Walter frowned at his lockbox. A day prior, it brought him a smile.

Silver coins once piled in it, making it a rattling brick-heavy mass of money. Now, it held two gold coins, both reserved to care for Sister Lora and Laira, and the Adventurer's Guild once again emptied the barn.

We're broke, again. Bondservants are expensive, Walter thought. Now I understand why Elin ditched this on me. What a headache, we still have to furnish Sister Lora's cottage, among other things.

Elin patrolled the property after cooking breakfast. The risk was near zero, but so is the earnings. No above ground monsters remained, either slain or vacated.

Matters of money rested with men in Eovamund. Society deemed men to be custodians of fire and air, and heat forged metal, so consequently money. Both elements represented masculine traits, and the metaphors overloaded with both ideals and real applications. Air meant seed, spoken command, law, or, as Elin joked, a man's 'stuff.' Fire, as an element, covered plenty of topics, as well, including passion or anger, skill, forging or charcoal making, and a slew of others, like literal fire-making. Context mattered. A man personally offering a piece of chopped firewood to a woman meant he wanted action, or, if married, it could mean he wanted children. Single women grew potted flowers, signaling availability, married women kept publicly visible gardens.

While Walter scribbled their depressingly narrow profit margin, Sister Lora wobbled in with a bucket of water. Seeing the fire low, she stoked it and added a log.

"I'll handle it," Walter said.

Sister Lora said, "It's fine. No need."

"You're not bothered?"

"Why would I be? Let me guess, Lady Elin told you men do all the fire-starting?" Sister Lora laughed into the back of her hand. "Seems she rebounded from being a fiery woman to ultra-traditional. How interesting."

"It's not normal?"

Sister Lora concealed her smile by tilting her head under her hood. "Well, it's the expected gesture, and most follow custom when it makes sense, but is it not tedious to perform, without exception, Sir Walter?"

He grunted an agreement. "You don't have to call me 'sir.'"

He couldn't see it, but Walter heard the smile on her face grow. "Gracious Gaia, I think not. If Lady Elin discovered me speaking your name without respect, then she might give me an earful. It's not my place to say, but regarding Lady Elin's tenacity, don't think harshly on it. Why not let her have her way? She deserves some joy, for all the sacrifices endured."

"Well, I didn't plan to stop, since she seems happy, but Priestess Evelyn doesn't seem to agree."

"Well, my priestess has her viewpoints, Lady Elin has hers, and I have mine. You're the odd man out, trying to appease everyone." After hanging a pot, Sister Lora removed a folded parchment from her belt and handed it to Walter.

He opened a list and read the first few entries. "Bronze brazier, incense, carved idol, consecrated tinctures, bee's wax candles--What's this?"

"Skilled labor necessitates specialized tools, landholders provide them. I will need these in my capacity as a nun. Furthermore, how do you wish to obtain blessings for the buildings? I can do it, myself, but most will be unhappy with my lower status--"

"Hold on a second," Walter said. He stared at the list. Sister Lora did not add prices, but he noticed some were expensive. Natural wax, as opposed to paraffin obtained by manipulated slime jelly, burned cleaner, so Walter understood its requirement in religious service. Apiaries had to be established on protected land or discovered by woodsmen, so it made bee's wax rare. He learned this buying slime-based candles for his romantic night with Elin. Ongoing and expensive. He tucked Sister Elin's sheet in with his. "What do you mean, bless the buildings?"

"A patron deity is petitioned to preside over the spiritual health of a house. Forgoing it, particularly for buildings people sleep in, will make residents uneasy. I highly suggest, Sir Walter, you obtain blessings for the main house, the spring house, and the bunkhouse. The higher rank of the clergyman performing the ceremony, the better. I request a Gaiatic blessing for my own cottage, as well."

The revelation struck him like a surreal semi-truck. This is a magical world, so there might be an actual god or goddess doing something, like purifying water. Can I afford to snub the pantheon? I grew up irreligious. Should I join a temple? No, wait, Duan told me about the druids. They're not devout, in the strictest sense. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen a single wizard since the Necropolis, not even in the temples. Do they worship? Why am I sweating superstition this hard?

Sister Lora cleared her throat. "Sir Walter?"

"Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. Is this pressing?"

"No, I can do basic rites in the meantime, though, please upgrade as soon as possible."

"I'm guessing," Walter said, "that it's not cheap."

"Not in the least."

Walter bobbed his head before he scratched out another entry on his paperwork. "I can't tell if we're the landholders, or if we are held by the land."

---

Our finances are a black hole. Gold coins complicated things.

When Walter thought of the property, living on it with Elin, it felt huge. Now, when he imagined being the future residence of twenty-to-thirty people, Walter thought it cramped. The map of the property did not have borders, and instead indicated landmarks that Lady Elin possessed. Designations for plots occurred in two instances, safely-walled areas, such as their main compound, or tilled tracts.

He refused to use the word 'prison' because the medieval buildings looked quaint. But, for anyone living here, they were trapped. If you weren't on guard or in the company of the powerful, then travel was taking your life into your hands. Restriction prevented needless deaths.

Unseated nobility, another term for households, arrived at their station through merit and might. As the official landholder, Elin repossessed the title 'Lady.'

"But she was called lady all this time?"

Sister Lora clarified Walter's confusion, "The title was maintained out of respect. It was unofficial."

They are prisoners, in a way, but I'm not their jailor, the monsters are. I bet part of the stewardship laws dictate I provide highway safety. I wonder how much an armored carriage costs? He groaned at the thought. It's little wonder the Wagoneers are a guild unto themselves. Elin's dropping off the monstraculture now, and I'm pretty sure we're not getting more than a handful of silver out of it. We'll take delving seriously tomorrow.

Walter studied Sister Lora's and Laira's faces for hints of claustrophobia. Neither seemed disturbed, in fact, both acted thrilled. When the big bad wolf tries to blow your house down every night, you grow accustomed to his snarling. Cottage cleaning took on a rambunctiousness that contradicted their polite slinking about.

Performing his responsibility, Walter inspected the building. Unlike the main house, surreptitiously repaired by the city, the cottage suffered minor disrepair. The architecture presented the Tudor style appearance. Under scrutiny, Walter noticed differences. The first four feet of the wall, from the ground up, was created from stone and hidden with plaster and limewash, presumably for defense. Thick black lacquer, a fireproofing agent made from slimes, coated the exposed beams. Clay tiles interlocked on the roof.

"Looks like frost formed inside. Let's keep the fireplace going until the building dries out, then you can move in," Walter said, "Until then, please continue sleeping in the main house. No reason to get sick."

"Very well." Sister Lora slid back her hood and wiped her brow. "This is more work than I anticipated." Freckles covered her nose and cheeks and cropped brown hair covered her head.

"I didn't imagine you as a tomboy."

---

"How long has that carriage parked there?" Elin asked.

Walter glanced up. He concentrated on his growing bundle of paperwork and bumped into her. She gawked at the line of wagons and horses, surrounded by an entourage of mounted soldiers.

When she mentioned 'that carriage,' Elin meant the middle one. Gloss covered the white paint, and the surface reflected an alabaster glow. Gold decorated the windows and doors. Its length doubled the other two wagons, darkly stained and spartan vehicles clearly intended for combat. The six purebreds drawing it demonstrated wealth by themselves.

"Not sure," Walter said, "I hope it's not a merchant trying to squeeze a deal out of us."

"Walter!" Elin held her breath and didn't look away. "That's a royal carriage."

Walter's thoughts rattled around in his head like pinballs. When they finally clacked together into coherence, he remembered the word 'royal' used in a context equal to 'nobility' but also above it.

Walter swallowed. "So, that's the king?"

"Most likely not, but surely messengers from his household."

Recognizing their awareness, a mounted soldier broke formation and trotted forward. His nose and cheeks glowed red from the cold, but he stoically ignored the discomfort. Inside conversation distance, Walter realized the man was well over six feet tall and handpicked to be intimidating. "Lady Elin Folcey, Rose of the Rapier, I am a knight in the service of Princess Roselynde Tacitus and Prince Peterby Tacitus. They humbly request a meeting with the heroine of Wilmand Kingdom. By the by, out of respect for your heroic status, we loitered, but permit the rights to the encampment."

"Harvest coppice from our wood, and draw water from the well," Elin said, "We are not yet established, so we cannot bivouac you. Please accept my apology."

"It will do, my thanks to your generosity." The knight nodded and rode off.

Elin and Walter approached the royal carriage. The door opened before they knocked.

"It was quite the wait, I am glad we earned your attention. Do come in. Have a seat."

So, this is the medieval equivalent of a limo.

The inside reminded Walter of a Victorian-style conversation room, squeezed down to fit the lavish vehicle. The Wagoneers used simpler carriages, at least the ones Walter and Elin could afford, and could not compare to the padded, carpeted, elaborately carved and varnished interior. A tiny wood stove, with a chimney pipe, kept the passengers toasty and shelving held drinks and snacks.

A french maid, her clothes tailored to be mildly provocative, curtsied, and she excused herself. Walter wondered if her job was to be entertaining, rather than a housemaid, and imagined there might be bondservants with such duties.

Elin, I'm sorry in advance, you don't have to worry, I only want you, but I'm buying you one of those uniforms. As soon as possible.

The only two things more elaborate than the carriage were the passengers. Feathers adorned the princess's dress, smoothed into a uniform direction, and Walter recognized them as griffon when he recalled the icon from Sorcery Chronicle Online. The prince, who stared, supremely bored, out a crack in the nearby window, wore black fur with a sheen. Perhaps a panther? Or even a displacer beast?

When the princess spoke, she kept a sheer fan in front of her mouth. "Lady Elin Folcey, it's an absolute pleasure to hold congress with your esteemed self, finally. My name is Princess Roselynde, and this sleepy fellow is my younger brother Prince Peterby. Please excuse the absence of our elder brother, Wilhelm. As you may know, he is attending the Five Kingdom's Congress. We arrive on behalf of the king."

Elin knelt, and, a second later, Walter followed her cue.

The princess's smile widened, and the corners of her mouth pinched her cheeks. "May I ask who this knave is that foolishly followed his lady into a princess's carriage?"

Prince Peterby sighed, "Dear sister, that is Sir Walter, her squire. He's impressive for a knave, because he is also a wizard, of sorts, but not signed with the Mage's University. Rumor has it he is now Lady Elin's steward." The prince opened the window and extended his hand. Without asking, a woman passed through a book, and the prince opened it to a ribbon. Walter identified it as the Lineage Testimony. "His name is not recorded, which makes him increasingly interesting."

Is this what a mouse feels like under a cat's claws?

Both the prince and princess acted. The prince's false boredom, impossible next to a heroine of Elin's level, allowed him to keep his attention on his allies outside. The princess's irritation showed disingenuine clues and might be engineered to panic him. So, he said nothing.

"Oh, he is fascinating," the princess said, "Brother, I do believe he's sizing us up. What manner of subordinate can look at his betters with such clear eyes?"

"Indeed."

Walter started to say, "Lady Roselynde--"

"Princess Roselynde," she corrected.

"Right, my apologies." Walter swallowed and recited the made-up history he prepared. "Princess Roselynde, I know not my actual history. I grew up an orphan, and Lady Elin discovered me. I serve her to return my debt."

Princess Roselynde's fan snapped closed, and it revealed she no longer smiled. "Well, if you say so, then it must be true. I won't claim you a liar." The smile returned. "We are here to establish a friendship, to ensure Lady Elin's loyalty is firm and wants well-sated. You can imagine our motivation for investigating you, dear squire. If my brother felt you, shall we say, unduly influenced our precious heroine through magic, on behalf of foreign nations, then a tragedy might occur. We don't believe that scenario is the case, of course. Lady Elin, if your squire is finished speaking out-of-turn--"

"Sir Walter never speaks out of turn," Lady Elin said, "Such is my opinion."

"I see. How lucky you are, Sir Walter, to hold such sway. It seems the old legends of eccentric heroes persevers. Shall I also award him, instead of you, the bounty on the Duke of the Rotting Garden?"