Sir Gemple immediately dropped to one knee at the words from Prince Randall.

All else in the tent did so as well, excepting the Prince’s guardsmen. Gemple heard a grunt of effort or perhaps even pain come from behind him, and he guessed it was from Earl Mondrake, lowering his massive frame down to one knee.

He saw the Prince wore a look of satisfaction on his face, so Gemple assumed the show of obeisance was good enough, and he shot back up to his feet and moved toward the Prince.

He hoped that his service with the Royal Guard had been noticed and perhaps he could take up a position with them. Gemple knew he might not have a chance to speak with a member of the Royal Family ever again, so he had to take it.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that he should have offered to help Lady Avalaine stand up. He cursed himself and turned to do so. Sometimes he was not good with the gentlemanly aspects of knighthood.

However, he found he need not have bothered, as she had reached for Baron Varsus and he helped her instead. Gemple cursed himself again. Sometimes he was such a lout!

He turned back to face the Prince, and he heard a sharp hiss come from Baroness Elsa.

“Many thanks, Gemple!” Elsa said under her breath. Her tone was sarcastic, to say the least. Gemple turned to face her, then felt like an even bigger lout as he realized he had not offered to help her, either.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but he was forestalled by the Prince, who stepped forward, his movements commanding the attention of all present.

“Earl Mondrake,” the Prince stated, his voice slightly elevated to reach all in the large tent.

My irreproachable brother has dispatched me to inform the leaders at this end of the camp personally that your presence is no longer required. You are to break camp immediately and return to your homes.”

There was some muttering from the assembled nobles, but it was Earl Mondrake, as the highest ranked, who spoke.

“In that case, my Prince, may I offer you some of the delicious meal you see before you? It would be my honor to have you join us.”

The words were barely out of the Earl’s mouth before the Prince barked out a laugh of derision.

“By the Gods, Mondrake, NO,” the Prince stated. Loudly. He began laughing and looked to his guardsmen to share in the jest.

“If I were to eat any of this food, I might end up as fat as you!” shouted the Prince, and then he and his guardsmen erupted into undisguised laughter.

Gemple froze. He was not amused, but most in the tent were laughing to some extent. You did not dare take issue with a jest made by a Prince of Maera.

At least not this Prince, thought Gemple. He had not exactly become friends with the older Prince Ryan he had served with, but that man had not seemed as callow as this younger man appeared.

Turning slightly, Gemple snuck a look at Earl Mondrake. He knew he was not always the best at gauging the emotions of others, but it seemed obvious to him that the remark and subsequent laughter had devastated the heavyset older man.

Baron Varsus was not laughing at all, and neither were Lady Avalaine and Viscount Brandu. Baroness O’Lear smiled, but seemed to be trying to hide it by lowering her head.

The Prince noticed that there was a small group of people not laughing and stepped forward.

“Now who are these, Mondrake, that find no humor in a friendly jest?” the Prince asked. The warning-laden words made Gemple tense immediately.

Earl Mondrake cleared his throat.

“My Prince, I give you Lady Avalaine Lirra of Teyscha, Viscount Tempus Brandu of Orel, Baron Garrick Varsus of Varsus, Baroness Elsa O’lear of Inessa, and Sir Rodrick Gemple, Knight of the Realm.”

The base title of ‘Knight of the Realm’ embarrassed Gemple, but he understood that this was the term for landless knights like himself, and knew Mondrake intended no insult.

The Prince said nothing for a long while, but stared at the assembled nobles. His face showed heavy concentration as the moments slipped by.

Finally, he spoke, mostly to himself. “Ahh yes, of course.”

Stepping forward, he reached Sir Gemple. The young knight prepared to be addressed, but the Prince simply raised his hand and waved at him to move aside.

Gemple, again embarrassed, did so without speaking.

Next the Prince came to Baroness Elsa. Unapologetically, he looked down at her breasts, where much of her abundant bosom was visible.

Gemple could not blame the Prince. Although he was used to Elsa’s wardrobe choices, he stared like a fool himself from time to time.

The Prince, however, did not continue his staring. His dark brown eyes snapped up to lock onto Elsa’s dark green ones. Gemple saw Elsa seemed amused by the Prince’s ogling.

“You…” said Prince Randall, a smirk on his face, “I have indeed heard of.”

With that, he turned decisively away from her and moved on. Elsa’s face now burned red with embarrassment, and she lowered her head.

Viscount Brandu was next, and the Prince stepped directly in front of him. The Viscount was a short man, so the Prince stood looking down at Brandu, as he was almost a full head taller than the smaller man.

However, nothing intimidated Brandu. Gemple was glad, because he hated to see his friends insulted, even by a Prince of the land.

The Prince smiled, but Gemple could see it was not a friendly smile.

“Now you,” the Prince began, “when are we seeing another tourney in Orel? Your good father used to hold several each year. Truly, they were some of the best times in my life!”

Again, Viscount Brandu was not nervous or intimidated in the least.

“My Prince, those tournaments came at the expense of the people of Orel. My father nearly beggared the province, all for the amusement of —”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“AHHHH nonsense!” the Prince cut him off. “Those tourneys bring in coin, they don’t lose coin. Unless someone runs them badly. I will send one of our advisors to you next month, and I expect to receive notice of a new tourney this summer!”

Now Brandu lost his cool demeanor. Gemple could see that he was about to say something inadvisable, but luckily Elsa placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. She shook her head sharply in the negative.

Prince Randall did not see any of this, as he had already forgotten about Brandu.

The Prince now focused his attention on Baron Varsus. The two were of an even height, and so able to look one another directly in the eyes.

An uncomfortable staring contest ensued, and Gemple found himself holding his breath.

The Prince broke off the contest as he appeared to inspect every aspect of the Baron’s face with close precision.

Finally, Prince Randall stepped back and smiled.

“I must say, Baron, your skin does not look dark at all. You might almost be one of us!” then the Prince turned to his guardsmen, who all nodded and voiced affirmation of the Prince’s observation.

Gemple gritted his teeth. He knew the darker skin coloring of the earlier Varsus line was an issue for the Baron.

Not that the Baron was ashamed of it. Quite the contrary. But everyone knew that the Kingdom had given the Varsus province to the current Baron’s ancestor because the land was nearly worthless and far from the Kingdom’s center.

As such, anyone who wished to remain on the Baron’s good side did not discuss these things openly.

Or those who simply don’t need to care about being on the good side of a Baron, thought Gemple. He no longer wanted to be a part of this Prince’s retinue. He did not appreciate the man’s mocking tone toward his friend. Maybe he could find Prince Ryan later.

Varsus, to his credit, took the insult with grace. Although he, too, gritted his teeth as Gemple did, and managed to recover while the Prince laughed with his guardsmen. By the time Prince Randall looked back, Varsus was smiling a tight smile.

“Thank you, my Prince,” said Varsus. “I do my best.”

Prince Randall reached out and clapped Varsus on his left shoulder.

“Good man!” he exclaimed. “Now, perhaps you can—”

The Prince’s words trailed off as he looked to Lady Avalaine. He regarded her with wide eyes, taking all of her in.

Avalaine blushed and looked away.

“Mondrake!” the Prince shouted, “What did you say her name was again?” As he spoke, the Prince moved over to stand in front of Avalaine.

Earl Mondrake cleared his throat again and spoke up.

“My Prince, she is Lady Avalaine Lirra of Teyscha. The daughter of—”

“—of Earl Brentan Lirra,” the Prince finished for him.

The entire tent was quiet, and no one dared move as the Prince continued staring at Avalaine.

As for Avalaine, her face was completely red, and she knew it. Being stared at by everyone was making her want to hide, but there was nowhere to go.

Prince Randall stepped in closer, took Avalaine’s hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss.

Avalaine could actually feel her face burning now.

Gemple looked on, wide-eyed, waiting to see what would happen. He saw Baron Varsus watching as well, and the man’s face was as expressionless as a block of stone.

“You come from an excellent family,” the Prince said, and his voice was now infused with sweetness.

Avalaine responded to the compliment as best she could.

“Thank you, my Prince,” she said, and attempted to pull her hand back, but the Prince did not let go.

“I think your father, the Earl, has been remiss. Why have you not appeared at court in recent seasons?”

Avalaine stammered. “U-uh, well surely there are enough Ladies about the court, I would hardly be missed.”

“But none with such beauty as you,” said Prince Randall, “I say you’ll need to make an appearance soon or it shall be quite an offense to the Crown.”

Gemple heard Elsa scoff and saw her roll her eyes, but no one acknowledged this.

Avalaine, still not in full possession of her hand, tried to beg off.

“Never fear,” she said. “Baron Varsus was just about to walk me back to my father’s camp, and I will bring this very matter to his attention when I see him.”

With that, she attempted to withdraw her hand from Prince Randall’s, but still he did not let go.

“Pfah!” he cried, “Ridiculous! I shall walk with you and deliver you back to your good father myself. Let us go now, my Lady.”

Varsus had begun to move when Avalaine had mentioned him, but now had to arrest his motion and stand still as the Prince began leading Lady Avalaine away.

She looked back at Varsus as she was nearly dragged to the front of the tent, but he could do nothing. A Prince of the Realm had demanded her attention, and he would have it, and there was nothing to be done.

Gemple and the rest of his friends could only watch, most with blank looks of astonishment on their faces, and Elsa with a look of disgust on hers.

Before he stepped out of the tent, Prince Randall turned back and addressed them all.

“Remember, you are to quit this place at once! This very night! Those are orders direct from my brother! The Crown thanks you for your service!”

And with that, the Prince’s Royal Guardsmen surrounded both him and Avalaine. Then they moved out of the tent, out into the harsh wind of the night.

All was silent after the Prince was gone. Gemple got the feeling that no one wanted to speak.

“Well,” Gemple said, daring to be the first, “can we at least break bread before we break camp? I’m still hungry!”

“So am I,” said Earl Mondrake, and his tone was sad, “but I don’t think the Prince has given us time to have a proper meal this night.”

Varsus spoke without looking at anyone. “I’m not hungry, Sir Gemple. I had best get back to my own men and let them know we must break camp and endure a night march at the orders of the Crown.”

Viscount Brandu spoke and said much the same. Then he and Varsus bade farewell to the Earl and rendered their apologies for not sharing his table.

They only paused to offer a brief farewell to Baroness Elsa, and then they were gone out into the howling wind like the Prince.

Gemple approached Baroness Elsa, but before he could speak, she turned and stalked after the two men. Gemple heard her grumbling under her breath, but could not make out her words.

She threw back the tent flap and stepped out into the darkness without even a farewell.

Gemple was used to Elsa’s temper, they all were, but he thought she could have at least said goodbye. Technically, she should have asked the Earl for his leave to go, but Gemple admitted to himself that he would have been more surprised if she had done so.

Earl Mondrake reluctantly ordered his servants to clean up the tent and pack the food.

Marshal Finlay, who Gemple had forgotten was there, was ordered to get the rest of the camp moving toward a night march.

Gemple turned to the Earl.

“My Lord, surely all of this food should not go to waste!?” Gemple said, eyeing turkey drumsticks, breads and wine that were still on the tables.

Earl Mondrake sighed. “It is a horrible waste, is it not? Much of this will spoil, no matter how it is packed.”

Gemple smiled then, “Well then, my Lord Earl, it behooves us to eat as much of this good repast as we can to avoid such a fate.”

Earl Mondrake brightened up then.

“You know, lad, I believe you are right! Devine Lady LaKrona despises waste, and since it will spoil long before it could go to the poor, we must do our best!”

Without another word between them, Gemple and Earl Mondrake bent to attack the food on the tables.

The servants backed away, some in disgust, and some because they feared to lose an appendage, but they continued packing up what they could.

Gemple had hoped for a night of good food and camaraderie, but if he could not have one, he would take the other.

He tore into a turkey leg and washed it down with a bottle of the Earl’s wine.

Sometimes life is not all bad, he thought, his mouth full to bursting, even as he stuffed bread into it.

***

Outside the tent, IT was also hungry.

So hungry.

It needed to sleep, but it also needed sustenance so that it could survive such a sleep.

Its pawn was heading away from this place, but it could find him again in short order.

Now was the time for feeding.

As if on cue, a short, fat little man with close-cropped brown hair emerged from the tent.

YES, it thought. This one would do nicely.

It watched and followed the food as it darted through the camp, barking at others of its kind from time to time.

Finally, the food entered a dark row of uninhabited tents. It watched as the food relieved itself, spraying a large fountain of liquid into a trench behind the tents.

When it struck, it did not have time to make the mortal man suffer as much as it wanted to. Unfortunately, time was running out, and the need to sustain itself outweighed the need for the pleasure of torturing the human meat while it savored the pain and fear it caused.

The Master will make this all worth it, it thought, as it let the useless husk of the mortal fall to the ground into the trench and into the waste liquid it had secreted.

Feeling better, it moved off to catch up with its pawn.

Its plan was only now going into motion.

If all went well, it estimated these mortal fools had less than one year to live.