“Draw!” Cevet announced laughing. “Six apiece and a draw.”
“That’s what we have too,” one of Relam’s guards grunted. “No winner.”
“I’m fine with that,” the second guard replied, looking relieved.
Relam laughed as he got to his feet and dusted himself off. “A good morning!” he declared. “Thirteen bouts. I can’t remember the last time I fought so many in a row.”
Cevet mopped his face with his shirt sleeve, blowing drops of sweat from his nose. “I’ll need a few days rest before we do this again,” he said. “A week from today, same time?”
“Sure,” Relam said, shrugging. “Like I said before, my schedule is wide open.”
“And a good feeling it is too,” Cevet agreed. Then, he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Warn your father about those demands, will you? Might make the whole thing less likely to blow up.”
Relam nodded slowly. “I’ll do that. See you next week, Cevet.”
As Cevet scooped up his sword and returned their practice blades to the rack, Relam wondered what his father’s reaction to the demands would be. He came up with several possibilities, and none of them were pleasant.
“Let’s move,” he said to his guards, striding towards the main gates. “We need to get back to the palace.”
Chapter 14
When Relam returned to the royal apartments, the guards at the door told him that his father was out, but could not tell him where. The king had left with Narin early that morning with not a word to the guards save to take three men with him. Since there was nothing he could do about the situation at the moment, Relam instead retreated to his room to clean up and change clothes. By the time he had finished, his stomach was growling, demanding food immediately and in vast amounts. Fortunately, the royal dining room was set up with all the ingredients necessary for every sandwich that ever existed. Relam piled ham and roast beef on his, topped off with half a head of lettuce.
As he was preparing to eat his creation, the outer door opened. Relam glanced over his shoulder and saw his father, escorted by Narin.
“Afternoon, son,” the king said as he crossed the room. “You know, you could have just made two sandwiches. That way you could fit it in your mouth.”
Relam glared at his father and took an enormous bite. “Fi’s perfec’ly,” he muttered.
The king snorted and set about making his own lunch, gesturing for Narin to help himself as well. “How was training?” he asked, glancing up.
“Good,” Relam replied after he swallowed. “Cevet and I fought thirteen bouts. Six apiece, plus a draw to finish things off.”
“Not bad,” the king grunted. “Cevet, he’s the Thius’ boy, isn’t he? A little small?”
“Yes, but quick and very sharp,” Relam said before taking another bite.
“Hmm. How is Tar doing? Still training cadets by the hordes?”
“Yes,” Relam grunted. He knew that he needed to warn his father about Cevet’s news, but he was still hungry. Finally, setting his sandwich down, he leaned forward. “There’s something we need to talk about.”
“Talk later, eat now,” the king replied.
Normally, Relam would have taken this as sound advice. But seeing as Cevet had been concerned enough to reach out to him, Relam thought that he should push a little harder.
“It’s important.”
The king stopped chewing abruptly and sighed. “Relam, I’m a king. Almost everything I have to deal with is important.” Then he went back to eating.
The prince sighed with frustration. “Okay, how about really important?”
“That’s more like it! What’s eating you son?”
Relam took a deep breath. “Before Cevet and I sparred, we talked some. He wanted to warn me that the Assembly is planning-”
The outer door suddenly burst open and Marc Clemon rushed in, waving a sheaf of papers in one hand. “Your majesty!” he gasped, his normal reserve forgotten. “Urgent news! I can’t say this is a surprise but it is certainly unwelcome-”
Relam’s father held up a hand for silence. “Marc-”
“Really, your majesty, this is-”
“Marc,” the king repeated, a dangerous edge to his voice now.
“I simply can’t understand why-”
“SHUT IT!” the king roared.
Clemon, stunned into silence, blinked in surprise, then shut his mouth and adopted a look of polite interest as he waited for the king’s next command.
Relam’s father shot him a wry look. “Does this have anything to do with the warning you were supposed to give me?”
“Probably,” Relam said, putting his head in his hands. “Lord Clemon, could you give us a moment?”
“But-”
“Just until I can brief my father on recent developments.”
“Of course, your highness,” Clemon replied. “I will wait-”
“Outside,” the king finished pointedly.
“Yes, of course,” Clemon said, bowing his way out. The door shut almost noiselessly behind him.
The king sighed heavily. “Alright Relam, talk.”
Relam shifted uncomfortably. “Cevet warned me that his father mentioned that the Assembly of Nobles meant to send you a list of demands to address certain grievances they feel are more than legitimate. They want action, and quickly, to solve these problems, which they feel you have been a bit . . . lax about.”
Relam’s father merely stared at him. “Go on,” he said finally.
The prince took a deep breath. “Some of those demands are for security, a royal navy, better patrolling of trade routes. Cleaning the river is also a concern. And taxes. Cevet couldn’t tell me anything else. But apparently there is very real discord growing amongst the nobles.”
The king sat there quietly for a long moment. “I see,” he said finally. “Your mother told me as much-”
“Sorry?” Relam interjected, not quite sure he had heard right. As far as he knew, his mother was ill and had no idea how the nobility was feeling towards
