The Princess's Servant

50. The Trumpets

By the time Holden blinked his eyes open, the sun had already begun to set. He had fallen asleep mere minutes after the letter-pile incident and yet found himself at the dusk of another day. He shifted in his starched sheets and pushed his woolen blanket off. He'd had no idea that a servant's bed could feel like a king's.

He forced himself out, stretched, and walked over to the door. Upon opening it, he found something at his feet.

It was a little wooden tray with steaming hot soup and a roll of bread. Next to the tray were two more like it. The closer one was topped with a fillet of salmon and rice, and the further one was piled high with eggs and toast. He took all three into his room and ate them then and there.

One more day, he remembered halfway through his dinner roll. One more day and he'd be free.

Free. Finally. Forever.

*****

Sybil gazed out of her window and watched as the taverns' terracotta roofs soaked in the golden sun. Her day had been filled with dress fittings and cultural lessons and delicacy-tastings and vow-writings and every other appointment a princess needed to make ready for her wedding. Even now, she was expected to dine with a 'Wardian meal specialist' (whatever that was) instead of watching shadows grow long in the streets. But Sybil couldn't help want to spend her last days in Lailoy with Lailoy. She had that evening, the day after, and that was it. One more day, and then she'd move to Ward.

Finally. Forever.

"The planets enact their vapid play
Though their illusions hold no sway
Within the heart of true romance
Where lay Venus, I, and chance."

Sybil had fallen asleep to the sound of twilight birdsong and the distant trucking of wheels. She awoke to the piercing, pitchy blare of bold brass trumpets.

The sound resounded throughout the kingdom, echoed through the castle, and reverberated in the tower's halls. It shook Sybil's windows and it startled her awake. Her, and everyone else within city limits, she presumed. She clasped her hands over her ears and rose from her bed to look out her window into the courtyard. Her angry expression faded into surprise when she saw who was there.

In miniature form, surrounded by flags and knights on horseback, and (yes) trumpets, was the royal servant Sebastian. Sybil uncovered her ears as the fanfare loudly came to an end, and she wondered why he could have come.

At a loss for an answer and more than a little curious to find out why, Sybil grabbed her cloak and made her way downstairs.

Sybil arrived at the same time as her mother. And despite them having the same forewarning, the queen was somehow dressed and adorned. The princess, on the other hand, was still in her nightgown; the little lacey frills of the skirt sticking out under the hem of her sapphire cape. Her mother looked surprised to see her up — as Sybil rarely rose before noon — but as her mother remembered the trumpets, her surprise faded.

The queen walked out to the center of the courtyard, where Sebastian waited. Her husband came to her right side, and Sybbie to her left.

Sybil rubbed her eyes and held back a yawn as her mother greeted the Wardian party.

"Good morning, servants of Emperor Warwick," she called, and all of them bowed in reply. "Tell me, what is the nature of your visit?"

Sebastian, who rode a black horse, compelled his steed a step closer. "Your Majesty!" He called, and he gave a second and extravagant bow. At the deepest point in the bow, he side-eyed Sybil, and with a smile said, "Your Highness."