A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Just stare forward," he heard Jorah whisper, as Kaya murmured about not knowing where to look.

"These boots are too tight…" Karesh said. "I'm not sure how long I'm going to be able to stand so straight for. Damn it, Jorah, it's a Princess – how in the name of the Gods did you manage to survive a meeting with her?"

"She's a very generous woman," Jorah said, "you need not fear her. That is not to say that you should be impolite, either. If in doubt, make your speech as polite as possible. If you even have to ask if your words were too casual, you need to change them."

"Now you've got me questioning everything…"

"Relax. It's unlikely that she will speak to you regardless."

Then came the knock at the door, just as the grandfather clock chimed. The three of them stiffened, and straightened up. Even though Jorah was the one giving advice, having endured this kind of stressful situation before, his jaw still had the tightness that came with nervousness, as the three of them anticipated her arrival.

They could hear a soft murmur from within the hallway, as one of Verdant's maids greeted whatever guest had arrived.

"I wonder where Blackthorn is…" Oliver murmured idly to himself, leaning back in his chair, almost about to swing on it, until he recalled General Skullic doing the same and he swiftly set the legs back down on the floor.

Movement in the hallway, the anticipation was palpable. All of Verdant's new retainers were nervous, even though they tried not to show it. A tall yellow-shirted boy set down a tray of tea on the low table in front of Oliver, before hurrying off, trying to find any excuse to be in a different room when the Princess arrived.

'Too slow,' Oliver said to himself with a smile, seeing through him. Oliver had his own sort of nervousness to him, despite knowing Asabel by now, and trusting her. It proved to be a good way to keep his mind off that uncomfortable feeling, watching someone else struggle more than he.

He arose just in time to see her arrive at the door, as the attendant retreated deeper into the room, and was forced to stand stiffly against the wall, preparing to offer a bow, now that his escape route had been sealed.

"Princess Asabel," Oliver said, bowing. "Or do I call you Queen Asabel now?"

She smiled at his greeting. "As I said before, you may call me whatever you wish. Though I might be a Queen in technicality, I don't believe I yet wield the power to truly call myself one. Princess Asabel seems far more fitting. That is what the High King himself called me, after all."

Oliver stiffened slightly at the mention of the man's name. "Ah, yes. You did say you were meeting with him. How did that meeting go?"

The Princess shrugged her shoulders, as she drifted towards the leather-hung sofa opposite Oliver's chair. Lancelot kept guard of her heels, evaluating the room as though he didn't trust a single corner of it, whilst a procession of five other servants followed after them, three of whom were armed guards.

The Princess sighed as she sat, elegantly tucking her flowing dress beneath her. "It was exhausting," she admitted. "The journey was long and stressful, but the High King was who I remembered him to be. He greeted me warmly and gave me no reason to fear for myself. But…"

"But?" Oliver pressed.

"He did not seem to quite want to let go of the fact of you, Ser Patrick," Asabel said. "Of course, he did not mention you by name, it was always 'that boy, at the centre of those recent crimes', or 'that boy, from a house fallen', but it was clear who he was talking about."

"If not for you, it might not have been impossible to form a cooperative relationship with the High King," Lancelot said. "At least for now."

"Come, Lancelot," Asabel chided. "I know the journey has worn on you as much as it has on me, but I would not have you take it out on Oliver. You know as well as I that the High King could never be an ally – not when we set our sights on his very position."

"I merely mention that it would have given us more security," Lancelot said, "given that we are so weak currently."

Another knock came at the door. Asabel smiled as she remembered who it was. Stay connected via My Virtual Library Empire

"Ah! Yes, that must be Lady Blackthorn," she said. "I received a letter earlier – I was wondering where she was."

"Somehow it doesn't surprise me that she turned up late," Oliver said, unable to help smiling himself. For all her act of being a serious Lady, it was comforting to know that she was still the same. In such a changing world, when even his own retainers were changing, it was almost necessary to have a few constants.

Guided by Verdant, the flustered Lady Blackthorn arrived at the door.

"Princess Asabel," Verdant said, bowing. "Forgive me for not welcoming you sooner. You look well, despite the length of your recent journey. If you would allow me to introduce Lasha Blackthorn, Lord Blackthorn's daughter. I wonder if you have met her before?"@@novelbin@@

"Only from a distance," Asabel said, standing up to greet her. The Princess was practically beaming as she took Lasha's hands, stunning the girl in place. "My, what a gorgeous young Lady you are. It is a pleasure to finally have a proper introduction, Lady Blackthorn. Your father has already been of immense support to me, despite our short time working together."

The sword-loving girl froze. Of all the scenarios she'd imagined, that was likely one that she'd failed to produce, Oliver didn't doubt. Of course, it seemed doubtful that anyone else would have expected it from her either. When the height of noble conduct was perceived to be reserved – as reserved as possible – then Princess Asabel stood in stark contrast to that.

It would be hard to describe her as reserved, and yet she embodied that noble sentiment of wanting elegance more perfectly than the rest.

Freezing in place for far too long, Lasha blushed, realizing her error. Just like the Princess, she was wearing her best. A butterfly pin fastened her shiny black hair off to the side and her dark navy dress showed off her clear athleticism, whilst still keeping itself reserved and classy.