"Wait 'til you tangle with a real she-devil." The raven hopped onto Rhones Lord's shoulder, claws digging into his armor. As he untied the message, it squawked, "Corn! Corn! No corn, fuck you!"
"Never said I wouldn't feed you, friend." (Who in the seven hells trained this bird?) The letter quickly answered his question. (Ah, from the Green Knights.) His eyes darted across the page. (Finally, some good news.) "Very well." He folded the letter and turned to the boy. "Thank you for the delivery. You may go."
"Go? Fuck you, go." Ignoring the threats screeched in his ear, he added, "And next time, try not dragging the raven around—might speed up that promotion to scholar. Now take it back and feed it proper corn."
"I don't think Archmage Hamilton has any corn left..." The boy's eyes widened.
"Then breadcrumbs, meat scraps, whatever you have. Wood shavings if you must." He thrust the squawking raven into the boy's hands. Vito bowed and scrambled towards the stairs. "I said, no one's chasing you..." Too late. A clatter of limbs and a muffled yelp echoed from below.
(What now?) Rhones Lord studied the crumpled parchment. The Queen had ordered all messages to go through him first, protocol be damned. The Archmage hadn't objected. (Time to see Claire. At least I have an excuse.) He headed for the Queen's chambers.
Giant stone columns lined his path, their carved faces watching his progress. One glance sideways revealed the kingdom sprawled beneath the night sky—this balcony had always drawn noble ladies seeking romantic vistas. He passed several guards, exchanging silent nods. (They must wonder why I visit the Queen's chambers at this hour.)Dismissing the thought, he reached the corridor to her rooms. Two tall guards in white armor flanked the passage, faces carved from stone, eyes fixed ahead. Seeing the commander of the Royal Twelve Knights, they lowered their spears until the tips kissed the floor.
These knights earned their white armor through trials, swearing fealty not to the Crown directly, but to one of the Royal Twelve – a sign of the monarch's trust. The Twelve, in turn, swore allegiance to the King, ensuring the White Knights would follow royal commands, while remaining ultimately bound to their Knight. To prevent any one Knight from amassing too much power, Cynthia's monarchs limited each of the Twelve to a mere twelve White Knights, selecting only the most loyal and capable warriors.
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"Allen, Ullen. Report."
"All quiet, my lord," replied Allen, the leaner twin.
"None but handmaids since Her Majesty retired this afternoon," Ullen added.
"Well done." Rhones Lord gestured them to ease. "Finch and Ailer relieve you at dawn. Until then, your axes and honor guard her."
"We stand until sunrise," they answered as one.
Past the twins, Rhones Lord entered the Queen's gallery. Chandeliers hung in golden chains, bathing the corridor and chambers in warm light. (If only these lights could illuminate our future—both realm and heart.) A handmaid emerged from the Queen's chamber.
"Oh! Lord Rhones!" She dropped into a quick curtsy, flaxen hair neatly tied back enhancing her youthful charm. "Have you come with news for Her Majesty at this hour?"
He nodded. "You're... ah, Miss Blancheless. How fares the Queen?"
Color touched her cheeks at his recognition. "Well... poorly, I fear. Abed since lunch, barely touched her dinner—just cold cuts, no hot food. Wouldn't even take her evening bath, just waved us away. Even sent me out, which never happens."
"...And the Princess?"
"With her wet nurse." Gray eyes met his, oddly captivating. "Come to think of it, Her Majesty hasn't visited today..."
Something in the maid's manner stirred old memories. He looked away. "I see. The Queen sent you on an errand?"
"Yes." She nodded. "For tea."
"Tea?"（ Why tea, of all things?） "Are you sure that's right? It'll keep her awake."
She bit her lip. "I thought the same, but she insisted."
(She hasn't recovered.) His jaw tightened. (I must see her.) "Forget the tea. Find a scholar or doctor—get her something for sleep instead."
The maid agreed without question. (She worries for her Queen too.) He watched her graceful departure with approval. (Clever and dutiful, like Claire in her youth.)
When he entered, the Queen lay in bed, white velvet covers draped to hide the curves beneath her lace nightgown. He closed the door and lit several candles.
"Mmm..." rustled from the bed. "Blancheless?"
"She's fetching your tea, Claire." His voice brought her upright. "Oh... Rhones." He said nothing, studying the bedside ornaments. A metal knight caught his eye—a gift from traveling dwarven merchants when she was a girl in Duviliel, sparking her love of all things knightly. As her father's squire, he'd become one of those fascinations. They'd spent countless afternoons sparring, then inventing excuses to escape her father's wrath. (Like mist in morning sun.) He sighed softly.