After delivering the emperor’s commands to the men camped outside the city, Sanders made haste to return to his post at his leader’s side. Owen had a bad habit of dispatching guardsmen on assignments that could be carried out by messengers or valets. It was better not to contradict the emperor but carry out the tasks quickly.
He pulled his horse to a sudden stop and directed the white and grey stallion to turn back when he spied what seemed to be a very small woman trying to coax Cimmerian into the stables. She received no help from anyone else and seemed at a loss with the horse. Sanders sighed and urged Stardust, the older brother to Cimmerian, up next to the woman.
Cimmerian was in the process of gingerly taking a sugar cube from the woman’s palm. He even took an encouraging step forward. However, the incorrigible stallion dropped the sugar cube to the ground and snorted violently as he stamped on it.
The mounted guardsman could not stifle a laugh that rang out echoing on stone in the courtyard. He clasped a leather gloved hand over his mouth to stop himself from continuing to laugh at her expense too loudly.
“He’s right bastard, huh?” Sanders asked with no regard for policing his language around the woman. He was perched atop his horse with both hands cupped around the saddle horn. Cimmerian and Stardust greeted one another. Tails raised and nostrils flaring. Stardust stepped towards his brother and nuzzled against him.
“Allow me.” Sanders insisted as he dismounted. Taking the reins in hand, he moved off towards the stable, leading Stardust behind him. Cimmerian, not wanting to be left behind, started following after a moment’s hesitation.
“Brothers.” Sanders explained, his index finger passing between the two horses.
Once Maeve took her leave of him, Owen allowed himself to be dressed by the valet in one of the breezy tunics found in the wardrobe. The valet let the shirt hang open at the chest, which was in style and also functional for keeping the emperor cool. He offered Owen his crown brooch but the ruler refused and settled for a gold chained necklace with a crown charm inlaid with tiny emeralds.
The valet even convinced the emperor to sit long enough to have his hair combed - though he complained as he always did about the valet’s treatment of his hair. During the ordeal that was dressing the emperor, his two trusted advisers gathered around and cautiously reminded him of their status as guests. Holland spent most of his breath instructing Owen on Maeve’s high station as the Queen’s handmaiden and the respect due to her for this office.
Owen flimsily agreed to adjust his behavior towards the handmaiden. When his grooming was finished they bade one of the castle servants to send word to Maeve that they would arrive in the banquet hall shortly - and that the emperor requested she sit with him at the table. Immediately upon arriving to the banquet hall, the emperor all but commandeered the preparations.
He redirected the servants to clear a portion of the head table and sent for the ice block to be placed in the center. A renowned ice sculptor had traveled with them as a part of their gift to the queen. She wasn’t around to enjoy the man’s work, so Owen instructed him to begin anyway. The sculpture would ultimately take form as a four and a half foot rearing stallion. Made of ice. In the center of the head banquet table.
The emperor took his place at the head of the table - the most honorary seat, of course. The servants were instructed to collect the ice as it was chipped away into buckets. As the other guests arrived - all Eskran officers, his guardsmen, and entourage - filling the hall, their glasses were filled with ice and rum. And the festivities began with a simple toast by the emperor.
“Drink to me.” He called out in Eskran to the room which had hushed when he stood. As was their custom, the men toasted the emperor with their glasses raised, they downed the rum, and clinked the cups on the table in unison. They were then free to enjoy the food and drink as they pleased.
Owen had requested that the seat to his right be saved for Maeve. To his left, his advisers were sat, Holland followed by Renton. The rest of the table was filled by the rank of his officers in descending order. A seat next to Maeve was left empty for the head guardsman, Sanders, who had yet to arrive.
The emperor picked at his food and was content to mostly fill up on rum. Of the things served to him, he favored the fruit the most, and pushed the rest away.
“Miss Maeve.” Owen addressed his attention to the handmaiden. “How long have you been in service to the queen?” He leaned back in his chair, all but lounging in it, and sipped at rum, while pointedly staring at the handmaiden. “Do you think the queen would ask much for you, if I offered to buy your freedom?”
Holland choked on whatever he had been chewing at that moment, and quickly recovered himself by forcing it down with gulps of water. “My Lord -” he began cautiously, which earned him a glare. “A handmaiden is not typically enslav -”
“Let her speak for herself Rivers.” He snapped at his adviser, cutting him off.
Holland’s mouth clamped shut and he pursed his lips in obvious disapproval.
He pulled his horse to a sudden stop and directed the white and grey stallion to turn back when he spied what seemed to be a very small woman trying to coax Cimmerian into the stables. She received no help from anyone else and seemed at a loss with the horse. Sanders sighed and urged Stardust, the older brother to Cimmerian, up next to the woman.
Cimmerian was in the process of gingerly taking a sugar cube from the woman’s palm. He even took an encouraging step forward. However, the incorrigible stallion dropped the sugar cube to the ground and snorted violently as he stamped on it.
The mounted guardsman could not stifle a laugh that rang out echoing on stone in the courtyard. He clasped a leather gloved hand over his mouth to stop himself from continuing to laugh at her expense too loudly.
“He’s right bastard, huh?” Sanders asked with no regard for policing his language around the woman. He was perched atop his horse with both hands cupped around the saddle horn. Cimmerian and Stardust greeted one another. Tails raised and nostrils flaring. Stardust stepped towards his brother and nuzzled against him.
“Allow me.” Sanders insisted as he dismounted. Taking the reins in hand, he moved off towards the stable, leading Stardust behind him. Cimmerian, not wanting to be left behind, started following after a moment’s hesitation.
“Brothers.” Sanders explained, his index finger passing between the two horses.
__
Once Maeve took her leave of him, Owen allowed himself to be dressed by the valet in one of the breezy tunics found in the wardrobe. The valet let the shirt hang open at the chest, which was in style and also functional for keeping the emperor cool. He offered Owen his crown brooch but the ruler refused and settled for a gold chained necklace with a crown charm inlaid with tiny emeralds.
The valet even convinced the emperor to sit long enough to have his hair combed - though he complained as he always did about the valet’s treatment of his hair. During the ordeal that was dressing the emperor, his two trusted advisers gathered around and cautiously reminded him of their status as guests. Holland spent most of his breath instructing Owen on Maeve’s high station as the Queen’s handmaiden and the respect due to her for this office.
Owen flimsily agreed to adjust his behavior towards the handmaiden. When his grooming was finished they bade one of the castle servants to send word to Maeve that they would arrive in the banquet hall shortly - and that the emperor requested she sit with him at the table. Immediately upon arriving to the banquet hall, the emperor all but commandeered the preparations.
He redirected the servants to clear a portion of the head table and sent for the ice block to be placed in the center. A renowned ice sculptor had traveled with them as a part of their gift to the queen. She wasn’t around to enjoy the man’s work, so Owen instructed him to begin anyway. The sculpture would ultimately take form as a four and a half foot rearing stallion. Made of ice. In the center of the head banquet table.
The emperor took his place at the head of the table - the most honorary seat, of course. The servants were instructed to collect the ice as it was chipped away into buckets. As the other guests arrived - all Eskran officers, his guardsmen, and entourage - filling the hall, their glasses were filled with ice and rum. And the festivities began with a simple toast by the emperor.
“Drink to me.” He called out in Eskran to the room which had hushed when he stood. As was their custom, the men toasted the emperor with their glasses raised, they downed the rum, and clinked the cups on the table in unison. They were then free to enjoy the food and drink as they pleased.
Owen had requested that the seat to his right be saved for Maeve. To his left, his advisers were sat, Holland followed by Renton. The rest of the table was filled by the rank of his officers in descending order. A seat next to Maeve was left empty for the head guardsman, Sanders, who had yet to arrive.
The emperor picked at his food and was content to mostly fill up on rum. Of the things served to him, he favored the fruit the most, and pushed the rest away.
“Miss Maeve.” Owen addressed his attention to the handmaiden. “How long have you been in service to the queen?” He leaned back in his chair, all but lounging in it, and sipped at rum, while pointedly staring at the handmaiden. “Do you think the queen would ask much for you, if I offered to buy your freedom?”
Holland choked on whatever he had been chewing at that moment, and quickly recovered himself by forcing it down with gulps of water. “My Lord -” he began cautiously, which earned him a glare. “A handmaiden is not typically enslav -”
“Let her speak for herself Rivers.” He snapped at his adviser, cutting him off.
Holland’s mouth clamped shut and he pursed his lips in obvious disapproval.
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
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