“Waste of time,” Relam’s father muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “Why do I care if some idiot keeps piling cargo on the side of the harbor road to where only one cart can get past at a time? There’s more than one road in this city!”
“That nonsense again? I thought that had been resolved three weeks ago?”
“No, Relam, but I wish it had been. The man who keeps bringing this up wanted permission to check ship manifests and arrivals over the last several months to see if he could pin the blame on a ship owner.”
“And?” the queen asked.
Orram snorted. “Of course I let him, provided that he is supervised at all times with the harbormaster and the guards tasked with guarding those records. Should keep the fool out of my hair for another week or two.”
“Any other disputes?” Relam asked as they started moving towards the dining alcove.
The king sighed. “A broken fence between two neighbors along the river, an estate owner complaining about garbage floating up by his private dock. A few others. Somebody that fell through a roof trying to fix it and wants compensation from the owner of the house.”
“All in all, a typical draining day at court,” Relam’s mother observed as she took her seat. “But it’s behind you now. You won’t have to go back until next week.”
“Yes, that’s something,” Orram said, heaving a great sigh. He brightened then as he remembered something. “And we’re sparring in the morning! I nearly forgot. Are you ready son?”
“We’ll see,” Relam replied grinning. “I got in some more work this morning.”
“I hope you didn’t wear yourself out,” his father admonished. “I want some good bouts to take my mind off of all of this business with nobles and courts and trade talks.”
“You’ll get them,” Relam promised. As Griff entered through the side door, the young prince hoped fervently that the bouts would not be ruined by a confrontation over Aven’s future.
Chapter 4
When Relam woke the following morning, he frowned, puzzled. He was not sore or stiff, a phenomenon that was completely new to him. For as long as he could remember, his morning routine had been plagued by muscles protesting from the exertions of the previous day. Today though he felt incredible. He felt strong.
Relam rose and stretched, reveling in the range of painless movement. Grinning, he hurried to the washroom and cleaned up, then dressed. He paused at the weapon rack, hesitating as he reached for his sword belt. Today could be an incredible day. Or, it could be disastrous. The young prince wasn’t sure which was more likely, but he fervently hoped for the former of the two options. He didn’t care if he lost every bout to his father, as long as he could convince the king to let Aven into the guard.
The young prince belted on his sword, smoothing wrinkles from his tunic. Then, he pulled on his leather jerkin and boots. Thus prepared, he paused before the door, then took a deep breath and stepped into the common room of the royal apartments.
His father was already up and sitting in the dining alcove, tearing into fresh bread and sausage with messy, unreserved gusto. Hardly the behavior of a king. Grease coated his fingers and mouth, and there were bread crumbs scattered down his front.
“Morning,” the king said softly around a full mouth. “Your mother is still sleeping. She wasn’t feeling well again last night.”
Relam frowned distractedly as he sat and began to fill his plate. “Is she all right? She doesn’t have some kind of illness or disease?”
The king shrugged. “As far as I can tell, she’s just tired. Which is odd, since she’s spent the last couple of weeks resting for the most part.”
“She did visit the court,” Relam said around a mouthful of sausage. “That may have worn her out.”
“Maybe,” the king agreed. “Whatever the case, this means I can get by without court manners this morning.” Deliberately ignoring the napkin laid out for his use, he wiped his greasy fingers on his jerkin. He smiled, almost boyishly. “Your mother would have my head if she’d seen that.”
“Seen what?”
Relam jumped and turned. His mother was just emerging from his parent’s room, wrapped in a thick shawl and frowning at her husband with mock severity.
“Nothing, dear,” the king replied quickly, wiping at his jerkin with a napkin. The grease stain remained, silent and condemning evidence.
Relam’s mother smiled patiently. “Sorry to ruin your fun, but I was hungry.”
“Understandable,” the king muttered before filling his mouth quickly with more food.
The queen shook her head and filled her own plate, opting for fruit rather than the greasy sausage. “At least you don’t eat like that at court dinners.”
“Eat like what?” Orram asked innocently.
Relam gave a spluttering, choking cough. His father thumped him perfunctorily, helping clear the prince’s airway. “Thanks,” Relam gasped.
“You need to be more careful, son,” his father observed. “That’s twice in two days.”
“Not my fault,” Relam muttered as he continued eating.
The king snorted. “Anyway, are you ready for today?”
“More than ready,” Relam replied immediately. “I wasn’t even sore when I woke up this morning.”
“Hmm. I’ll have to have a word with Tar,” his father observed, eyes twinkling mischievously. “If your soreness only took a day to fade he’s not working you lot hard enough.”
“Talk with him all you want,” Relam replied, grinning. “After the trials, I won’t be training under him anymore.”
“Hah! You’ll wish you still were though,” the king said, shaking his fork at Relam. “Training under Tar Agath may have been grueling, but training under a master after the trials will be even harder.”
“What are the trials like?”
The king frowned with mock severity. “Only those who pass can know the answer to that question. As
