《The Rícewelig Crown》Chapter Twenty One
Advertisement
Áberd sped along the palace corridors, unable to sleep as ideas for the ball churned within his mind. Perhaps a pleasant view will help. He navigated the palace to the keep, then climbed many, many stairs.
Years of passing secret missives under tea cups, and keeping the King’s wardrobe up to date, paled in comparison to his current task. He slipped through an ancient door and onto the battlements. Two Húskarlar nodded at him and Áberd returned their greeting with a brief bow.
Breathing the crisp, clean air, Áberd gazed between the crenulations at the city. Soft lamplight illuminated the most important streets and thousands of windows spilled light into the night. The city’s murky silhouette hid the mishmash of historical architecture and filthy roads. It was well past midnight, yet snatches of laughter and the clip clop of hooves still drifted below.
The King’s personality had inspired an entire industry and architectural movement. With his failing wanderlust, Firgen no longer toured the country dispensing justice, forcing petitioners to come to him and leading to a boom in extravagant housing over the past thirty years.
The wealthy vied for the best residence in the same space, each piling more and more house on top of previous additions, usually with disastrous consequences as lower floors sunk into the mud.
While King Firgen’s personality had shaped the city, Queen Wenthelen’s death, aside from the current competition, had wrought a second change: no jousts, no feasts, and no royal balls. The King was the only person who wouldn’t care how important the upcoming ball was, even though he was the host.
The rough lichen scratched at Áberd’s fingers as he rested his hands on the crenelations. The night air cleared Áberd’s mind and he relaxed.
Screw the King and his capricious whims, I’m going to make this the best royal ball Rícewelig has ever seen. The aristocracy will be so amazed they will throw their money at the King until he drowns in it!
Advertisement
Áberd blew on his hands and shivered. I need to visit Earl Ilberd Rhodomel. He won’t retreat to his quarters until he knows his wife, lady Éaðmédu, is asleep. If I leave now, I might catch him.
Áberd hurried to the treasury. As I helped lord Rhodomel court his first wife, I should assist him in finding a replacement, but he always refuses. Loyalty is a great trait for a treasurer, but it doesn’t help his social life.
He arrived at a thick, arched door guarded by a full squad of ten Húskarlar, armoured in their distinctive boar-crested helms and sturdy coat-of-plates. Those back-spiked crescent axes on their belts are elegant, vile things.
A young man opened the wicket for Áberd and entered the soul of the kingdom. Brass oil lamps hung from the walls and ceiling, giving the room a warm, fuzzy glow. To his right, a marble fireplace adorned the centre of the wall, surrounded by overburdened bookshelves. More shelves lurked on his left, framing a studded oak door to the records room. Three, small desks, smothered in paper, flanked the oak door, guarding the records room with the terrifying power of bureaucracy.
Earl Rhodomel sat behind an imposing desk, nine feet long and six feet wide of solid mahogany, inlaid with soft bulls leather and gold. Two leather armchairs squatted before it. Behind the desk lay the vault, secured by a steel door, and another squad of Húskarlar.
“Hello, Áberd.” Ilberd wore a saffron coloured, silk bliaut; a thick, fox fur pelisse encased his short, chubby body.
“Good evening, my lord.”
“You’ve always been a stickler for protocol,” said Ilberd, a small smile on his lips. “We’ve been friends for years, but you never call me by name.”
Áberd chuckled.
“What will it be this evening: Cards, Dice, Backgammon? Perhaps a glass of brandy?”
Advertisement
Áberd slid over to a bookshelf on the right of the fireplace. He pushed a small knot in the wood. It depressed with a slight click. A section of books swung out, revealing a gentleman’s bar, complete with crystal decanters and fine glasses.
He poured Ilberd a glass of rose infused mead and helped himself to a small glass of apricot brandy. Áberd placed the glasses, and two full decanters, on a silver, filigree tray, closed the shelf, and brought the drinks over. He sunk into the left armchair.
“To all good things,” said Áberd.
“And may we be blessed by them all,” said Ilberd. They sipped their drinks, the quiet disrupted only by the rustling hauberks of the alert Húskarlar.
Ilberd tossed back the remainder of his drink and picked up a decanter; it clinked against the rim of his glass with a pleasant chime as Ilberd poured a second glass, “Out with it, Áberd.”
“We’re having a royal ball.”
“Ah, so it’s true!” said Ilberd. “One of the clerks came in with the news at seven o’clock. I’ve never seen one of them so breathless and I run them ragged.”
“The first one in thirty years,” said Áberd. He couldn’t match Ilberd’s enthusiasm.
“Why are you so hung up about it?”
Áberd swirled the sweet, fragrant brandy around his glass, “This one was my idea.”
“And the King listened?” said Ilberd.
“He always listens.”
“Don’t be so prickly,” said Ilberd. “Acted on, if you prefer.”
“Of sorts. He put me in charge.”
Ilberd laughed, “Brilliant, just brilliant. Serves you right for trying so hard all the time.”
“Excellence is a state of mind,” said Áberd, “not a task.”
“That makes as much sense as a puking, fen-suckled piglet. You’re a perfectionist Áberd, I’ll make you admit it one day.”
“Likewise, my lord.” Unable to spy a coaster, Áberd folded his white handkerchief, arranged it on the desk, and settled his glass atop the handkerchief. “It’s not the Ball that fazes me, it’s the planning and the responsibility.” Áberd clasped his hands and rested them against his stomach, “I’ve always wanted to plan a ball, and now I can, I don’t know where to start.”
Ilberd nodded.
He could at least try to hide his amusement, “Can you help?”
“What do you need?”
The last time I saw him so excited was his wedding day, “An assistant, planning advice, and money.”
“You know how to pick your friends, Áberd. You’ve come to the right man.”
“It’s one of my many talents.”
Ilberd’s face slackened as he began moving money in his head. Áberd tidied the drinks and departed. Ilberd never noticed.
Advertisement
VRMMO: The Unrivaled
Lu Chen used to be a ranker of the most popular VRMMO game, Spirit of Grief. After a car accident turned his dreams into dust, his disability left him incapable of escaping the pit of mediocrity he was thrown into. Helpless and defeated, his story ended.Two years later, the Eternal Moon Corporation launched a new VRMMO called "Heavenblessed", and Lu Chen stumbled into another terrible accident that left him in a complicated situation far beyond his ability to handle. That won't stop him from rising to the top, however. Not again.Come witness the rise of the sword-wielding zombie and the relationships he makes during his journey to the apex! For riches and bi- ahem, for career and love!He wields a demonic sword from Hell, he dons armor shining with Heaven's light. His boots stride across the sky as his helmet devours the souls of his enemies. On his left side sits the Goddess of Death. On the other, the Angel of Beauty.From the land of ice and death, a generation of Asura Kings rises, their roars reverberating throughout the world.Tremble in fear, noobs!
8 8156Refining the Mountains and Rivers
A young man's life changes when he stumbles upon a mysterious item. Qin Yu had never been a lucky person. Weak of body, bullied by his peers, and with only his friend as his family, he struggles day-by-day to live. But everything changes when he stumbles upon a little blue lamp. An immortal and demonic cultivating adventure.
8 3344Mortal Cultivation Biography
A poor and ordinary boy from a village joins a minor sect in Jiang Hu and becomes an Unofficial Disciple by chance. How will Han Li, a commoner by birth, establish a foothold for himself in in his sect? With his mediocre aptitude, he must successfully traverse the treacherous path of cultivation and avoid the notice of those who may do him harm. This is a story of an ordinary mortal who, against all odds, clashes with devilish demons and ancient celestials in order to find his own path towards immortality.
8 1050Dragon Prince Yuan
Destiny stolen at birth, the prince of the once mighty Great Zhou Empire, Zhou Yuan, has been plagued all his life by a fatal poison, forced to suffer powerlessly until one day when fate draws him into a mysterious domain where he meets a beautiful girl in green, a bizarre dog-like creature and an unfathomable old man in black.Join Zhou Yuan as he is thrust into the whirlpool of destiny while he seeks the pinnacle of cultivation.
8 1057Ranker's Return
In the early days of the virtual reality game, Arena, meleegod was the strongest ranked player! He deleted his character and suddenly left. In order to restore his bankrupt family, he returned to Arena!"Do you want to create a character?"
8 1715Monarch of Evernight
Qianye rose from hardship but was felled by betrayal. From then, one man, one gun; he tread the path between Evernight and Daybreak and became a legend. Even if Evernight was destined to be his fate, he still intends to become the ruler who dictates.
8 22861