Azrea had even stoically put up with having a ribbon depicting a tiger in the midst of a majestic leap wrapped around her body. After the girls had left, Azrea had started trying to get out of her uncomfortable captivity diligently.
On his end, Hadjar hadn’t been able to refuse his friend’s bride’s request. Unfortunately for him, Serra knew that Azrea loved to eat, so she’d promised to feed her a hearty meal if she let the ribbon stay on for her wedding. That’s why Azrea was now focusing her frustrations on his shoes instead and trying to eat them.
After adjusting his bowtie, Hadjar sheathed his sword and, clicking his heels together like a guard, picked the tiger cub up and held her in his arms. Azrea, once she was warm and surrounded by a familiar scent, soon calmed down and slumbered peacefully.
Hadjar went out into the corridor and froze for a moment. It was too crowded. Many people had come to the wedding of the only Prince of the Kingdom. All along the marble halls, among the paintings and sculptures, the arrogant nobles swaggered. They were all impeccably dressed, with even their shoes polished to a mirror shine.
Guardsmen and legionaries stood in the niches. The latter were here more to enjoy the wealth than anything else. Excessive luxury and indiscretion seemed to have flooded the Palace.
“The servants’ entrance is on the other side,” said an old, hoarse voice over his shoulder.
Hadjar turned. A tall, middle-aged man stood before him. He was wearing high boots and clean cavalry pants that had never seen the road. They hadn’t even heard of a single whiff of battle or a long, arduous journey. His hand, encased in a white glove, clutched the hilt of a thin, ceremonial sword. The man twisted his long mustache diligently and gave a shining smile.
Hadjar immediately recognized the person standing in front of him. He was General Bermengton, the former commander of the Western Army. And now he was one of the highest ranking Generals. He had signed the order to send the Moon Army to Balium without waiting for reinforcements or provisions.
He was the man responsible for General Leen going to the forefathers after being killed by the man whom she’d been able to call her ‘beloved’.
Before Hadjar’s hand could drop to the handle of Moon Beam, his shoulder was gripped tightly. Bermengton took a step back and, after taking his broad-brimmed hat off, bowed gallantly.
“My Prince,” he said. “I was just about to send this servant away.”
“Servant?” Nero asked quietly. Despite the fact that his friend’s voice was calm, Hadjar felt the rage simmering beneath the surface. Only an idiot wouldn’t have noticed that the official of the Generals understood and was enjoying the situation. “It seems to me, General Bermengton, that your numerous medals are so shiny that they’ve blinded you, since you can’t recognize General Hadjar Traves.”
“General Traves? Sorry, I can’t seem to recall anyone with that name in the ranks of the current army.”
Bermengton straightened, put his hat back on, and pushed his girlfriend forward slightly. She was wearing such a revealing dress that she could’ve given a heart attack to most men, but not Nero and Hadjar. Both of them were too consumed by their hatred to be distracted by anything. The bureaucrat pretended to look closer and once more bowed his head gallantly.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Baron Traves. You are difficult to recognize in that outfit. It’s too much like the servants’ clothes today. Once again, please forgive my bad eyesight. If you’d been wearing your homeless man costume, I would have recognized you immediately. Everything in this world is growing, changing and evolving. Even…”
The General didn’t finish his sentence and only smiled meaningfully.
“Bermengton,” Nero growled. “You-”
“Oh, my Prince,” the official interrupted and pretended to be in a hurry to get to somewhere. “I’m holding you up before the wedding! I apologize! I must go. I’ll find my spot among the guests.”
Pushing Hadjar aside, Bermengton hurried after his girlfriend, who looked like a beautiful, but silly doll. At the door, the official stopped and said over his shoulder: “We’ll be waiting for you, Baron. Please, if it’s not too much trouble, bring some cold drinks with you. The servants are too lazy and it’s stuffy in here.”
Hadjar held his friend back again. He could tolerate being insulted, but his friend, who had lived among the nobles for so long, sometimes thought like them. He would gladly throw himself at every insignificant wretch that decided to throw out veiled, or not so veiled, insults. Of course, Hadjar was also eager to bare his blade and check Bermengton’s skill, but for a completely different reason.
“Not today, Nero,” Hadjar urged his friend. Too many people had gathered in the corridor to watch the show. “Don’t spoil your wedding with bloodshed. Think of Serra. This is her wedding too.”
The Prince took a deep breath and, after a few seconds, exhaled sharply. Adjusting his ceremonial costume embroidered with gold, emerald, diamonds, and agate, Nero turned to his friend, “Thank you, Hadj.”
The former, a fact Bermengton had so kindly reminded them of, General just smiled and shrugged.
“What else are best men for, if not these kinds of situations, my friend?”
Now it was Nero’s turn to smile. The friends patted each other on the shoulder in a soldierly manner and spat behind them, shocking the snobby aristocrats, then entered the hall. The guests were already seated on the benches. The King and the head priest stood under a golden canopy. Religion wasn’t the cornerstone of a Kingdom in this world, but, nevertheless, it sometimes got its chance to shine.
Ignoring Primus’ gaze, Hadjar led his closest friend along the red carpet and to the altar. On this this day, which was so important to Nero, he was with him, as always. Shoulder to shoulder,
