Sieged

Chapter Seven

Rubbing shoulders with the city's elite is the most tedious and tiresome exercise. I've done it too many times, as an officer in the army and now the sheriff. 

My heart jumps in relief when the king and queen make their appearance with Princess Andrea, Sir Blouf trailing behind like a dog. The princess is the spitting image of the queen with flowing auburn hair and high cheekbones you could cut salted beef with. 

Swiftly, the room goes silent and we all take a bow. I eye the emissary in the corner, another smirk gracing his face. 

I do not like him. 

The royal family makes the rounds, greeting everyone. More bows ensue. And when that's finished, they lead us to the great dining hall. 

I'm the last out of the Queen's Lounge, wanting to finish my drink and gulp down another. 

Music from a string of lutists awaits when I finally arrive. The great dining hall beckons opulence. Arches of gold span the cavernous ceiling. Banners of fine silk, sirmoth wool and dragon scales made into thread comfort the walls. Round tables gleaming with silver cutlery and cups dot the floor with the royal table at the far end draped in elven cloth. 

Being the lowly sheriff, I sit with the bastard adult children of lords near the main door. Not the most glorious of honors but they never talk to me. I think I may frighten them. 

I see Seamil and Lorma further towards the front, closer to the royal table. 

I scrunch up my face, seeing for the first time Sir Blouf sitting next to the Princess. 

Of all the times I've been invited to the palace for dinner I've never seen him sit at the head table. Interesting. And should I be afraid? 

Hitting a spoon against his cup, the king stands, a big smile on his face. The lutists cease their painful plucking. 

'Ladies and gentlemen,' he bellows, 'thank you for coming to this celebration of the day of birth of my beautiful daughter, Princess Andrea.' He looks over to the right of him, over the head of the queen and gives his daughter a wink. She smiles back, beaming with delight. 

All this happiness when the enemy is at our doorstep, attacking us only days ago, is beyond absurdity. I almost chuckle at the folly. Have we all sniffed gigglepowder? They take being anointed by the gods too comfortably. 

'So stand everyone and raise your cups,' the king continues, and all the guests do. A glint of hundreds of glasses in the air sparkles brightly. 'To the princess!' 

'To the princess!' everyone copies. 

The king goes over to his daughter and gives her a peck on the cheek. Then back in his place, he says, 'Please remain standing, for it is with great pleasure that I share with you all some delightful news.' 

So the rumour of news is true. Has the war ended? Is there a peace treaty? Is that why King Jabora is on the front line? Is that why his emissary is here? But if that's the case, why would the weaselly man try to turn me? This does not make sense. 

A suppressed babble filled with anticipation echoes around the colossal chamber. 

'On the first day of next month–' the king pauses to calm the increasing chatter, raising his hands '--my daughter and my dearest friend, Sir Blouf, will be married.' 

Shock rattles through the great dining hall as if a wooden dragon just crashed inside. Some of the lordesses shriek. One even faints. At the same time, Seamil finds me and we look at each other. He's trying hard not to express his rage. 

The king continues, 'Please stand, you two.' He nods to Sir Blouf and the princess. They stand. 'And everyone, please raise your drinks again. To the daughter I love and to my trusted advisor, may your union be eternal and filled with love.'