Love and Bounty

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Party at the Palace

The closer Hrolf and the others got to the Blue Palace, the more his heart kept pounding and just wouldn't stop.

Even though Jaree-Ra had a cover story planned for everyone, something about the grandeur of the Blue Palace standing over all of Haafingar Hold made Hrolf feel like the nobility would sniff him out in seconds. Even with the fine clothes and nice furs he was wearing, he wasn't like them deep down. He knew that. Why did he even agree to this?

No... No. He could do this. All he had to do was remember that he ran a small mine out of the Pale. That was what he'd tell anyone who asked about who he was. Because of the Civil War raging in the province, Jaree-Ra had to throw in support for the Empire in Hrolf's cover story. There was always the risk that Hrolf would be mistaken for a spy, but he wasn't really interested in either side of the Civil War. The Stormcloaks and Imperials were both tearing Skyrim apart over a Cyrodiilic god, which was a damn shame on its own. Ysmir would always mean more to Hrolf than Talos. The old ways had never failed the Nords, he thought. Why no one seemed to practice them anymore was beyond him.

Choosing to eject the topic from his mind, Hrolf snuck a look at Deeja and the others—but mostly Deeja. Damn did she fill that dress nicely. He'd look for longer, but he didn't want to come off as disrespectful and definitely didn't want to get caught. She'd probably claw his eyes out like she nearly did to Captain Hargar. It's been a while since Hrolf saw the Captain around the Grotto... What was he up to?

"Heads up," Deeja whispered, not even turning her head to look at the others. "Guard on our right."

Hrolf's heartbeat hammered in his ears as his gaze snapped straight forward and the group of four passed the guard. Thankfully, he paid no mind to them. Hrolf tightened his jaw to choke down a sigh of relief.

"Loosen up," Sharai said, giving Hrolf the most meager of glances. "We look good. Tonight's going to be a good night."

The reassurance was nice, but the phrase was code that Hrolf and the other two had been briefed on for hours on end. "We look good" was meant to be interpreted as "keep appearances and stop the horker shit." Not that Hrolf could keep appearances for long. This wasn't who he was. Maybe Sharai could act the part as a noble, but like Deeja put it, the tundra was in his blood. The idea of fitting in with an imperialized sect of Skyrim's nobles made him want to gag, but they were doing this for good reasons. The fate of Skyrim hung in the balance.

Vicaimo had to be stopped.

Hrolf's anxiety was at an all-time high when he and the others reached the door, ready to present their invitations. The guardsman at the door was impossible to read with the helmet he was wearing, which only made Hrolf's palms even more sweaty as he presented the slip of parchment to him. The guard looked at it for less than a second before gesturing for him to enter.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

But that thought changed when Hrolf entered, followed by the others as the chatter and polite laughter of haughty nobles filled his ears. The interior of the palace was exquisite, with each tile upon the floor shining underfoot as if they'd been scrubbed time and time again just before everyone arrived. The last lights of day beamed through the stained glass windows, casting the vine decor and decadent guests in a warm hue.

"Big place..." Sharai muttered. "Shall we look around?"

Before anyone else could reply, an older nobleman with only wisps of grayed hair on his head notices the group of four and approaches. "You four look like an interesting group," he said with a hint of curiosity. "I haven't seen any of you before."

Sharai briefly cleared her throat. "We're not a group," she insisted. "My partner here just came from the port. We met these two—" She gestured to Hrolf and Deeja. "—on the way."