The night was set up to be joyous. A bard danced merrily between the tables, lute in hand, as the tales of chivalry, nobility and scandal filled the main hall of the estate. The stench of turkey legs brought in from the outside, sweetbread and sweat permeated the smokey air. Walter sat in a corner with a tepid cup of mulled wine from earlier that night, leaving it half-drunk not to rouse the interest of a servant offering him another, as the spices were too pungent and the wine too brutally intoxicant for a young man of his constitution. He barely recognised the main hall of House Gartham on its more festive nights, though there were multiple reasons for that. During the day, it was a solemn place that was sweltering in summer and frigid the other eleven months of the year, held together by the occasional stipend from the crown as the lord, Her Majesty’s Lord Overleigh, earned a good living that he never fully spent on his own. The parties had become more solemn too, however, and Lettice had not been herself, as far as Walter could judge or learn from the servants he quickly befriended.
Quickly after Walter had been taken in, there appeared to be a surge of interest in the humble court at which he stayed. The amount of courtiers multiplied overnight, all Norbury Lake and surrounding towns in terms of the accent they spoke, though there appeared to be more interest, too, that the islanders paid them. Gartham was suspiciously near to Otterdon Island and had long be considered, aside from the warm relations that Lord Overleigh had with the crown, to be a home away from home for conspirators and scoundrels of the Otterdon distinction. Every third coin Walter held, had Katherine’s noble profile defaced. He saw Katherine out of Otterdon Island on the coins more than he saw Katherine of Courtenay of Ilworth and Otterdon Island.
It should not have been surprising to him that he recognised a young man who sat down on the bench next to him, mulled wine hesitantly in his two hands, and that he smiled kindly. His face was long, with a pointed chin, and kind green eyes. Out of his head grew a thick layer of black hair, cut short, that shone like a pile on a particularly well-made velvet.
‘Good evening,’ he said with a humble nod.
Walter was surprised still. Where had he seen his face before…?
‘Good evening,’ Walter echoed.
‘I just arrived…’ the man continued, and scraped his throat. ‘It’s true what they say about you, Sir Walter. You can be recognised out of a thousand straw-haired country youths.’
Walter felt himself withdraw a little into himself from the overt compliment. ‘Really?’ he asked. ‘Is that what they say about me?’
‘Yes. That, and how Queen Katherine left you to rot,’ he said just as casually as his previous remarks. ‘How rude of me, I haven’t even told you my name. I’m Francis of Langley.’
‘Prince of the North,’ Walter finished, from years of memorising Grace of Langley, Princess of the North.
‘Hugh Dacre sent me,’ Francis said, ‘The Duke of Far Water.’
The humility with which he spoke was magnetic to Walter. He knew that Hugh was Duke of Far Water — everyone did, especially living so close to it. Francis could have introduced himself just with his first name and made it clear who he was. Even his face was a token of the resistance. Walter found himself staring at the prince as if he had never been in the same room as royalty before.
‘Why, my lord?’ Walter asked.
Francis peered down his cup. ‘I think both of us were damaged at the hand of the same woman, Walter. And for me, my people suffer every day. The queen has made it very clear that she does not intend to return the Otterdon Kingdom back to its dynasty. That would not be the end of the world, of course, but I can sense a thaw… we are about to unearth the relics of the Otterdon spirit that we thought were forever frozen over…’
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Francis had reminded Walter of the smiling nobility and generosity that he had initially felt about Norbury Lake’s camarilla. It was as if a piece of his heart had finally come home. The morning after they had met, Francis and Walter rode out onto the great plains from where the mountains of Otterdon Island were visible. Walter was tucked cosily into his roomiest doublet, with a gambeson beneath it just for warmth, and he wore his thickest knitted tights, that he had taken from Norbury Castle. Francis rode out from him all of a sudden, after they had made the whole trek side by side.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
His navy blue cloak flapped in the wind, and the coat of his dark horse had a deep and glossy shine. Walter realised that aside from the camaraderie that was already brewing between the two, a sort of reverence or awe began to creep in, that never really grew for the nobility in Norbury Lake. Though he had loved Katherine for her attention to him, for what she could give him, he began to doubt whether he found Katherine a noble spirit at all. This, before him now, galloping into the windy meadow: that was a noble spirit.
He turned and gloated, waiting for Walter to come.
‘Walter!’ he hollered. ‘Son of Gartham, companion of rulers, great martyr of the Courtenay regime! Look upon your great neighbours — their mountains just across the sea, the white sands, the ports.’
Walter looked down and smiled as he came closer. He had an idea about why he was brought there but understood as well that he was endangering himself to spend time with this mysterious man. He knew Katherine before him, he was cast away long before there was a chance he would be chewed out. There was a possibility for answers within Francis that he could find almost nowhere else. Then, of course, was the matter of the delightfully radical politics of this man, that in the depths of Walter’s ignorant loathing, he found attractive.
The mountains were the first thing he saw when he looked back up: large, snowcapped, jagged, and most of all, these mountains were majestic.
He sat awestruck astride his horse.
‘I came here to ask you something rather important,’ Francis said, his voice carried by the wind like a prophecy. His face was kind and calm and noble. ‘Something for the beautiful island you see in the distance.’
Only when Walter came closer did he realise that the mountains were not attached to the mainland, but were visible there from their position on Otterdon Island. ‘Anything,’ said Walter.
Francis huffed and smiled. ‘It’s a fool’s thing to say. Anything. I imagine that gets you in trouble with those who do not mean well. Luckily, my first and foremost calling is to do well. Anything that I get done aside from that, is merely a boon.’
He chuckled from his own statement, then turned to the island again. ‘Walter, I hardly know you. I had left Norbury Lake by the time you developed yourself into a prominent player there, and I’ve hardly ever looked back on that short time. Why would I? I’ve been suitor at a few more courts. In fact, under that pretence I might remain in Gartham as well.’
‘Hm,’ said Walter, ‘Pretence? You’re not looking to marry?’
‘I am,’ said Francis. ‘Eventually, that is. I’m not in a rush. Given my country’s sordid reputation in Ilworth, I would be better off waiting a little for the tide to turn. But you caught me, Walter. I hope I’m not treading into your waters. I am seeking the hand of Philippa of Courtenay. Considering that she is likelier to inherit the crown than many, I might have to settle for her sister Blanche. Either way, I consider it a good move to show my face in these parts.’
‘Lord Overleigh’s daughter,’ said Walter. He looked up at the swirling clouds, deep in thought. ‘You aren’t treading into my water. I’m but a country youth, or so they tell me. I have no business meddling with Princess Lettice’s daughters. What were you meaning to ask of me, if you do not mind?’
‘Speak to Lettice,’ he said drily. ‘I know that she trusts you, after the narrative that you stood by William until the end. Put in a good word for me. Really, it’ll mean the world for me if I get my feet on the ground in this court. It’s likely the last to invite me, and the nearest to me. Princess Lettice tolerates us — the Otterdons, I mean. I’ve seen the coins, of course. The message inscribed upon them is of course not the kindest, and I personally find them rather crude, but to see them used… it makes me feel at home somehow. We can build the movement from here. I said that the Duke of Far Water sent me. I would like, when I can confirm that it is safe for him to do so, to invite him over.’
‘You’re building some sort of base here,’ Walter said, absentmindedly looking at Francis’ sharpening features.
‘I thought you would be sympathetic to that,’ he replied.
‘I am,’ said Walter. ‘I just… wouldn’t have guessed before.’
‘Will you help me, Walter?’ he asked. ‘It won’t cause you trouble. Perhaps, down the line, I will be able to help you in return.’
Walter chuckled awkwardly. ‘How would you do that?’
Francis awkwardly passed the length of his reins through his hands back and forth. ‘I intend for the people of Otterdon Island to make me their king once we are free from this tyranny. It’ll be easier with a prominent bride by my side, but either way the line of our old kings most notably leads to me. I am the eldest son, so was my father, and so forth. I will be king one day, Walter. Good things happen to men who befriend monarchs. I’ll make you a duke.’
The spell was lifted off of Walter. ‘Bad things happen to men who befriend monarchs too, you know,’ he said. ‘You’d be surprised. I’ll think it over, Francis.’
He turned in the high grass, and began to make his way back to Gartham. Francis waited before going after him. Walter’s heart was beating in his chest, discordantly against the sound of the horse’s hooves. He was older now than the first time such a promise had been made to him, he had been hurt by the previous attempts at turning him into a human shield.
Everyone in power is of the same evil creed, he thought. Everyone who can smell power is the same as well. The price of power is paid by those complicit in its acquisition.