Chapter 36 – The Court of Three Crowns

There were far too many courtiers crammed into the throne room of Bomfrey Castle, and almost all of them were heavily perfumed. Which was probably a blessing in disguise, after all. Regular bathing wasn’t exactly a tradition in Tulvia.

At the far end of the hall, on a raised platform, stood three seats. King Gelsevier sat in the middle one. He was an old and gaunt but tall man who looked weary but must have once been an imposing figure years ago, you could tell that at first glance.

To his right stood Prince Gwilet, looking spick and span, with deliberately courteous expression plastered on his face.

What a smug shit he is.

To Gelsevier’s left sat presumably King Gerarde of Nalvine, if the coat of arms was to be believed. He was about the same age as Gelsevier, but a little broader, with a round, good-natured face and a jovial smile.

Next to him stood Prince Frambert, King Gerarde’s heir and Obelaine’s betrothed. He was a serious young man with impeccably upright posture and watched their group with a stony expression.

Enthroned in the third seat was the middle-aged Grand Master Rambaud of the Order of the New Forge, dressed entirely in black and gold, with the rising sun above the anvil as a medallion on his chest and his hands folded in his lap. He gave the impression of being a quite shrewd man, despite his outward piousness.

Tancred escorted them dignified to a respectful distance in front of the dais. “Your Majesties, Your Most Eminent Highness, may I introduce to you the noble hero Benderast Stonefist!”

And to the king’s left, half a step behind the throne, there was Princess Obelaine.

Shaelith had last seen her in a goblin kennel, starved and broken, a traumatized, pregnant woman without a name, one of many. She looked much better now and had obviously received the best care Shaelith’s mother could provide for her in Myzelemaerlazin.

Now, in her beautiful silk dress and tall hennin, from which a thin gossamer veil hung down, she looked downright enchanting. At first glance, she seemed like a delicate, pretty young girl who surely loved dresses and dancing, the arts, and all things beautiful.

But the look she gave Benderast had absolutely nothing childlike about it, and her cheeks had flushed slightly.

Imagine being that smitten with Benderast of all people.

And what was truly remarkable was that Benderast, for whatever reason, apparently noticed it.

He blushed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, reached for his sword belt, let go again, attempted a bow, which he then broke off, and his smug, heroic smile vanished as he glanced briefly over at Shaelith and noticed slightly embarrassed that she was frowning.

Shaelith saw his gaze flicker upward and to the side for the fraction of a breath. Of course, that was it. He hadn’t suddenly learned out of nowhere to process emotional cues any better than a brick, it was the system helping him.

Okay, what kind of notification did you just get? “New Romance Option Available”?

At any rate, he gave the princess a brief, awkward nod and then stared intently straight ahead as Tancred continued.

“The noble hero is the vanquisher of the Crimson Warlock and the current bearer of the Banner of Honor, which-“

Tancred paused, as it became clear no one in the hall was listening to him anymore. Those gathered audibly gasped and had fixed their gaze on Honor.

The banner, which had remained stubbornly silent since their arrival in the throne room, slowly and ostentatiously turned away from Gwilet, presenting its richly embroidered back to the prince, the three Triarchs, and the assembled court. 

A horrified murmur ran through the ranks of the nobility. Gwilet’s smile became a little strained and his jaw muscles tensed, but he maintained his polite facade, if barely.

Ouch. It really isn’t easy to wrap your head around the fact that a sulking flag could turn into such a crisis.

The courtiers whispered excitedly among themselves. The Tulvians seemed deeply shaken, and even within the Nalvin delegation, there were nothing but extremely serious faces. Except for one, that was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man in Nalvine’s entourage with a dashing Van Dyke beard and a magnificent, colorful doublet, who was eyeing her from head to toe with undisguised interest before his gaze even wandered over to Mirrsoss and lingered on her shimmering wings.

When he realized that Shaelith had noticed, he winked at her and grinned so broadly and shamelessly that it seemed refreshingly out of place amid the general stiffness.

Well, there you go. At least one guy who isn’t pretending he doesn’t have a pulse.

Meanwhile, Tancred cleared his throat and continued introducing the companions. “…where was I? Um, there’s… oh yes, there’s also Master Grimbart of the Dwarves and the Ranger Thaelon of the Wood Elves, and this is Mirrsoss of the Moth Folk… oh, and this is, of course, Her Highness Shaelith Vyrnara, daughter of the Ruler of the Dusk Elves of House Vyrnara, and also the-” Tancred hesitated for a fraction of a second, apparently searching desperately for a word that wouldn’t cause the people in the hall to faint, “-um, the wife of the hero Benderast.”

“Concubine,” Shaelith corrected with a friendly smile. “I am not his wife, honorable Herald Tancred. It is a significant distinction among my people.”

An elderly lady-in-waiting let out a stifled gasp and had to be supported while someone fanned her, while a dejected Tancred merely bowed politely to Shaelith and remained silent in embarrassment as murmurs rose again in the hall.  

Yeah, yeah, terribly offensive, I know. Get over it.

It had not escaped Shaelith’s notice, however, how Princess Obelaine’s pretty face had clouded with disappointment at the word “wife” and had only shown signs of a kind of relieved confusion again after Shaelith’s correction.

For a moment, their eyes met. In Obelaine’s face stood a mix of curiosity, maybe a certain admiration for the strange, bold elf woman standing before the three rulers and all their courtiers in an absolutely scandalous dress, confidently correcting the king’s herald, and, yes, barely concealed, there seemed to be a spark of jealousy as well.

Obelaine held her gaze for a moment, until Shaelith nodded kindly at her, before looking away.

King Gelsevier rose groaning from his throne, and the hall fell silent.

“Noble Benderast!” His voice was pleasant but thin and barely carried across the hall. “Honor has exercised a right granted in the Great Symbiarchic Charter. As much as it pains Our House, this right is undeniable.”

Gwilet stared blankly ahead.

“After consultation with the College of Heralds, the Three Crowns have jointly decided,” Gelsevier continued, casting a brief glance at Gerarde and Rambaud, who both nodded, “that the Trial of Reclamation, through which House Grevue may vie to regain the favor of the banner, shall be incorporated into the Concord Tourney, which is to be held as planned.”

Ugh, this will cost us so much time.

“As the current bearer,” Gelsevier said, “it is your right to name your seconds.”

Benderast glanced around uncertainly for a moment. “Sure, yeah, right. I’ll take my party of course.” A wave of frowns swept through the hall. “Uh, my companions, I mean. Grimbart, Thaelon, Mirrsoss, and Shaelith.”

Grimbart grunted in agreement, Thaelon tilted his head, and Mirrsoss waved cheerfully. Shaelith gave a brief nod. It was fine with her. Whatever was in store for them here, she’d have to keep an eye on Ben anyway.

Then Gwilet stepped forward, his smug smile back in place. He named two flashy young nobles from his entourage, one of whom Shaelith thought she’d already seen at the tournament grounds.

Was to be expected that he’s choosing his lackeys.

“And furthermore, I ask for the great honor,” Gwilet said, now speaking louder in a resonant voice, “that Prince Frambert of Nalvine, if he so desires, may stand by my side.”

Wait a minute, what?

The young Prince of Nalvine stepped forward, bowed briefly before the crowns, and, without hesitation, took his place at Gwilet’s side. “I will stand at Prince Gwilet’s side.”

Shaelith looked over at Obelaine. The princess had turned pale, and her eyes darted back and forth between Benderast and Frambert as she wrung her hands with an expression of undisguised horror.

That doesn’t make any sense. Is he jealous?

King Gelsevier bowed his head in a noble gesture. “So be it then, the seconds have been named. Tancred Hautebec, we hereby charge you to explain the rules of the trial and the tournament to the noble Benderast and his companions tomorrow, after they have had due rest, and to assist them with advice and support for as long as they are our guests.”

Tancred closed his eyes briefly. “Of course I will fulfill this task to your complete satisfaction, Sire.”

~

After the public portion of the meeting, they were led through a low side door into a smaller room. King Gelsevier received them there alone, apart from Tancred and two guards standing outside the door. There, Gelsevier’s courtly stiffness faded somewhat, and he simply looked old.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “that all this… inconvenience has befallen you. My son’s behavior has put you, has put us all, really, in a situation that is… regrettable… yes, regrettable.” He was visibly struggling to find the right words, and his apology trailed off halfway through.

But then he took a step closer to them and took first Benderast’s hand, then even Shaelith’s, and nodded to Thaelon, Grimbart, and Mirrsoss as well.

“But for saving my daughter…” He paused, and you could see how much it had tormented the old man. “I will never be able to repay this debt. Obelaine is… she is the dearest thing I have left. I had already mourned her. And you have given her back to me, you… you have brought my dear Obelaine back to me. I will never forget that.”

“Oh, it’s all right, Your, um, Majesty, we were happy to do it, honestly,” said Benderast patronizingly, but then clamped his mouth shut when he saw Shaelith’s stern gaze.

“I ask only one thing of you,” Gelsevier managed to say. “Tancred said he’d already spoken with you, that you’d given your word that nothing would be revealed about what she… what happened to her. I beg you! For the sake of her honor.”

Shaelith was too experienced a diplomat to let anything show, but it was harder for her than usual. “Your Majesty has our word.”

Relieved and grateful, he nodded to her. “Thank you, Lady Shaelith.”

“But Your Majesty, if I may be so bold as to ask a question in another matter…?”

King Gelsevier gestured for her to speak.

“Is this trial really necessary? Wouldn’t it save us all a lot of time and trouble if Benderast simply returned the banner?”

Thaelon beside her nodded vigorously, and Grimbart nodded in agreement as well. Only Mirrsoss seemed not to be so happy about that: “But that would be boring!”

Benderast, King Gelsevier, and Tancred, on the other hand, looked at her as if she’d completely lost her mind. Not to mention Honor.

“NEVER!” thundered the banner. “The only slight chance House Grevue has to show me that it still has even a spark of its old virtue is to convince me in a fair competition.”

Shaelith sighed. “It was just a suggestion.”

It’s just so unnecessary.

King Gelsevier cleared his throat. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, I cordially invite you to be my guests for the duration of the competition. I’ve already had suitable quarters prepared for you, which-“

“WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, YOUR MAJESTY!” Honor puffed himself up. “I’d rather hang as a washcloth in a latrine than spend EVEN ONE night under the same roof as that dog Gwilet.”

Gelsevier’s expression twisted in pain, but he bowed his head with dignity. “As you wish, Honor. Of course, you’re also welcome to pitch your tents on the tournament grounds.”

“Wait a minute,” Grimbart protested indignantly. “Why should we have to sleep in a tent just because-“

Benderast patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, it won’t be that bad. Let’s show a little solidarity with Honor.”

Thaelon and Mirrsoss, on the other hand, seemed quite content that they wouldn’t have to sleep in the castle, and even Shaelith had to admit that she wasn’t entirely comfortable placing herself under the Tulvians’ control.

Hospitality is important to the Tulvians, but I’d bet there’s nothing that’s sacred to someone like Gwilet.

And so it came to pass that they were led back to the vast tent city that had spread out around Bomfrey for the tournament, where the stalls of merchants and market vendors, traveling furriers, armorers and weaponsmiths, and where the profession was practiced that could not be entirely banned even in a realm as virtuous as Tulvia.

At the gate, however, Prince Frambert came to meet them.

They passed him with a polite nod, but he wordlessly blocked Benderast’s path. He was a little younger than Gwilet and seemed significantly more serious and straightforward. He had none of Gwilet’s courtly gentleness, but rather gave the distinct impression that he could stand his ground. And he was not that much smaller than Benderast, if not quite as muscular.

A hard and strangely righteous coldness was on his face as he prevented Benderast from continuing on his way.

Benderast blinked. “Uh. Can I help you?”

“The whole realm may sing about how you slew the warlock and won Honor’s favor, but you’re not fooling me. A man’s worth is not measured by how he treats his enemies, or those above him, whose favor he seeks, no. A man’s true character is revealed by how he treats the weak and defenseless. I know what kind of man you are.” 

Then he turned and walked away without even waiting for a reply.

Benderast stared after him, completely dumbfounded. “What… was that all about? I didn’t do anything to him, did I? Is that the Story Engine? Is he some kind of designated antagonist or something?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Grimbart grumbled, patting Benderast on the elbow. “I told you, everyone here’s a little off their rocker.”

“Well,” Mirrsoss fluttered excitedly, “he really does hate you. He wasn’t faking it.”

“But why? I know Benderast can be a little clumsy sometimes, but I honestly can’t figure out how he could have upset this guy.” Thaelon shrugged in confusion. “We barely arrived.”

Benderast looked at Shaelith and seemed to be expecting an answer from her, but she barely noticed him, as she was mulling over the prince’s strange words and trying to make sense of them.

“Shaelith?” Benderast gave her a little wave, trying to get her attention.

She shook her head. “Hmm, yes?”

“Do you have any idea what was going on with him?”

“Not right now. Not yet, I mean…”

Benderast threw his arms up in the air. “Great, just great. Now even people I’ve never met hate me.”

For once, I really have no idea what he did wrong. I thought Frambert might be jealous, but then what was all that pompous talk about the weak and defenseless? I really don’t like this.