Returning to the Academy

"Heroes of the east, they hailed. All of us have heard and judged and we're delighted to hear stories of your successes," the white priestess's voice rang in mind.

"I'm happy to hear that, priestess," Hubert remembered his words.

"So was Sir Tristan. In fact, he's so happy, but do you know why, o servant of mine?" Anna asked, her words like a slithering snake, soft and praising, but testing and judging at the same time.

Standing up from her chair, she slowly made her way to him.

Step.

Then another.

The thuds of her heels each like a sword trudging and poking softly at his heart. Though he knew did not do anything wrong.

"Why?" innocently, he asked.

"Branbeg Harwards, certainly, many people don't know of him well. Chubby, fat, little, to the point that the king and the west cares not about his ascension to the throne except of the plenty of gold he has," Anna told as she peered her silver eyes down at Hubert.