The trip from Yvailles to the port city of Albine took him three days. He had originally expected it to take four, especially because of his current fame. However, after speaking to the cardinal, there was nothing more he wanted to do than talk to Olivier and hear his thoughts. He kept his encounters with townspeople as short as possible, and he switched to a new horse whenever his current one began to tire.

Albine was teeming with the nouveau riche, mainly merchants and artists with wealthy patrons, and that was evident in the architecture. The buildings were tall and imposing with vaulted roofs and arched windows. While some shops were a standard shade of brown or gray, others were painted in more vivid and gaudy colors, such as dark orange or olive green.

“This city reeks of ostentation,” Olivier had once said, his bottom lip curling. They were taking a night stroll, and the streets were as crowded as they were during the daytime. “Just looking at some of these buildings makes me want to vomit, but Albine could do with less color.”

Of course, he could never tell his friend (at least not while he was sober), but Olivier’s manor was the most ostentatious of all. Its grandeur rivaled some of the castles in Yvailles. The estate was surrounded by a large brick wall with a portcullis made of metal; there were towering spires and unmanned watchtowers that seemed to be purely for aesthetic purposes rather than defensive; and the estate grounds were covered by a sprawling garden of roses. Some part of the manor was always being built upon, and as the steward led him to the great hall, he was informed that the third floor of the west wing was currently closed off for repairs.

The great hall, the main room for welcoming guests, lived up to its name. The room was three times as long as it was wide, and there several tables of different sizes to accommodate any party. Large watercolor paintings hung on the walls. Those, too, seemed to cater to different visitors. Some were nature morte, others religious. A startling number of them depicted forlorn youths gazing at an object of desire – a crown, a girl, or even one of the Lord’s sisters. (He made a mental reminder to tease Olivier about these paintings.)

With a bow, the steward left him alone in the hall. He headed toward a small round table for two but thought better of it. Instead, he sat at the head of the largest table in the hall, a slight smile on his face. Maybe that’d get a chuckle out of Olivier.

Within a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. It was unlike his friend to knock, but maybe he was trying to keep up appearances or, even more unlikely, he was being a gracious host for once.

“Enter,” he said.

To his surprise, two women entered. One was a maid carrying a tray with a teapot and cups, and the other was a young woman in a dark blue kirtle. She had brown curls of hair tucked beneath a headband and her eyes were a light shade of blue.

“Sir Roel, I apologize, my husband is in a meeting right now,” said the woman. “I have sent a servant to inform him of your arrival, but in the meantime, I will keep you company.”

Her words befuddled him, and before he could say anything, she had taken a seat to his right. She looked down the long table, clearly unsure of why he had chosen to sit here, and he was too embarrassed to explain himself. Besides, there was something urgent that he needed to address.

“You said you’re here in lieu of your husband,” he said as the maid set down the teacups and saucers. “Your husband is…”

“Olivier,” she said. “He told me that he had a friend who was a paladin, but I never expected it would be you, Sir Roel! Congratulations on your appointment as commander. The news of your promotion just arrived this morning. We are blessed to have you fighting for us.”

“Of course,” he said numbly. Olivier had never mentioned a woman before, so he assumed the marriage had been arranged. But still, why had he kept the news of his marriage a secret? “I’m sorry, my lady, but I don’t know your name.”

“Oh, I apologize, I’ve been so rude,” she said with a start. “I’ve heard so much about you lately that I never considered that you wouldn’t know me. My name is Maia.”

“It’s good to meet you, Maia.” He was unsure of what else to say.

“It’s a shame you couldn’t make it to the wedding,” she said.

“The wedding,” he repeated. “How long ago was this again?”

She wrinkled her brow. “Maybe two, three weeks ago?”

“Ah, so it was recent.” That made him feel slightly better. And he also started to understand why Olivier hadn’t mentioned his marriage.

“Yes, Olivier said you were preoccupied.”

He nodded. The last contact he had had with Olivier was the message he had sent before he went to conduct the assassination on the prince. In that letter, he had hinted that he would be preoccupied with a task from the Royal Council. Olivier couldn’t reach him even if he wanted to.

“It’s been quite the month,” he remarked, partially to himself.

“Yes, a whirlwind of a month,” she said with a laugh.

“What do you think of him?”

“He’s a…” She put a finger on her chin. “A bit of a meticulous man, isn’t he? Of course, I should’ve expected that when marrying a merchant. He lives every day on a schedule. Though he’s always in a meeting or a luncheon, so it makes sense that he would want to have everything planned out ahead of time.”

“He hasn’t been neglecting you, has he?” he asked. “He has a bad habit of getting so engrossed in his work that he forgets everything else.”

“No, no, he’s been very kind,” Maia insisted. “Whenever we go out, he asks me at least four or five times if I’m cold or hungry or tired.”

He tried to hold back a laugh but couldn’t. It was hard to imagine the usually sharp-tongued Olivier acting like that.

“How do you know him?” Maia asked. “He only said that you two had been close friends for a long time, but not much more than that. To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure I believed him until now.”

“Do we seem like close friends?”

“Now that I’ve met you, you do,” she said, nodding. There was an upbeat attitude about the young woman, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to see how Olivier interacted with someone who was so unlike him.

“To be honest, I owe him my life,” he said.

“Oh, that sounds like a story!” she exclaimed.

“A very short one.” She gave him an encouraging nod. “It was almost a decade ago. I was making my way back from a mission. I think the troubadours call it the Acid Spitter, and for good reason. Its acid ate through my armor and sword, so I had to wrestle it down a steep hill. Messy, messy work,” he said with a shake of his head.

“The hardest part was making my way back to a town. I kept running into more monsters at every turn, and I was famished and wounded.” He paused, thinking of the terrible state he had been in then. He had been so cocky, still thinking he could overcome anything. “The last thing I saw before collapsing was the dirt road. When I woke up, Olivier and his father were tending to me in their manor. To pay them back, I offered to be their guard whenever they needed one. His father refused, but Olivier didn’t.”

He chuckled. “He called upon me for every little thing. He was as demanding as he is now. Though it feels like our roles have reversed within the last few years. He’s the one helping me out these days.”

She smiled. “A heartwarming story. It’s good to know that my husband has a friend like you.”

“Olivier is…” A sudden note of sentimentality filled his voice, and he cleared his throat. It was too embarrassing to say: he is my truest friend, the only person I trust with my life.

The door swung open. A man with a thin, narrow face and neatly cropped black hair strode in. He wore a fine vest of gold and green, sheaves of parchment tucked under one arm.

Maia rose from her seat to greet him. “Ah, darling, you’ve arrived just in time. Sir Roel was telling me about how you both came to know each other.”

“Maia,” Olivier said, but his eyes were on him. Roel could read the carefully hidden panic on his face – Olivier was trying to figure out how much damage had been done in letting he and Maia talk to each other. That was the kind of man Olivier was. He liked everything neat, tidy, and carefully arranged. No doubt he had made some sort of plan for how he’d introduce him to his wife that was now ruined.

“Olivier, it’s been quite some time,” he said, flashing him a wide smile. “When were you going to tell me about your pretty wife?”

Maia laughed at his flattery, but Olivier’s eyebrow twitched. He turned to his wife, his lips curving into a forced smile. “Do you mind if Sir Roel and I talk in private for a bit? We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Of course,” she said. She stood up from her seat, gave him a low curtsy, and left with the maid.

Once the door shut, Olivier took a deep breath. “Look, it all happened very quickly. We were engaged for a week and married the next. I thought about sending a letter to the palace, but I didn’t know if you were still there or if my letter would arrive in time.”

“What’s your pet name for her?” he asked.

Olivier gave him a long stare. “What?”

“She calls you ‘darling.’ What do you call her? Princess? My queen?”

“Shut up. Why do I even bother explaining myself to you? If I had known you were coming, I would’ve had a room prepared for you in the kennel.”

“I meant to send a letter, but I didn’t have much time.”

“Excuses. It’s rude to come unannounced.” Olivier threw the sheaves of parchment from under his arm onto the table and took Maia’s seat. He noticed the long table for the first time and rolled his eyes at him. “I see that your flair for the dramatic hasn’t changed. You feel like some kind of lord sitting there?”

“Yes, a commander actually.”

His expression grew serious, his green eyes hard as jade. “What kind of shit do they have you doing now? I could hardly believe the news when I heard it. You led at Wetshard and Magerra, but this is an entirely different matter. Win or lose, this holy war will have a tremendous effect on the continent.”

“You don’t need to remind me.” Roel sighed. He had partially hoped that they could banter for a little more, but there were things that needed to be discussed. “First, I came here to confirm something with you. But based on your reactions, I assume that he hasn’t arrived.”

“Who?”

“Prince Ghislain.”