Relam shrugged, tilting his head a little to try and conceal the worst of the bruising. “Not really. Just wanted to get cleaned up in time for dinner. Training ran a little long.”
“Hmm.” Clemon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked down his overlong nose at Relam. “Rough training session today, your highness? It appears you took some blows.”
That was another thing about Clemon. He noticed everything you didn’t want him to notice.
“I had a bit of a down day,” Relam lied. “Dropped a couple of matches, misread my opponents. I think I might have been anxious about the upcoming trials.”
“Ah, yes,” Clemon said, nodding. “I had forgotten. The trials are at hand?”
“Master Agath says next week,” Relam confirmed.
“A shade earlier than usual!” Clemon remarked, straightening his robes and running a hand through his thinning hair. “You and your fellow cadets must be good.”
“We try.”
“I should certainly think so,” Clemon replied. “But I also would have thought that Master Agath would have been more careful about high blows around the neck area.”
“We all make mistakes,” Relam said generously, grinning wryly, wishing the chatelain would back off.
“Yes, but we cannot make mistakes with you. You are the heir, after all-”
“Not officially,” Relam broke in. “Seeing as I’m not of age.”
“Well, yes, but you will be the heir,” Clemon forged on, frowning at the interruption. “You are the future. And the future must be preserved.”
A door opened further down the hall and a willowy woman with straight, ash-blonde hair stuck her head out, looking one way then the other. “There you are!” she said as she noticed Relam, smiling. “I was wondering why you weren’t back yet.”
“Practice ran long,” Relam lied, smiling at his mother as she approached. “And I nearly ran over Lord Clemon trying to make up for it.”
“No harm done,” the chatelain said airily. “Best use a little more caution though, your highness.”
Relam struggled to keep from scowling at the nobleman’s patronizing tone. Instead, he bowed slightly to conceal his expression. “Of course.”
Lord Clemon bowed to Relam and to the queen, then turned away and stalked down the hall, nose high in the air.
Relam’s mother smiled up at him and took his hand. She was more than a head shorter than her son, though Relam was only a little over average height. “How was training?” she asked gently.
“Tough,” Relam said truthfully, leading the way back towards the royal apartments.
“Are you hurt?” his mother asked, reaching up and tracing the bruises on his neck and face.
“No, just . . . took a bad fall.”
His mother looked up at him, biting her lip. Relam knew she didn’t believe him, and that she was worried. He hated to cause her pain, but he wasn’t going to complain about Garenes junior. His parents had enough problems trying to run the world and keep it from imploding.
“Well, I suppose you’ll have some time to recover once the trials are over and done with. Twelve months off before you can seek a Master, right?”
“Yes,” Relam confirmed. “Not sure what I’m going to do with that time. Assuming I pass the trials of course.”
“You’ll do fine,” his mother replied, leading the way into the royal apartments. “Tar has never had a student fail the trials. He’s the very best at what he does.”
“Some of the others think D’Arnlo could do a better job.” Relam closed the door to the hallway and locked it, shaking his head. “I think learning the basics from D’Arnlo would be a bad situation for all involved. He’s not the most patient of trainers from what I’ve heard.”
“That’s Master D’Arnlo,” a voice boomed from further into the room.
Relam turned away from the door and looked across the sitting room. The space was comfortably furnished with several armchairs and a low table facing a stone fireplace. And in the farthest armchair, facing the door, was Relam’s father, the ruler of the Sthan Kingdom.
King Orram was not a large man, but he was certainly fit and powerful. He had been a skilled warrior in his youth, but some of his muscle had turned to fat. So much of his time was occupied with running the kingdom that he rarely had time to practice his weapons skills. The glittering golden hair and well-trimmed beard were the same though, even if there was some gray starting to appear.
“Father,” Relam said, bowing slightly. “I thought you had a meeting with the Mizzran delegation this evening?”
“They encountered some bad weather on the journey and were delayed. The meeting has been rescheduled to tomorrow. Lord Clemon just informed me of the change minutes ago.”
“Ah, he didn’t mention that,” Relam muttered.
“You saw him on your way up?”
“Er, you could say I ran into him,” Relam muttered. His mother smiled slightly.
“Not literally, I hope,” the king replied distractedly, looking into the flames in the fireplace. Relam suddenly became aware that the room was overly warm and rather stuffy.
“Do we really need a fire?” the prince asked, half laughing. “It’s summer outside, father.”
“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” the queen said, moving across the room to join Orram by the fire. “I was feeling cold earlier and had the servants light it.”
Relam frowned as his mother drew her shawl closer around her. Were those shadows under her eyes? And was it a trick of the light or did she look paler than normal? “Are you . . . well?” he asked carefully.
His mother smiled wanly. “Yes. I’ll be fine. Go and get ready for dinner, Relam.”
Relam nodded and turned left, towards the door to his room. He paused with his hand on the latch and looked back. His mother was staring into the flames
