The Lord Warden’s House stood facing the Archon’s Palace across a wide plaza. The House was a little smaller than the Palace, but not by much, and they were mirror images of each other, built mostly of pale gray stone with black roof tiles. On the remaining two sides of the plaza were the Tuan School and the Hall of Assembly.
The plaza was a park with trails running through it, a carefully tended pastoral meadow and grove with beds of flowers and herbs on one end and a more formal garden on the other. At this time there was a group of students from the Tuan School sketching in the park under the supervision of a teacher, and the occasional scholar, magistrate, or minister taking a break from their duties.
Joris cuts across the park with his husband and members of his household guard in tow. (He’s very aware of the curious glances he’s drawing from the people he’s walking past. It would be interesting to find out what rumors were going to get started from this.) Caris is wincing in pain as he walks, clearly not used to walking barefooted. He grumbles under his breath and swears as he half-walks, half-stumble-hops across the stone pavement.
“The ground evens out on the other side, and the floors inside the Palace are smooth at least,” Joris says, amused.
Caris gives him a fierce glare. “When will I be allowed shoes?” he asks stiffly.
“When I have your word you won’t try to escape,” Joris says. “Anyway, this is in a way for your protection.”
The prince gives Joris a wary, curious look. “How so?”
“By now, everyone knows how my wedding night went,” Joris points out. “That is, there was an assassination attempt, and the assassin was the brother of the princess. Today I’m walking you to the Archon’s Palace, and the bare feet signify that you’re a penitent. Also, you’re clearly in my custody so no one is going to attack you.”
The prince frowns at him as if he doesn’t quite believe the implication that others might feel the need to come to Joris’ defense. At the same time, he looks warily at the other people in the park. A very self-conscious look seems to cross the prince’s face and he looks down at his bare feet and faded worn clothes. The trousers had faded from black to gray, and the tunic had once been green that had softened to the palest sage. “Are these prison clothes?” He asks with a morbid kind of curiosity.
“Someone’s spare work clothes, more likely,” Joris says.
The steps up to the Palace front doors were at least smooth, and still cool enough for the prince’s feet. At least inside the tile floors would be almost chill, even if the air was developing that summertime sticky heat. From there, Joris and Caris are met at the front doors by the Archon, who was flanked by her guards. Soxa greets Joris politely enough and turns a cool look toward Caris, who flushes nervously. “It’s not too late to send this boy back home with his people,” Soxa says.
“I’ve made my plans clear, Archon,” Joris says.
Soxa sighs and visibly restrains herself from rolling her eyes. “Then let’s go.” She turns and retreats into the palace. Joris follows after her, urging the prince along. They are taken through the antechamber and down a hallway until they come to a meeting room. The room is rectangular with paintings showing simple pastoral scenes. Daran Simuir is seated at a rectangular table, in the middle. He rises and bows as Joris, Soxa and the prince enter the room. He looks with a desperate sort of concern in Caris’ direction as he says, “Lady Archon, Lord Warden, my prince.” The envoy bows.
“I will let the two of you speak privately,” Joris says, and exits the room. He does not completely close the door, which makes Soxa give him a mildly exasperated look.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to listen,” Joris points out. This earns him another almost-eye roll.
“Do you think I don’t have anyone listening?” Soxa whispers.
Joris makes an exaggerated hushing gesture at her. There’s an argument on the other side of the door. The envoy is attempting to find out if the prince is all right. At the same time, the envoy is attempting to scold the prince for ruining the alliance and attempting to “murder the Tosa King!”
“I’m Joa,” Joris immediately grumbles. “And I’m no king!”
Soxa pats his arm consolingly. “At least they don’t call you king to your face,” she says, looking amused.
The prince meanwhile was continuing to defend his actions. He was continuing to use religious objections and the subject of whether his sister had consented to the marriage. (According to the prince, his sister had not.) The envoy was worried about the reputation of the prince and princess, the state of the alliance, and the very real danger of the Kingdom of Sewen being overrun by the Andals.
“Princess Teren knew her duty,” the envoy was saying. “At least she did until you led her to agree to this ridiculous escapade. You’ve ruined her prospects, and worse still you’ve ruined your own!”
“How exactly have we done that?” the prince demands. “You coerced my sister into agreeing to a marriage she didn’t want. You wanted her to marry a pagan. Did you think either of us was going to stand for that?”
“Yes and now you’re going to be held to this shameful arrangement,” the envoy snaps. “Do you understand? The Lord Warden intends to treat you as his wife!”
“Is that so very terrible?” Joris wonders quietly to Soxa.
The Archon snorts.
“The Lord Warden has said so,” the prince says, stiffly. “Though I was also given the option of imprisonment.”
“My prince, I beg you to accept the latter option! Your father the king would be shamed to hear his son was treated as a woman!” The envoy pauses. “If word were to get back it would be disastrous, especially given your–peculiarities as a child.”
There was a distinctly angry silence from the prince. “It’s fine for my sister to be ‘treated like a woman,’ but it’s too shameful for me?” the prince asks in a quietly dangerous tone.
“My prince, you’re a man. Your duties and obligations are those of a man. How can you perform the duties and obligations of a woman?” The envoy asks, seeming to be trying a different tack. “The Assembly is attempting to humiliate us as punishment for your actions.”
There’s another long silence from the prince. “When I first brought my concerns to father about this marriage alliance, he assured me that terms of the marriage would allow my sister to practice our religion. He mentioned that Teren would have an opportunity to spread the faith and perhaps even bring the necromancer king to renounce his service to the dark god.”
“My prince?” the envoy asks, sounding a combination of “what does this have to do with anything we’ve said” and also worried. “I don’t understand.”
Joris snorts at that, amused. He’s had some interesting conversations with Sarmateon missionaries, but they had all gone away disappointed. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to renounce my wicked ways and use my wicked ways to fight the Andals.” Soxa stifles a little laugh at that and hushes him.
“The Lord Warden scolded me for not finding a better way to help Teren avoid this marriage,” the prince continues. “He mentioned several alternate plans that didn’t involve an assassination attempt. He has been in general very honorable and has also offered me an opportunity to attend Tuan–which I’m told is for their ministers and magistrates as well as their mages. I think I would like to learn more about the Tosa and the Assembly so this would be the perfect opportunity, and of course, I am more than willing to teach my husband about Solun and the machinations of Ashten.” The prince sounded very determined and bold about this. The envoy when he was finally able to speak sounded appalled.
“My prince, you can’t,” the envoy protested.
“I can,” the prince says. Joris can hear the chair slide on the floor as the prince stands.
“That’s our signal to go back in,” Soxa says.
Joris nods and allows Soxa to precede him through the door.
“Your Highness, Lord Simuir,” Soxa says briskly. “You’ve seen the prince, and can attest to his health. You have the letters to your King and Queen. How soon can you and your entourage be sent back to Sewen?”
Lord Simuir, stammers, briefly caught off balance. Finally, he gathers himself and bows. “Archon, Lord Warden, we can leave by noon.” The envoy pauses. “There will be of course an exchange of staff.” He almost asks it like a question.
“If the prince’s servants pass the usual screening tests, then I have no issues with adding them to my household,” Joris says.
With that, there is a brief conversation about the journey and some farewells before Soxa’s guards made an appearance and likewise escorted the envoy out of the room. The envoy made some attempt to say something to the prince but he was unable to get the prince’s attention. (And the prince was refusing to look in the envoy’s direction.) Joris says, “you made the declaration in a fit of temper. I won’t hold you to such a hasty decision.”
The prince frowns at him, looking a little insulted. “How much time did you intend to give me to make a decision?” he asks.
“A day or two, perhaps,” Joris says. “Given your conversation with Lord Simuir, I could extend the time a little more.”
“Do you think me incapable?”
“I think you’re angry and might regret your decision when you have a clearer head,” Joris says.
“How much time will you give me until you think I’m no longer angry?” The prince asks.
Joris thinks about it. “Half a day, and your word you won’t try to escape.”
Looking flustered, the prince says, “then I Caris Kelfin, a scion of House Dar promise I will not attempt escape.”
“We should find you some shoes then,” Joris says.
There’s a brief search among the servants and guards for a pair of house shoes that will fit Caris. Within a quarter of an hour, a pair is found, provided by a guard whose feet and height was considerable enough to produce shoes that fit. “We’ll order you a better pair, along with some new clothes, since all we have for you are your sister’s,” Joris decides in a tone of amusement.
Caris, who had been flushing with embarrassment as the line of shoes that didn’t fit him grew, nodded. “Thank you, my lord,” he says.
“We can do that now,” Joris says.
The shopping trip was something of a blur for Caris. They traveled in a small carriage with curtained windows, and two of the Lord Warden’s guards were present. There was a great deal to see in the city; shops and the open-air market where all sorts of things were sold.
The Lord Warden it seemed had a number of destinations in mind, and the first place was a cobbler, where Caris’ feet were measured. The cobbler allowed him to pick from a number of models for shoes, and a pair of boots. From there the Lord Warden went to order clothes for Caris from his personal tailor. The tailor took his measurements and had him look at fabrics and styles. They don’t talk of very much, except what Caris might like.
The next was a clothing store that catered to Dosai customers. The clothier had clothes available in Caris’s size The clothier looked a bit wild-eyed at having the Lord Warden–and a prince– as customers, but was otherwise courteous, taking it upon herself to serve Caris personally and make suggestions.
From this store, Caris bought (or rather, the Lord Warden bought for him) a mix of Sewen and Assembly-styled clothing. “Are there any clothing expectations for Tuan?” Caris asks as he’s making his selections.
“Usually gray or black. Magistrates wear a dark blue over-robe, and other members of the ministry wear dark green. Scholar-advisors to the Archon wear a white over-robe. Otherwise, they wear mostly black.”
Caris requests more clothes in black and gray colors after that. He remembers that the Lord Warden’s personal student wore dark green, but doesn’t ask any questions just yet. (He’s already too full of them.)
After the clothier shop, they stop for food at an inn. It seems strange for a king–or someone who might as well be a king–to simply stop at an inn. He’s clearly recognized and a certain amount of distance is granted him, but otherwise, the Lord Warden is treated as a customer.
The Lord Warden orders steamed buns for the both of them, rice and spicy noodles with vegetables and chicken that had been coated in batter and then fried. (For only himself he ordered something called black mushroom and egg soup.) For drink, he ordered some kind of fruit wine that tasted mostly of plums. “So, tell me how you plan to convert me in such a way that I am still able to use my wicked powers against our mutual enemies,” the Lord Warden says suddenly.
Caris is caught for a moment by the unexpected question. Then he’s annoyed at the flippant tone. “My lord is mocking me.”
“A little, perhaps,” the Lord Warden says. There’s a very faint smirk on his face. “I’ve been remonstrated, preached at cajoled, and on one occasion actually exorcised, but none of these took. What do you think you can do that will convince me to renounce my faith and take yours?”
“Well, I can’t teach you if you don’t really want to learn,” Caris says, unable to help the irritable tone. “So I don’t know.”
“Say that I did, how would you go about it? Your missionaries on the border have tended to convert with threats and the sword,” the Lord Warden says.
“That isn’t a thing that’s done anymore,” he says. He dislikes the defensive tone in his voice and the amused look on the Lord Warden’s face. Amused, but also judging, Caris felt his shoulders hunch. “The ones who did that were clearly in error.”
“I think we can both agree with that,” the Lord Warden says with good humor.
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