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357 M.E.
The crowd shifted in the Palm Court, under the high glass dome, and Andras Byrne felt a hand on his ass. This was by no means a new experience for him, and he knew whose it was. He actually liked having it there, and normally he would have let the fellow grope around for the fun of it, no matter who might be watching. But people at court would talk, and there were some kinds of rumors even his mother couldn’t protect him from.
Turning to his companion, he said, “You might not want to do that here.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” asked Geert, in a low voice.
Andras brushed the man’s hand away. “I like to leave it outside when I’m meeting the queen.” But he said it with a smile, to let Geert know he wasn’t really upset. He didn’t care much for propriety and decorum, either, but he knew his mother would want him to make an effort, if only for the sake of the family.
“You mean the queen with the man in a dress standing right next to her?”
“Baron Musgrove is a special case.”
The line moved more quickly now. Most of the nobles, dressed up in their beaded silk and jewels, were at the levee to see and be seen, and they had nothing important to say to her majesty. They just needed to be announced and make their bows before they could go off to the gilded parlors and the festival hall, where twenty courses of food and fifty kinds of wine were laid out, so they could parade for their friends and rivals.
“This is boring,” said Geert, tossing back his long, dirty blond hair and frowning at the marvelous tropical garden. His gaze fell on some pink and purple orchids nestled nearby in a bed of moss and ferns. “Those displease me.”
“We’ll go somewhere else afterward,” said Andras. “This is court. It’s not supposed to be a good time.”
The chamberlain bowed them in, past alabaster pillars, and Andras checked to see his sword was hanging straight and he hadn’t left his tight leather trousers untied.
The throne room was lined with pages and soldiers in black and silver—the colors of the ruling house of Gramiren. The banners of the ten duchies hung from the balcony above, their bright blues and greens and reds muted in the shadows. Great windows rose behind the marble throne, but the festival pavilion blocked nearly all the sunlight at this time of day, so the room was lit by huge twisting candelabras, like it was night.
At last the line moved again, and Andras heard the chamberlain call his name and Geert’s. He stepped up, barely glancing yet at the glittering figure on the throne, or at her shimmering companions, before dropping into his lowest, most elegant bow. From the corner of his eye, he saw Geert doing the same, which was a relief. Part of him had been worried the idiot would drop a curtsy or snap an Immani salute, just to be funny. Or worse yet, wink at Baron Theodore Musgrove, member of the king’s privy council and the queen’s lifelong friend, standing just off to the queens left side in a stunning gown silver silk and fine black lace.
“Ah, Lord Andras,” came a smooth, alto voice. “You and your friend are welcome.”
He looked up now and met those sharp, cold eyes. Queen Muriel Gramiren, in a slim gown of gray lace and silk, sat tall and straight, perfectly centered in the huge throne, hands resting lightly on her knees. Her full red lips were set in a rigid smile. A silver crown, studded with diamonds, sat atop her pale braids, and more diamonds shone at her wrists and ankles. But it was those eyes that caught one’s attention and held it.
She was the star attraction of today’s levee—the king being out west still, fighting the rebels, and the crown prince doing the same out east, where Andras and Geert had come from. Princess Donella sat to one side of the queen, the only other person seated in the room. She was the image of her mother, but softer, more diffuse somehow. Her smile was much friendlier than her mother’s, too. As Andras spared her a quick glance, she gave him a tiny, discreet wave. He nodded, then returned his attention to the queen. First he introduced Geert, which was only proper.
“So you’re from Zekustia?” asked the queen. “So few of our mercenaries hail from there.”
Geert dipped his head. “We are a small nation, your majesty.”
“But great in feats of arms, no doubt,” said the queen. “Are you on your way home now?”
Geert confirmed that he was. For a second, Andras hoped the queen would beg his lover to stay, but that would have been asking a bit much.
“Now as for you, Andras, it seems like only yesterday you were in here saying ‘goodbye,’” said her majesty. There might have been a trace of a rebuke there. Andras had barely been at the eastern front for six months, and he had returned in perfect health. If he had been a better knight, this would have been the moment for him to beg for a new appointment. But he didn’t really want to. He was bored of war.
Andras bowed again and said, “Your majesty, I bring you greetings from his royal highness, your son. Both to you and to her royal highness.” He nodded at the queen’s daughter. “Princess Donella, your brother asked me to say that he has enjoyed your letters immensely.”
The girl beamed at him. “That’s so kind of you, Andras. I’m glad you’re back safe.”
“Yes, how fortunate that the Keneshire levies weren’t needed anymore,” said the queen. “Tell me, my lord, how is your family?”
He took a deep breath. This was a potentially touchy subject. “I have only seen my sister Lauren since returning, your majesty.”
“Tell her ‘hello’ for me!” cried the princess. “Though I saw her yesterday. But even so, tell her ‘hi.’”
The queen leaned forward, resting her strong jaw on a jeweled hand. “Your older brother is still at war, I believe. Give him my best regards if you write to him, will you? I hardly see him anymore.”
If Andras were the kind of fellow who blushed easily, he would have done it now. “I’ll let him know you asked after him, your majesty.”
“And how about your darling mother?” Queen Muriel went on, the corners of her blood-red lips curling up. “Has Duchess Flora returned from Drohen, yet?”
The princess’s face started to redden, and even Andras felt his cheeks turn warm. Drohen was a city out west, the headquarters of the king’s army. “She...has not, my lady.”
“Cherish her,” said the queen, sitting back again. “She is nearing an age now, Andras, where she will need your support. A boy should never forget his mother.”
Andras promised he wouldn’t, and the queen dismissed him with a little smile and a barely suppressed chuckle.
As they headed past the black-clad guardsmen into the Robing Chamber and out toward the festival pavilion, Geert leaned closer to Andras and asked, “What was all that about your family? You seemed a bit tense, or is my Myrcian not good enough to follow what was going on?”
“Your Myrcian is fine,” sighed Andras. “It’s a long story. But basically, my brother, Pedr, used to sleep with the queen, and my mother is the king’s mistress.”
“That’s not a long story at all,” said Geert, with an evil grin, “but it’s a good one. Aren’t you the little tribe of royal favorites! How come you never mentioned this before?”
“It never came up.”
They reached the crowded pavilion, where they found half a dozen long trestle tables under the bright-painted canvas ceiling and a constellation of brass lamps. Each table was covered with silver trays heavy with food and wine. There were spiced lamb and curried peacock and a whole swan laid out with its wings spread as if in flight. There were wines of every color from silvery-white to a crimson so dark it was nearly black. Andras and Geert chose an Annenstruker Rodvin and started circulating among the little clusters of guests.
As always with Geert, half the fun came when they moved on from each group, and he critiqued the clothes and appearance of everyone they met. “Her hair looked like a rat’s nest,” he said of one baroness, “and not a nice one, either. The nest of a rat who has given up and really let itself go.” About an earl, he said, “How many chins can one man have? Is he hoarding them for winter?”
The reception in the throne room must have finally ended, because now the queen, her ladies, and Baron Musgrove came in. Her majesty went off to one side to charm some foreign ambassadors, but Princess Donella spotted Andras and came bounding over, blue silk ribbons fluttering from her golden hair. He always forgot how tall she was. Almost as tall as Geert, in fact.
“It’s so good to see you again,” she said, beaming. “It’s always more fun when you’re around.”
“That’s certainly what I’ve always thought,” said Geert, bowing to her.
The princess turned her smile on him. “Then you have marvelous taste. Did the two of you serve under my brother together?”
“Oh, I was mainly under Andras,” said Geert with a little smirk.
Andras gave him a warning glance.
“But now you’re going home to Zekustia,” said Donella. “That’s so sad. You should stay through the summer, at least.”
“Exactly what I’ve been telling him,” said Andras.
The princess looked worried. “You’re not going back to Zekustia together, are you?”
“I’ve invited him,” said Geert with a shrug. “But he says he’d rather stay here.”
She laughed and gave Andras’s arm a pat. “Because I’m here, right?”
He laughed. “Obviously.” Then, searching for a way to keep the conversation going, he said, “I hope your writing is coming along well.”
“It is!” she said brightly. “I’ve started a new series, and I’d like to know what you think of the protagonist and his paramour.”
But before she could start telling him about her new characters, one of her mother’s ladies-in-waiting came over to tell her that some foreign nobleman had arrived and needed to be shown around the court parlors.
“Oh, blast it all,” Donella said. “Duty calls, gentlemen.” She curtsied, and they bowed. “I’ll see you later, Andras, won’t I?”
She left, and the two men went back to circulating around the party. But later, when they were in their room at their inn, Geert brought the princess up again. “She seemed to like you quite a bit.”
Andras, who was washing his face from a porcelain basin by the mirror, shook his head, splashing water over the warped old sideboard. “Oh, that. Yes, we were friends at school. Or rather, she’s my little sister’s best friend. That’s how I know her. She is rather nice.”
Geert removed his shirt and tossed it carelessly on a threadbare footstool. “And she’s an authoress, is she?”
“I suppose you could call her one. Little romances about knights and ladies and dragons—that sort of thing. To be honest, I’ve only read a couple of them.”
“H’m, I see.” Geert sat down on the edge of the huge, sagging bed that took up half the room, and started removing his shoes and socks. “She’s not unattractive. Looks like her mother probably did at the same age. Same perky chest. Same tight little backside. Same frigid eyes. Same big nose.”
Andras looked up from his towel. “Would you call her nose big?”
“Among her facial features, it’s definitely the dominant partner. Nice cheekbones, too. It all looks a lot better on her mother, though. It’s sharper, better defined by age, I think.”
“Really? You think Queen Muriel is better looking than her?”
“Ah, ha. I see how it is.” Geert wandered over and tugged at Andras’s underthings.
Andras had been enjoying watching Geert undress, which was evident as soon as the last of his clothes hit the floor. “As you can see, it’s not really like that at all. She’s just a friend.”
Geert chuckled as he returned to the bed. There he pulled the stopper from a bottle of oil. “You know, if you want to think of her as you fuck me, I won’t mind.”
“Why don’t you fuck yourself?” said Andras, though he had no intention of letting Geert follow his advice. In moments, he was in bed, too, tugging open Geert’s trousers.