Book 2 Season's Change Spring's Revenge

Part 15 Masquerade: the Night Parade

Rustling the silks draped between the tops of the columns, the beautiful night air held a slight warmth as it quietly moved through the open palisade. The bright crescent of the silvery moon hung low on the horizon casting her pale light on the decorated grounds. The torches had been lit, the silks had been hung, the food had been prepared and the tables had been dressed in elegant and fastidious display. The night was absolutely perfect for a ball. The king rolled his eyes. It figured that it would be. He wondered when the people, the princess, would tire of that particular celebration; if there was some way to break tradition, he would be an extremely happy man. He had grown very tired of the annual celebration.

King Aaron watched the preparations from his window overlooking the castle palisade and gardens. He was not interested in the to and fro of the castle's staff as they put the final touches on the evening's festivities, but he did not pull his scrutinizing eyes away. It wasn't that he did not trust the staff to ensure that all was as it should be. They would, not because they knew what they were doing, but because he was assured that they would meet his expectations, well Arorah's, because to not would mean his wrath. He wouldn't know what 'all as it should be' meant. He was the king, why should he? He would only know the moment Arorah saw the space. Her reaction, or lack of it, would tell him all he needed to know. The punishment for failure was high and not one any servant would ever want to pay.

Kedrick, the king's man waited silently for Aaron to return to his cushioned seat at the vanity so he could finish preparing the king for the ball. It was not his place to address the king in any way. His was to serve and to do so silently. The king was the king. He was never wrong. Never late. The world, time itself, moved according to the king's measure and the king alone. So, the man waited patiently with his eyes cast to the floor, his hands folded neatly behind his back, perfectly motionless and completely aware of the king's every move. If the king were to look and see him, he would see a man that appeared relaxed and unaware that the world existed, he would see a man that looked like a serene statue; a fixture in the room that did not appear to be either alive or waiting. Kedrick was so much more than the king would ever know.

As the king slowly turned from his window his eyes rolled over his chambers. His personal guard stood next to the door, motionless, staring blankly at some spot on the wall opposite him. The king did not believe that he needed a personal guard stationed inside his quarters or to escort him around his castle, or at all for that matter. But the princess insisted that he had one. So, he had one. He tried to convince her to allow Dannikas, a guard more like a son to him than a member of the castle guard, to be his personal guard. She had already claimed her childhood friend as her own personal guard. The king, who would give anything to see his only child happy, allowed it despite his reservations concerning the two of them and her betrothed. Instead of the young, powerful and handsome warrior that Dannikas was, the king's guard was the most weathered and seasoned soldier and warrior in the whole kingdom. He was powerful, scarred and worthy. The king was happy that his daughter had pointed out the value of having the older, more seasoned veteran as his personal guard. He knew his place.

Aaron's eyes traveled to the large mirror along the wall and the plush elegant chair that matched the king's vanity. He caught his reflection in the gilded mirror and stopped to admire himself. The white pelt fit perfectly over his shoulders. The weight of it felt good. It hung close to the floor. His white doublet was not yet closed and the white blouse he wore under it was open at the throat as well. He admired his broad exposed chest. He pulled the edge of his collar center, posed with his free hand on his hip, and his weight on the same foot so he could kick his other foot out ever so slightly.

His man did not approach him to finish preparations until the king gave the signal to move. Then he moved and finished styling the king's beard, adding the bone powder to it to give it a dusty-white appearance. He watched for the king's cue to put the wig on the king's head. The hair of the wig was white, much thicker and fuller than the king's natural hair. Large ringlets passed the king's shoulders as they fell in front of them and spilled down his back. The king's man fussed with a few stray hairs and made sure the king's beard and wig were perfect before he stepped away and resumed his previous position; that of an unnoticed, unwanted fixture in a richly decorated lush room, while the king admired himself in the mirror.

The king stood and turned toward the door. His man automatically moved to finish dressing him, tying the king's blouse and adjusting his doublet. He checked and rechecked the king's attire. It was flawless. He fetched the white ornamental cloak from the hook on the wall and placed it over the king's shoulders then stepped back with a very deep bow, "My King." The king did not acknowledge that the man had spoken. He looked every bit the great white wolf that he was supposed to. His man tied the king's mask in place to complete the costume, bowed again and returned to his station.

The king turned to his guard. "My King," the old guard bowed. "Perfection."

"Yes." The king's tone was made of pure arrogance. "Always. Let us away, that I may be rid of this infernal gathering."