The Knight and the Peasant [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 25

Princess Emma Altendorf of the Holy Kingdom of Réaltimar sat in the Grenesarri Chamber of the Council which was serving as a temporary House of Lords for the Réaltimarines. She was drowning in a raging sea of boredom as all of the lords who accompanied her brother, High King Peter, to the Caraíbes Isles as the local population called it. The five Prince-Electors who had accompanied the High King to the gods-forsaken land all had different ideas of where to strike next. Emma knew it was useless, for her brother had most likely already decided which island-nation they would invade.

She was only here for a formality anyway; the Princess of the Holy Kingdom held no power. No women were allowed to hold power. The wives of the Prince-Electors were there for the same reason as her: symbolism.

Emma sat on a raised platform next to her brother. Out in front of them, the many rows of seats formed a semi-circle around the raised platform. The walls of the Chamber were bland and nothing like the colors of the House of Lords back at home.

Her brother heard what the Prince-Electors were saying but he did not listen. The High King was a dangerous man, for he was unpredictable and willing to do anything to cement his position. He was a young lion who had just inherited the pride, but the other males had begun snapping at his paws, vying for power. Perhaps a better description for the Prince-Electors would be like sharks circling sinking ship.

Suddenly, a messenger arrived in the middle of Prince-Elector Stefan's rant about how the next obvious step would be to bypass Barbaruda and strike at Sersalvon. The messenger quickly apologized to the Prince-Elector and whispered something in Peter's ear. Peter whispered back to the messenger and waved him off.

The rest of the meeting went by at a snail's pace. When the Prince-Elector's finally finished their long speeches, the High King dismissed everyone and immediately stood up and swiftly left the Chamber. Emma picked up her long skirt and quickly followed him. Just as she was about to follow her brother into a secluded room, the Lord High Steward stopped her.

"Princess," Lord Elias said, his face was one of compassion.

But Emma wouldn't take his pity. Not again. "Please, Elias. Please."

"Princess, you don't even know whom the High King is meeting."

"Lord Elias," Emma said firmly, "as Princess Emma Altendorf of the High Throne of Réaltimar, I demand you let me through."

The kind man's face crinkled up in what seemed to be pain. "As you wish, Princess." And he let her through.

Her brother glanced at her in surprise when she walked through the door. His expression quickly transformed into one of anger, but he managed to cover it up. The guests were two men, one of them with skin paler than most Carabaí-folk who towered over his companion and most everyone in the room. The other was olive-skinned young man, maybe even a boy, with dark brown―almost black―hair. The tall man wore a gold doublet while his companion wore black leather brigandine armor.

"You stand before His Majesty, Peter Altendorf, the Third of His Name, of the Holy Kingdom of Réaltimar!" The herald waited for the two men to bow.

Neither did.

Flustered, the herald's eyes darted around the room. He cleared his throat pointedly.

The two guests did nothing.

His patience worn thin, her brother spoke: "It is custom for those who stand before the High King to bow." His voice was edged with anger.

The young man mumbled something in his native tongue.

Peter's crystal blue eyes narrowed and flashed with lightning. "What was that?"

Uncowed, the young man met Peter's gaze and said in his flowing version of Evrúopling, "You are not my king."