lose the chamber pot. And it’s all you’re getting.”

“Right, thanks,” he growled. “I’m not going to run away, you know? I know there’s got to be soldiers in your camp who want to kill me. It’s excessive to tie me up when I can’t leave this tent in the first place.”

“Not at all,” Mercator countered, turning around so the prince could relieve himself if he actually needed to. “What’s excessive is the good faith his majesty has shown you. I can’t help but wonder what it was the two of you discussed last night.”

Faith? Verde wondered. What about this situation is Claymore showing me good faith?

Then it dawned on him. The King’s father figure was his attendant, and he appeared to be just an old man without much combat training. Prince Verde had access to a heavy chamber pot, the ropes around his wrists, and even the king’s massive two-handed sword was still in this tent. If he took the old man hostage, he could probably escape—as long as the King wasn’t around to stop him with force.

He did consider it briefly. But, again feeling like he was acting against his military upbringing, Verde understood that he could gain more benefits by staying tied up here than by returning triumphantly to his camp. In the latter case, this war would drag on to their inevitable loss. But if he stayed and was later released peacefully, he could possibly negotiate for a quiet end to this mess.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he said, kicking the chamber pot away. “I’m not an idiot.”

Mercator turned around and smiled, perhaps relieved that the prince didn’t call his bluff? All these bastards were fucking sly.

“That’s good to hear, your highness.”