The last banquet of Kings began as any other would. Eraric had seen so many of these great shows of wealth and power, but never any of this size. Then again, he’d never lived to see the end of such a large war. The armies of the Shihoan Commonwealth had proven they were the biggest, most unstoppable force in the known world. For better or worse. To some, that was the perfect time to celebrate, but Aric silently hoped it would all burn down by the end of the night.

He was in a sour mood, he knew that, but sour was the default of the servant house. He wasn’t the only one who lacked sleep from the mould-infested hay beds. The grey uniform of the Resei might have been white once, probably changed to hide the blood and the stains, but it sat tight around the neck and the sleeves clung to his arms. They hid the  bruises along his skin, but the hot Mediterranean air left him sticky, worn down and exhausted. Other Resei rushed around him, placing down trays of fruit and massive cannisters of aged wine, readying tables and pushing extra chairs into the long table. The pillars along the walls had been wrapped in vines with flowers blooming in white and red. Two Resei balanced companions on their shoulders, bunching deep velvet curtains in the corners. Aric kept his head down, his hands red and raw as he waxed the great ballroom, waiting for the moment one of the paid staff came in and told him he was doing it wrong.

At least in a crowd, he blended in with the others of his ilk. Each of them had copper skin and ink black hair, though for many of them it was long and silky, where his was thicker, shaggy and cropped down. When he’d first arrived, one of the Palace Guards ripped a chunk out, aiming for the back of his neck and pulling too soon. Ever since, he would stay in the bathhouse a few minutes longer and hack it back so it wasn’t as easy to grab. He wasn’t the only one either. Even the girls shaved their heads when the Lords came to drink.

Aric crawled across to a new part of the floor, following the grains of wood because the wax was already drying. His bones stung at the effort, but the scars along his back pulled tight and reminded him that failing to do this job properly wasn’t tolerated amongst the elite.

The work was rhythmic at least, his shoulders pumping back and forth, back and forth, working down his frustration and his anger. It would wear him out, but exhausting himself further kept his face passive and his instincts too tired to argue. It was safer that way. For now, where his unashamed hatred of the Shihoa Empire could push his body hard, he imagined tearing through the palace with a lit torch, he and the other Resei demolishing this wretched place before scattering into the hills. Footsteps echoed across the floor, heeled boots clacking along the polish. Aric didn’t need to look up to see the Earl of the Thousand Valley. He recognised the stains on those leather boots, the self-righteous stamp he always did. The person with him wasn’t recognisable by legs alone, and Aric didn’t want to look up and risk attention. ‘You can see we’re doing everything we can to make sure everything is prepared,’ the Earl said. ‘The Resei are competent. They know better to slack off by now.’

‘The Resei?’ The stranger echoed. His voice was low and smooth, unfamiliar. ‘I didn’t realise they went by another name.’

‘It’s what we call them,’ the Earl said. ‘They don’t complain about it.’

‘How long have you kept them here?’

Aric paused. Kept them. An open admission that they were prisoners here. He’d never heard a noble state it so obviously. He realised he’d stopped waxing the floor and furiously began scrubbing again.

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‘Since Eldwylle joined the Commonwealth,’ the Earl said. ‘They didn’t know what to do with them, and they had plenty of boats to bring them over. We feed them, clothe them, and they have their own lodging in the palace. Better than those barbaric lands up north if you ask me.’

Aric scrubbed the floor harder, his fingers cramping as they clenched the cloth. He couldn’t look up, or draw attention. If he did, he’d tear the Earl’s eyes out with his bare hands, and the aches along his back were reminder enough that he couldn’t fight his way out of this place.

‘As for your request, my lord, we have plenty of others around who aren’t busy preparing,’ the Earl continued. ‘Perhaps we should leave these ones be.’

A black leather boot dropped down in front of Aric, and his hands slammed into it, stopped in their motions. Not the Earls worn hunting boots, but the stranger. He couldn’t fight them, he knew he couldn’t, but if they meant to test him, by the gods, he wanted to hurt them first. Slowly, he glanced up. The man standing over him was definitely noble, perhaps even royal, but not any noble that had come to the palace before. He was dressed completely in black; black tunic, black riding pants, a black cloak. Even his hair was black, as ink dark as the Resei, but his skin was pale and his eyes were even paler, almost white. His narrow face seemed to reflect the sunlight bleeding through the windows, shining like the full moon.

‘Lord Rhal,’ the Earl stepped into view behind him, wringing his pudgy hands together, the hair along his knuckles catching on his rings. Much like the stranger, sunlight also bounced off his head, illuminating the thin wisps of black hair that clung to the side of his head. ‘Please do not disturb the Resei. If they start acting up, we will never have this space ready in time.’

The stranger - Lord Rhal - gave no indication that he had even heard the Earl. He continued to stare down at Aric with those pale eyes. Aric felt a flash of fear at the open display, but also frustration. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, but if the strange lord didn’t walk away, there would be punishment.

‘My lord, perhaps we can organise accommodation for you and Lady…’ the Earl trailed off, and Lord Rhal finally turned away.

‘Lady Camberin has her own preferences I’m afraid,’ Lord Rhal said. He shrugged. ‘She is fickle even for a sister. I don’t pretend to know what they are. Something Eastern perhaps. I think she’s getting homesick.’

Eastern. That meant Jerävica or Bulartuug, which hardly narrowed it down. Not that Aric cared to find out. Something about this strange man gave him a nasty feeling, a feeling of something waiting in ambush, waiting to attack.

‘I want this one,’ Lord Rhal said.

Aric blinked, realising the lord was pointing down at him, his arm outstretched and his index erect, leaving no question about the “one” he wanted. Aric swallowed. No. He would draw the line at this. He knew many visiting lords had some Resei visit their rooms of a night, sometimes bringing gifts or leaving a girl with child, but Aric had never been one of them. Never wanted to be.

‘Sir, we have many Resei who could attend your needs with —’

‘Am I not clear?’ The anger in Lord Rhal’s voice made Aric and the Earl jump. The lord motioned for Aric to stand, and Aric eased to his feet, unable to stop from shaking all over. He didn’t want this. He wouldn’t do this.

Could he fight back?

‘While it is unconventional for a visitor to have a personal assistant,’ the Earl shuffled nervously, ‘we have many others who are more… compliant in their work.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ Lord Rhal said. He jerked his head towards Aric. ‘Come, boy.’

‘Sir?’ The Earl moved to stop him, then thought better of it. ‘Your room is—’

‘I’ll find it,’ Rhal said. He then turned on his heel and marched from the ballroom. Aric glanced back at the others who were watching the scene in confusion and fascination. One of them approached and knelt down to continue the waxing, and Aric nudged the line he was following with his foot so she could follow it. Then, with a cuff over the head from the Earl, he rushed after Lord Rhal.