Edwin hadn’t ridden all the way to Puddock Castle. He’d been driven in a coach with eight horses that were replaced whenever they started to tire. It was his unbiased opinion that the horses got slower, fatter and lazier after they’d crossed the border from Tuft. But there was no way he was going to arrive at the castle in a carriage like some pathetic girl, so a little way down the road he’d got out and mounted his horse, Storm, also transported to Puddock by carriage. First impressions were very important. So a black stallion it was, ridden just far enough to work up a sweat and a bit of masculine odour. The horse, not him.
He reined in Storm just inside the front gate and surveyed his new castle. Loyalty to Tuft insisted that it wasn’t as good as the castle back home, but rivalry with his older brother, Leo, who had claimed that castle for himself, demanded that this one be better. It was undeniably bigger, which was a start. Perhaps once he’d made some improvements – knocked a few walls down, added some wings – he could assert its superiority and take the credit for himself, not Puddock.
He got down from Storm and handed the reins to a stable hand. Lined up by the main entrance to the castle were trumpet players or something, dressed in the red livery of the castle. Edwin didn’t care much for music, it seemed a pointless waste of noise, but he liked a fanfare when he arrived in a place, so that was fine. They could stand around and play whenever he came and went, unless he was sneaking out to visit some wench’s bed. Kings didn’t have to sneak, of course, but Edwin liked sneaking. It added thrill to the chase. The livery he’d get changed to his colours. What were his colours? He didn’t need to have the same ones as Leo any more, crappy yellow and blue. He’d have black. That was dangerous. That said King. Prince Consort, he heard in his head, in Leo’s smug-boy voice. Fuck off, Leo.
He looked around, hoping to catch sight of his wife-to-be. He was going to have to beget some sprogs with her so he hoped she was at least vaguely shaggable. But there was no sign of her. Never mind; the servants were where the real action was, sextacularly speaking. Leo always got the best ones, back home, but here Edwin should have first dibs. He’d take a tour of the kitchens later, there were bound to be decent tits in there, and failing that, he’d get some in from the village. Did they have droit de seigneur in this godforsaken kingdom? If they didn’t, he’d institute it. He was going to be king, after all. Prince Consort. King.
A group of what appeared to be beggars were clustered in the courtyard, but as he was preparing to sweep past them, one broke away from the others and bowed.
‘The people of Puddock welcome Prince Edwin of Tuft!’ said the beggar.
‘Oh. Thanks,’ said Edwin, wondering if this decrepit old man was going to ask him for money.
‘I am Sir John Penrith, Chancellor of the Puddock Regency Council,’ the beggar declared. He gestured to the scrappy old men gathered behind him, and they bowed as best they could. Christ, thought Edwin, this place is worse than I thought.
‘So it’s the wedding, tomorrow, eh?’ he said. ‘I hope there’s a banquet, I could eat a horse. Not Storm. He’s a stallion, you know. I mean, I could eat a stallion, if I wanted to, but Storm’s my stallion and I don’t want to eat him. What I mean is, I’ve got a big appetite. Not just at table! I mean in bed. But in that case, not for horses.’
Sir John stared at him for several seconds. Just as Edwin was about to conclude that the man was a halfwit, and explain the joke more slowly, Sir John gathered himself with a visible effort and said, ‘I trust you had a good journey.’
‘You trust right,’ said Edwin. ‘Though the real ride’s happening tomorrow night, if you know what I’m saying.’
This time Sir John only needed to blink once or twice before continuing. ‘Allow me to show you to your chambers,’ he said. He turned to go inside.
‘I’m not talking about horse riding,’ said Edwin, following him.
‘Indeed,’ said Sir John, climbing the front steps.
‘I’m talking about sex.’
Sir John didn’t reply. Edwin assumed he hadn’t heard, but he wasn’t repeating himself for this deaf old coot. He squared his shoulders and marched, no, swept into the castle. Unless marching was better.
If he looked up at the window of the tallest tower, he didn’t see anything there.