Chương 133: Chapter 129 – Royal Factor

Alric had been inside the carriage for less than ten minutes and was already convinced it had a personal grudge against his bottom and spine. His next conviction was that carriages were not a sign of wealth. They were a test of character. Possibly several characters at once, depending on how many people had been unfortunate enough to be placed inside one. He was also convinced that whoever had designed the seats had done so after hearing a description of backs from someone who disliked them.

Finally, horses, despite all their many virtues, did not care for the concept of smooth acceleration. The carriage lurched again. Alric shifted, failed to find a comfortable position for the fourth time, and decided that nobility had clearly invented formal transport as a way to make everyone too sore to argue once they arrived. Across from him, Vale sat with the calm posture of a man who had learned long ago that discomfort was sometimes a social obligation.

His clothes were better than usual, which meant they had crossed from neat into deliberate. The cut was precise, the cloth brighter, and every visible fold appeared to have been scolded into place before they left. Beside him, Seren looked similarly composed. Better dressed than normal, but not ostentatious. Everything about her suggested that if court etiquette became a problem, she would turn it into three columns and begin correcting it in order of urgency. Alric, by contrast, was wearing his suit.

It had taken some convincing. Not much, in fairness. The tailor had done really well in his opinion. It was familiar, not quite comfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the carriage, and made him feel slightly less like he was being dragged into something that could end with a tax audit, a duel, or religious imprisonment. Possibly all three, if the day became ambitious. Vale had been studying the suit for some time. Alric noticed on the third glance.

"What?" Alric asked. Vale's eyes moved over the lapel, then the shoulders, then the stitching with the expression of a man trying very hard not to show professional interest.

"Your outfit is…" Vale began. Alric waited.

"Exotic."

"That's not a compliment." Vale's mouth twitched.

"It is very well made. Unusual, certainly, but not poorly. I can understand why people would stare."

"I like it," Vale admitted. He shifted slightly, then added, with clear reluctance, "I want one." Alric blinked.

"You?"

"It has presence."

"It has sleeves and pockets."

"Many things have pockets, Mister Alric. Few of them manage to look like a statement." Vale looked at him again, then sighed.

"I will admit, I never thought of you as someone with style." Alric stared at him. Seren looked down at her hands and almost stifled a laugh. The carriage bumped over a stone, saving Vale from whatever Alric might have said next and making Alric hate the carriage more for being useful at the wrong time.

"I have style," Alric muttered. Seren made a small sound that was not quite a laugh and not quite a cough. Alric decided to ignore both of them and turned his attention to the small curtain at the front of the carriage. They were crossing into the upper part of the city now. The roads had improved in the sense that they contained fewer holes and less spinal judgement. He thought he might get a first proper look at the palace. He leaned forward, found the edge of the curtain, and pulled it aside.

The driver's backside filled most of the view. Alric stared at it for a fraction of a second, processed what he was seeing, and closed the curtain again. There was a pause. Seren giggled again. Thankfully not loudly. That would have been merciful. It was small, controlled, and therefore far worse. Vale looked toward the curtain.

"Impressive?"

"Difficult to say," Alric said. Seren pressed her lips together. Alric sat back and folded his arms, which would have felt more dignified if the carriage had not chosen that exact moment to sway, forcing him to catch himself against the side panel.

"Remember," Seren said, after she had recovered enough to sound useful again, "you bow when we bow."

"I know." She looked at him.

"I know now," he corrected. Her expression softened by the smallest amount.

"This is not the temple."

"That sounds good," Alric said carefully.

"It may be good," Vale corrected.

"That sounds less good."

"It is still better than a hall full of priests." Alric considered that.

"Low bar." Seren gave Vale a look, then turned back to Alric.

"You are expected to seem like some country bumpkin."

"Did I need to practice that?" Alric asked, which got a scoff from Vale, who shook his head.

"It would have helped, but you need to appear harmless."

"There's a harmful way?"

"Yes," Seren and Vale said together. Alric looked between them. Seren folded her hands in her lap.

"You are a brewer from far away. You have strange customs, but you mean no disrespect. You understand practical matters. You are not a courtier, not a noble, and not someone trying to gain political influence."

"I don't even need to act to pull that one off." This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"You do not volunteer information unless asked."

"Right."

"You do not explain the outfit."

"It's called a suit, and I wasn't planning on it."

"And," Seren continued, "you do not ask the king about tax policy." Alric frowned.

"Why would I ask the king about tax policy?" Neither of them answered. Alric leaned back again and tried to settle himself. The carriage immediately made that impossible. He ran through the story he and Stromni had come up with again. The real one involved a god no one had heard of, an adult body that was apparently now his, and an item box that made merchants sweat if they thought about it too hard.

Stromni knew the truth and had forbidden it with the firm expression of a man watching a child approach a furnace while holding oil.

"Aye," Stromni had said.

"When you see the king, I got a backstory for ya, unless you want to tell them a god no one has heard of sent you." Alric had accepted the backstory. He was not stupid. He was frequently unprepared, but that was different. The carriage slowed. Outside, the sound changed. Wheels moved from ordinary street stone to something smoother. The horses' steps echoed differently. There was space around them now, the absence of crowd noise more noticeable than any announcement could have been. Vale straightened slightly.

Seren did not move, but her attention sharpened. Alric resisted the urge to open the curtain again. He had learned enough from the front view. The carriage rolled a little farther, turned, and finally came to a halt. A double tap sounded against the roof. Alric started to rise. Seren caught his sleeve. He froze halfway up, bent awkwardly beneath the carriage roof. She shook her head once and pointed at the door. Alric sat down again. No one said anything, which somehow made it more embarrassing.

A moment later, the door opened from the outside. Light entered first, then a man in palace livery placed a wooden step. Seren went first. Vale followed. Alric stepped down last and managed not to stumble, though the carriage step shifted just enough beneath his new shoes to make him deeply suspicious of it. He straightened and looked around. The palace was not what he had expected. He had seen it once in the distance before, but it was even more disappointing up close. He had hoped for towers, perhaps.

Something excessive enough to make the point before anyone got close. Instead, the building spread outward, broad, four stories tall and shaped like a great U around the courtyard where they had arrived. It was wide rather than tall, more like a fortress that had attended etiquette lessons and decided to keep most of its old habits. The stone was pale, but not bright. Old, well-cared-for, and severe in the way expensive things became when no one needed them to impress anyone anymore.

Rows of windows looked inward over the courtyard. Some were open. Some were shuttered. A few had people behind them who moved away as soon as Alric glanced up. The garden in the middle of the courtyard was smaller than he expected. There were low hedges, a few stone paths, and several beds that looked as if they had once held flowers or were waiting to do so under more favourable conditions.

One tree stood near the centre, trimmed into a shape that suggested someone had tried to impose discipline on nature and nature had agreed only under protest. Alric could not decide whether the garden was poorly maintained or simply out of season. He had expected more fountains. Or at least one statue. A palace, in his mind, ought to have a statue somewhere, preferably of a man pointing at something he had not personally built. A palace servant gestured toward the main doors.

"This way, please." Seren and Vale began walking. Alric followed half a step behind, still looking. The doors were large, but not temple large. No team of men was required to open them. One servant did it neatly, with a quiet efficiency Alric appreciated more than any amount of polished ceremony. Inside, the palace was warmer than he expected and quieter than it had any right to be. The entry hall was tasteful.

Polished floors, carved pillars, narrow tables against the walls holding arrangements that looked expensive and useless. Tapestries hung between doorways, showing hunts, battles, ships, and one scene where a man on a horse appeared to be accepting a sword from someone who had made the poor decision to kneel in mud. It was grand, but not theatrical. The temple had tried to make every step feel like an event. The palace made every step feel recorded.

They were led through a side passage rather than deeper into the main hall. Alric noticed that immediately, mostly because Seren and Vale did. Vale's expression did not change.. His face settled into something too calm and too arranged, the same expression he wore when negotiating with someone who had already lied twice. Seren frowned. It was a small frown. Anyone else might have missed it. Seren frowned at ledgers, supply shortages, and men who thought "soon" was a useful measurement.

She did not frown at curtains, corridors, or servants unless something had become a problem. Alric lowered his voice.

"What?" Rather than say anything, she just shook her head slightly. Vale did not look back.

"We are not being taken to the hall." Alric decided not to argue. Mostly because Vale was right and this was not the place to reward him for it. They passed two guards at the corner. Both wore polished breastplates and short cloaks in the palace colours. Purple mostly with stripes of deep blue. Practical weapons, practical boots. Not parade soldiers. That, too, felt worth noticing. Clerks moved through side corridors with tablets, scroll cases, and bundles of paper tied in ribbon.

One young man nearly stepped into their path, saw the servant leading them, and retreated so quickly he almost collided with a wall. Another carried a stack of documents higher than was wise and navigated by faith, memory, and luck. Alric found himself liking that part. This was not just a palace. It was an office wearing a crown. They turned again. The corridors narrowed. That was when Alric realised the route was not designed to impress him. No grand staircase. No line of courtiers.

No room full of people waiting to watch him bow strangely. They were being moved through the palace like a document that needed to reach the right desk without being read by the wrong person. They stopped outside a pair of doors that were not especially large. Alric looked at them.

"This is it?" he asked before he could stop himself. The servant did not react. That was impressive. Seren inhaled quietly through her nose. Vale closed his eyes for half a second. The servant knocked twice, opened the door, and stepped aside. Seren moved first. Vale followed. Alric entered last. The room was an office. A large office, certainly, but still an office. It had shelves, maps, ledgers, and a broad window behind the desk that looked out across part of the city. The furniture was finely made but used.

Not neglected, simply used in the way objects became when they existed for work rather than display. The desk was the centre of it. Behind it sat the king. He was not wearing a crown. Alric noticed that first, because some part of him had expected one. The absence made the man seem less ceremonial and much more dangerous. Crowns were for being seen. This man looked like he preferred to see.

The king was broad-shouldered without being bulky, dressed in layers of dark blue and grey with long sleeves and subtle embroidery at the cuffs. His hair reached his jaw, blond but not pale, brushed back loosely as though someone had made an effort earlier and the day had since taken some of it back. His face was not old, exactly, but carried the settled fatigue of someone who had spent years being informed of problems just after they became expensive. Beside him stood a well-dressed woman.

She was not positioned like decoration. That was obvious. Her gown was fine, understated, and expensive in a way that avoided needing to prove it. Her hair was pinned back, her expression composed, and her eyes were already on Alric when he entered. Measuring. Behind the king stood three men Alric immediately thought of as advisors because they all had the posture of people who had disagreements ready and were waiting for permission. One held a writing board. Another had folded hands and a narrow face.

The third looked older, heavier, and deeply displeased by whatever part of the morning had led to this room. Two guards stood near the walls. Only two. Alric noticed that, then noticed the other three robed men standing to the side. They were not priests. Their robes were darker, trimmed with silver thread, and cut shorter at the sleeves. Practical robes, if such a thing existed. All three were watching him with the same expression. These men were prepared. Alric wondered if they were mages.

Then he wondered if wondering that too loudly with his face was a mistake. Seren and Vale bowed. Alric followed a half-beat late. It was not his worst bow. He knew this because Seren did not make any immediate sound of distress.

"Rise," the king said. His voice was lower than Alric expected. Not theatrical, rather, the voice of a man who needed rooms to know he was in them. The room already knew. They straightened. For one brief, uncomfortable moment, no one spoke. The king looked at Alric. Neither Seren nor Vale.

"You are the brewer," he said. Alric felt every piece of advice Seren had given him arrange itself in his mind and immediately become less useful.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he said.

"I am Alric. I make beer." One of the advisors behind the king shifted. Vale's face remained beautifully still. The woman beside the king continued to weigh him up. The king's mouth moved slightly. It might have been amusement. It might have been indigestion. Alric had no safe way to know. The narrow-faced advisor stepped forward, drawing breath with the grave readiness of a man who had been waiting for his portion of the ceremony.

"Before you stands His Royal Majesty, King Edrin Voron Avengard, Shield of the Lower River, Sovereign of Avengard and its dependent holdings, Defender of the—" The king raised one hand. The advisor stopped so quickly that Alric suspected the gesture had been practised. Silence returned. The king did not look away from Alric.

"I have questions," he began, "several."