That night, there was a banquet held in his honor, the grandest he had ever experienced. There were tables with heaping trenchers of grilled meat and honeyed fruit and enough flagons of wine and mead to drown an army.

It felt strange to have two banquets for the same occasion. Nearly a month ago, he had had a banquet to celebrate his accomplishments at Rove. But now, everyone acted as if that first banquet had never happened.

It was the terrifying result of stories and time. His reputation had grown tremendously since the first banquet. It seemed that most of the nobles hadn’t expected the siege to have the monumental impact that it had had. There had been at most fifty attendees at the first banquet; now there were easily three or four times that number, and the banquet had to be held at a much wider hall.

He knew that it wasn’t just him that drew the crowds. This was the first social event since the king had declared war. As he took the spotlight, there were countless others in the wings forging alliances and negotiating truces.

For some among the crowd, the declaration of war was equivalent to the clinking of a fat coin purse. The soldiers would need armor, weapons, and rations. The townspeople, paranoid and superstitious, would go out in droves to buy religious trinkets that brought good fortune. They would all have whatever they desired. For a price.

And of course, there was land to gain. The nobles wanted their second, third, fourth sons to be officers in the most successful armies. Armies that didn't just win battles but the right battles that would result in the most acclaim and the best rewards.

King Mathieu and Princess Caroline entered the hall an hour after the festivities began. Immediately, the nobles stood up from the chairs and bowed before forming a circle around the two.

“Sir Roel, please step forward,” King Mathieu said, his voice echoing throughout the hall.

The crowd parted for him, and he knelt before the king. Princess Caroline gave him a shy smile. She was in a silk dress again, but it was purple instead of blue.

King Mathieu wore a cape in the same dark shade of purple, and the jewel-encrusted crown that sat atop his head was different from the simple gold one that he had worn in the council chamber. A king could never be underdressed for a social event, and any fool who dared to dress more extravagantly would be stripped and hanged.

“Loyal subjects, in the same way that this palace is built of bricks and timber, ours is a kingdom built of honor and duty,” King Mathieu started. He stood and spoke with the dignity and pride of his position. “However, the kingdom could not survive for nearly three hundred years on those ideals alone. With honor and duty comes sacrifice. Our father, King Maxime–”

The crowd applauded at the mention of the previous king. When the applause subsided, he began again.

“Our father, King Maxime, has always regarded the Divine Paladins not just as the Lord’s handpicked soldiers but as the stonemasons of the kingdom. ‘Look upon them,’ King Maxime would say, ‘and see the proud souls who lay the foundation for all of Calorin.’

“Because when our enemies press upon us, who is that we trust to protect us? Who stands at the forefront of battles armed only with a sword and the Lord’s good fortune?” The king’s voice rose. “And when Prince Ghislain, my last brother, is murdered at the hands of Graecian infidels, who will reclaim our honor?”

The wild applause lasted for a minute. Part of the reason was that it was a matter of pride – no one wanted to be the first one to stop clapping.

“Sir Roel, 58th Divine Paladin, you have served the kingdom tremendously at the Siege of Rove. And four years prior, you led Sir Narcisse and Lady Amandine to victory against the treacherous 13th Paladin. You have brought great honor and pride to us.

“We recognize your anger of losing your commander, Prince Ghislain, to those cowardly Graecians who only know how to rely on assassins and torturers. When spring arrives, we will grant you your chance at revenge. You will join the Brackith army and exact vengeance with your own hands. To grant you the means to do so, we hereby appoint you as the commander of the Brackith troops.”

A stunned silence filled the hall. The crowd had been ready to applaud again until the king’s last declaration, and some of the nobles had their hands awkwardly held in the air. The princess had a confused look on her face whereas King Mathieu remained stoic.

He felt his ears go warm. He had expected the king would make such an announcement soon, but he didn’t think it would be tonight. The only thing he could do was push past the silence.

“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice quiet against the silence in the hall, “you do me a great–”

There was the sound of clapping. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that it was the young curly-haired advisor from the council chamber. Duke Thierry clapped with great affectation as if he were watching a theater performance, and there was a strange grin on his face.

The princess joined in eagerly. Before long, the room was filled with raucous applause from nobles who still had bewildered expressions on their faces.

The king’s gaze lingered for a few seconds on the young duke before he turned his attention back to Roel. “We expect great things from you, Sir Roel.”

“Your Majesty, you do me a great honor.”

King Mathieu gave a slight nod and walked out of the hall with his guards trailing after him. Princess Caroline also gave him a slight nod and a strange wink. At least he thought it was a wink. The young girl seemed unused to such a gesture, and it was more like a long one-eyed blink.

The moment the double doors slammed shut, the hall filled with a cacophony of chatter. Lower nobility, those who felt greed before envy, approached him and congratulated him. Those of the higher nobility who valued profit over pride waited until the earls and viscounts had had their say before approaching him; they didn’t want to appear too eager.

And everyone else? They were all whispering, conspiring, cursing. Strangely enough, this dining hall of hushed whispers was the loudest it had been all night.

The people surrounding him talked about things he hadn’t even started to consider: how would he keep his army well-fed? The king would be generous at first, they said, but rations were depleted quickly, and if he just said the word (“just say the word, Sir Roel!”) they could supply him with extra rations. They could do many things for him – get him more armor, swords, horses (“and whores, you’ll need lotsa those for the men,” one duke whispered to him, the rancid stench of alcohol on his breath).

All he had to do was “say the word.”

Before long, two men approached him that he couldn’t easily ward off. He recognized them both for they had been in the council chamber, and he closely examined them.

One was a handsome man with long black hair and gray eyes who had suggested that Sir Orlando should lead the army instead. The dark fur cloak that hung loosely over his slender frame indicated that he hailed from the northern part of the kingdom; it was too thick for anywhere else.

The other was a tad shorter than average, and there was a bandage covering the spot where his right ear should have been. It was unnatural how his head was almost entirely hairless except for his thin, sharp eyebrows. His eyes were hostile, and he made no attempt to hide it. Roel had committed this man to memory for one reason: he was the one who had referred to him as “lowborn.”

When he stooped to bow, the shorter man sneered. “Come now, do you still need to bow to us? You’re the commander of a great army now. Show some dignity.”

“Don’t tease him,” the man with black hair said. “We’ve come to offer our warm wishes. I’m Duke Alan, and this is Duke Octave.”

“Your Graces, I thank you for your warm wishes and any future guidance.” He looked at Duke Alan. “Especially from you, sir, as I still have a lot to learn about warfare.”

“So, you know of me,” Duke Alan said with an amused smile.

“Of course, you are a war hero. While we were in the Wetshard Lands fending off Sir Ganelon, you captured the rest of the north,” he said, withholding his bitterness. Duke Alan was also the man who had refused their request for more soldiers.

“Not Sir Ganelon,” Duke Octave cut in. “The 13th deserves no respect.”

“Of course, my apologies,” he said. “It was an old habit.”

“And don’t think for a second that you have proved yourself, 58th,” Duke Octave said with a scowl. “King Mathieu has humored Cardinal Eudes’ request, and that’s it. You’ll find that leading an army will be quite different from what you’re used to. You may have your Lord’s Favor, but that won’t protect your men.”

“I apologize if I’ve done something to offend you, Your Grace. All the same, I thank you for your words of warning,” he said. He had met such nobles before – belligerent men with hateful eyes who presented their deep prejudice as pride.

“Ease up, Octave,” Duke Alan said with a good-natured chuckle. “Please forgive him. We only came to make peace for what happened in the council chamber. We aren’t strictly against the king’s decision. It’s just…a peculiar idea.”

“Peculiar doesn’t cover it,” the other duke said darkly. “The only thing he’s doing is upsetting the order of things. Paladins fight in battles; they don’t lead them. How are we supposed to lead our men if they get it in their heads that they should be in charge? Absolute hogwash.”

“I’m not too taken with the idea either,” he admitted. “But if it’s the king’s orders, then I’ll follow–”

“That’s all you can do and all you’re supposed to do, 58th,” Duke Octave interrupted. “Take orders, not give them.”

Duke Alan sighed. “Looks like our peacemaking has failed. It’s not good to be at war with another country while we’re at war with each other. We’ll be going now. Sir Roel, again, our congratulations. You strike me as a sensible person. Unfortunately, those are rarely the type to lead well.”

Duke Alan gave a polite nod, but the other man just turned away without saying another word. Roel let out a sigh of relief once he saw them disappear into the crowd.

Rather than feeling intimidated, he was relieved to meet someone like Duke Octave. Men like that who wore their prejudice and threats like armor were easy to read. Such an outspoken man must have the backing of a sizeable faction or he wouldn’t last very long in the Royal Council.

It was men like Cardinal Eudes and Duke Alan that most worried him. They hid their true intentions behind warm smiles and subtle flattery. They would make for troublesome enemies and even more troublesome allies.

One such man had been watching him the entire banquet, and it was time to confront him. He excused himself and made his way through the crowds of people until he reached the corner of the room where the young man was talking to some noblewomen.

“Duke Thierry,” he said with a bow. “I would like to thank you for helping me during an embarrassing moment.”