Harren checked his reflection, looking for any imperfection in his appearance. He was dressed in his formal wear for the evening banquet. After some sleep in a real bed, a hot bath, and a shave, he was finally beginning to look like himself again. He tugged at the lapels of his green jacket, pulling it snug around his broad shoulders.

He took a deep breath, glancing through the window of his room to where the sun hung low on the horizon. The Marshal had set Harren and Brian up in rooms on the eastern wing of the manor, among the various other young Venaran nobles in attendance. The accommodations were small yet comfortable with a pair of bedrooms and a foyer large enough to sit three or four near the hearth.

Harren gave his reflection a final look before turning on his heel and striding through his door, across the foyer and into the hallway outside. Brian was waiting for him, leaning against the far wall of the hallway. At Harren’s approach, Brian blinked as if coming out of a haze. “Divines, you took your sweet time.”

“Can’t rush perfection,” Harren answered, walking past his brother and down the hall. Brian rushed to catch up, coming abreast Harren. Their boots clacked against the hardwood floors, drawing the attention of the servants they passed in the halls. Harren adjusted the sword at his waist as they reached the top of the stairs above the manor’s great entrance hall. He could hear the mummer of voices sounding from below long before he could see down into the great hall.

As he crested the balcony, he saw that the long hall below had been transformed. Where soldiers had stood in neat rows beneath the chandeliers, there now sat two rows of great tables. Dozens of nobles were in attendance, visiting from their various estates from across the Rills.

Most of the families were newly monied from after the war. Descended from junior officers who had distinguished themselves in some way. Whatever land wasn’t left to the Earl was carved up and divvied amongst the third and fourth sons of noble families who had to work to sustain their lineage. Even a few commoners had been elevated by the king. Harren scanned the table. None of them were in attendance. The Marshal tended to suggest they leave.

He glanced to his brother as they waited at the top of the stairwell. The boy looked nervous. This would be his first real introduction to the court at large. The nobles below were glancing up at them to ascertain who the newcomers were and their value. Harren looked down on them, a fake smile alighting his lips as he began to descend the stairs. Brian followed suit.

The Marshal sat at the head of the table on the right of the hall, flanked by his wife and daughter. The rest of the guests gave them a respectful distance. It was an unspoken rule that the Marshal would join his guests if he wanted to socialize, not the other way around.

As Harren reached the hall’s floor, his eyes alighted on an old friend. A real grin broke through his false smile as he walked toward a man his own age sitting along the table, Rafe. His features were decidedly Venaran, though he made the unusual choice to sport a beard. Harren knew from experience that it was to hide the man’s decidedly disappointing chin.

Harren absently ran a hand along his own jawline as he neared. Rafe was leaned in close to a young noble girl who, from her girlish features, was barely eligible for marriage. As she tittered at something Rafe whispered, Harren slapped his hand on Rafe’s shoulder, making the man jump in surprise.

Rafe turned in his seat to look up at Harren, and a grin split his lips as he leapt to his feet. “Goddess’ tits, Harren. You nearly scared the piss out of me.” Rafe released a bellowing laugh as he embraced Harren.

Harren patted the Rafe on the back as the man swayed. He could smell the wine on the his breath even this early in the day.

“What’s it been? Almost a year now?” Harren asked as he released Rafe.

Rafe nodded, tugging at the lapels of his green jacket. “Ten months and a week since you left me to rot here, you bastard.”

“I’m sure you had a real hard time finding a drinking partner,” Harren said, rolling his eyes.

“I had a hard time finding one with pockets as deep as yours,” Rafe answered, crossing his arms, eyes drifting to Brian.

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Harren snorted. The man probably wasn’t lying. Rafe was coarse, but he was reliable for his lack of interest in his own reputation. He also happened to be of the right breeding which was just icing on the cake.

“Where are my manners?” Harren asked. He gestured to Brian, “This is my brother, Brian.”

Rafe looked the young man up and down. “Bah, the other contestants will chew him up and spit him out. You sure he even stopped suckling your mother’s tit?”

Brian blushed and his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. Harren patted Brian’s shoulder. “Reasonably sure,” he answered. “And,” Harren paused, “We’ll be keeping a watchful eye on him during the competition.”

Rafe gasped, putting a hand to his chest as a mock look of surprise crossed his face. “Harren, are you suggesting that we might interfere in this most fair and equitable competition?”

Harren narrowed his eyes at Rafe’s careless volume. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Of course not. I’m merely suggesting we guide him along the way.”

Rafe laughed, falling back into his seat beside the girl he was wooing a moment before. The man blinked as he caught sight of her. Harren got the impression that he had already forgotten she was there. Rafe shook his head. “Divines, where are my manners?”

He introduced the girl, but Harren didn’t recognize her surname and promptly forgot who she was, comfortable in the knowledge she was of no consequence. This was likely her first year at court and she hadn't been here long enough to learn of Rafe’s reputation- or lack thereof. He’d ruin her within the week, a flood of broken promises in his wake.

But that was none of his concern. Harren bowed deeply as Rafe finished his slurred introduction, plucking the girl’s hand and gently kissing it. She was pretty with fine features, and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she was starstruck by his attention. A pang of pity ran through him as he released her.

He forced a smile to his lips and put a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “My lady, this man has saved my life half a dozen times in our ventures through the city. You could not be in better hands.”

A wide smile crossed her lips and she leaned closer to Rafe. “It is truly a pleasure to meet such esteemed company so early, my lords.”

Harren only half-heard her as his gaze drifted across the hall. The Marshal had risen to his feet and was making his rounds amongst the nobles. Harren looked past him to where his daughter, Carys sat at the head of the table.

“I assure you, the pleasure is all ours,” Harren said a little quicker than he intended. “I apologize for my brevity, but I have to check up on another old friend.”

Rafe rolled his eyes.

Harren narrowed his. “Rafe would you keep an eye on my brother for me. Make sure he doesn't get himself in trouble.”

Rafe waved as if it were nothing. “Don’t worry, I am trouble, and he certainly isn’t getting into me.” Rafe winked.

Harren smirked while Brian appeared visibly uncomfortable. Harren patted his brother on the shoulder and walked alongside the tables, giving the guests who glanced his way a polite nod of greeting as he shook hands and spoke briefly with the other nobles, making the rounds to speak with the important figures in the room. Being one of those figures was a mixed blessing.

Many of the guests he met were new faces- young men and women in attendance for the competition the boys would go through. How well each of the boys did in the coming months could very well affect their marriage prospects.

Harren had abstained from such commitments, though not for a lack of offers. He had his sights set on a higher prize. As of this year, she was ripe for the plucking.

As he reached the head of the last table, the Marshal’s daughter, Carys, caught his gaze. She was attractive enough, with a slim figure and bright eyes. All of that was irrelevant in the face of the prestige of marrying into a Marshal’s family. It would open the doors to the king’s court in Venar and present thousands of opportunities for him.

He smiled warmly then tore his gaze from her, realizing he was staring at her like a dog at turkey leg. He turned his eyes to the lady of the house, Cassandra Longreen. As he neared, he fell into a deep bow, deeper even than he had given the Marshal. Cassandra was a stickler for decorum. He still remembered the day she had a guard lashed for not bowing deeply enough. He’d be surprised if she did the same to him, but it never hurt to be too respectful.

Cassandra languidly reached a hand toward him. He took her hand in his and gently kissed the emerald encrusted ring wrapped around her index finger for just that purpose, careful not to let his lips so much as brush her skin.

She retracted her hand, her dark eyes looking him up and down. “Harren Barrington,” she greeted, “It’s been some time since you’ve been our guest, but I’m sure you’re aware that you’re allowed to partake of the food on display.” She gestured to the wide array of foodstuffs spread across the tables. “You must be famished after so many days on the road.”

Harren donned his most charming smile. “And yet, I find myself more starved for your company, my lady.”

She smirked, raising a meticulously groomed eyebrow. She gestured to the vacant chair of her husband. “Please, stay a moment and we can see to both needs.”

Harren mentally patted himself on the back. Flattery went a long way with Cassandra. As he was about to take his seat and greet Carys, a hand landed upon his shoulder. He turned to see the Marshal a mere pace away. “Prefectus, I have need of your service this morning.”

The man’s grim tone was unmistakable. Harren swallowed, his hand falling to the sword at his hip.