Entering the city(3)

As the group dismounted, they gathered near the entrance of the hall, where servants stepped forward to take their reins. The beasts were led away with murmured assurances of proper care, though Alpheo barely registered their words. His gaze remained fixed on the stone structure before him.

He felt a presence at his side and turned to find Asag standing there, watching intently. The same pensive expression mirrored on his face.

"How is it?" Alpheo asked, breaking the silence.

Asag exhaled, his voice faint. "I expected something more… grand? Lavish? This is nothing more than a few rocks stacked together."

Alpheo smirked. "Well, let's hope the inside exceeds our expectations—this will be our home for a few months."

With that, he moved toward the head of the group, his eyes scanning the keep-turned-palace.

"So, when do we meet his grace?" Alpheo asked, turning to Robert. "I'd like to pay my respects and seal our agreement."

Robert snapped his head around, his hair whipping in the motion. "When the servants give the signal, we will go. Not a second before or after."

Alpheo chuckled under his breath at the old man's rigid tone. "Anything I should be aware of?"

"Only this—his grace is a generous man," Robert said. "Do not mistake generosity for weakness. And remind your men to behave. I don't want to hear about any incidents with the maids."

Alpheo placed a hand over his chest with mock solemnity. "You have nothing to fear. The fine congregation you see here consists of the noblest men in the empire. You won't hear a peep from us, sir. My word of honor."

Robert scoffed. "Is there anything of less value than the honor of a mercenary? It can be bought with simple coin."

Alpheo forced a pleasant smile. Yes, receiving a dagger to your back and the twisting the fuck out of it , you senile bastard.

"Then let's hope my price will not be matched by your grace's enemies," he said instead.

Before Robert could retort, the heavy doors swung open. Servants stepped aside, motioning them forward. Alpheo caught one last look from Robert—a gaze that lingered, unreadable. Hate? Threat? He couldn't tell. Either way, he didn't care. The day he feared a stare from an old man was the day he became a slave again.

Leaving the bulk of his men behind, Alpheo followed Robert inside, stepping into the halls of the palace.

The first thing that caught his eye was the red carpet stretching across the stone floor. Each step felt like sinking into a sea of velvet, the soft fibers swallowing the sound of their boots.

Along the walls, the banners of Yarzat's house hung proudly, their deep hues catching the dim glow of torchlight. The flickering flames struggled against the vastness of the hall, yet they fulfilled their duty well enough, casting long shadows that danced across the stone.

As they followed Robert, Clio, Jarza, and Asag remained close behind Alpheo, while Egil lagged slightly, his gaze wandering over the opulent decorations. Alpheo noticed him lingering near a gilded candleholder, the flickering light making its yellow sheen more enticing.

The fool thinks it's gold for certain, Alpheo mused with a wry smile. Subtly, he closed the distance between them, signaling Egil to hurry up.

"You called ?" Egil asked as he caught up, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"The prince is short on coin and will certainly notice a missing spoon—much less a candleholder," Alpheo murmured, his tone firm but laced with amusement. "We are guests. Behave yourself."

"I was just observing," Egil protested, though the defensiveness in his tone betrayed his guilt.

"Thieves observe too—before stealing," Alpheo replied with a knowing smirk.

"You think me a thief?" Egil shot back, half-indignant, half-teasing.

"I don't think—I know," Alpheo said, his smirk widening. "You deny it?"

Egil let out a small chuckle. "You know me far too well."

Their banter faded as they continued forward in silence. The only sound was the soft thud of their boots sinking into the thick carpet beneath them. No whispers, no idle chatter—only the quiet march toward their awaited audience.

Then, Robert came to an abrupt halt.

Ahead, two guards stood rigid, their lances held upright. The early morning sun filtered through the high windows, making their breastplates gleam like polished silver.

"Sir Robert has come, bringing guests and men to his grace," Robert announced in a clipped tone, addressing the sentries. "Inform him of our presence."

One of the guards gave a curt nod before disappearing into the chamber beyond. Moments later, he returned just as swiftly.

"His grace has given his blessings. You and your guests may enter."

As the doors swung open, Alpheo and his group stepped into the hall. Unlike the austere exterior, the chamber was adorned with enough decoration to suggest a measure of wealth—if only to maintain appearances.

Let's hope they have enough coin to light a few more candles when night falls, Alpheo mused, barely suppressing a chuckle . The last thing he needed was for the prince to think he was mocking him—especially when he was merely mocking his misfortune.

At the far end of the hall, seated upon a modest throne of deep red velvet, was the man they had come to see.

Prince Arkwatt of Yarzat.

He was in his forties and wore his years clearly on his face. His once-thick hair had long since abandoned him, leaving a smooth, polished scalp that gleamed under the dim light like an oiled stone. His nose, long and sharp like a bird's beak, gave him the look of a man more suited to prey than predator.

Most striking of all, he was missing an ear—severed, no doubt, perhaps in battle? In its place, a gilded prosthetic gleamed faintly. Gold, or simply yellowed bronze? Alpheo wondered, his eyes flickering over the oddity before moving on.

Beside the prince, on a smaller but equally regal chair, sat a woman. She shared his age, though time had been kinder to her in some ways. Her black hair remained full, though her face bore the soft creases of years spent in courtly airs and whispered schemes. The haughty tilt of her chin, the way her sharp eyes flicked over the newcomers, spoke of a woman well accustomed to power. The prince's consort, no doubt. Alpheo spared her only a passing glance before letting his gaze wander.

The courtiers lined along the hall were dressed in fine velvet, their robes a stark contrast to the hardened warriors at Alpheo's back. As his presence became the object of their scrutiny, many furrowed their brows, whispering amongst themselves. No doubt they were questioning why a mere boy stood behind Robert while older, more seasoned men flanked him.

It was true—Alpheo looked nothing like a hardened mercenary captain.

Robert took a step forward and knelt, his voice ringing through the chamber. "This humble servant greets his grace."

Without a word, Alpheo followed suit, lowering himself to one knee. Yet even as his head bowed, his sharp eyes flicked upward, taking in more than he let on.

To the prince's right stood two young women.

Daughters.

Alpheo's lips curled in amusement. Perhaps my conversation with Jarza wasn't so far from reality after all.

His gaze settled on the elder of the two. Dark-haired like her mother, but younger—her features still untouched by time's hand. As his eyes lingered, she met his look without hesitation.

And then, to his surprise, she smiled.

A slow, knowing smile.

One that he, of course, returned.