“I haven’t passed the trials yet, Griff,” Relam pointed out. “But I’ll admit, it’s nice to have training over with.”
Griffin smiled and bowed again. “Then when you pass the trials we will celebrate again,” he said magnanimously.
As the servant retreated, Relam saw his father scowling over the fact that Relam had dismissed his counsel and engaged Griffin in conversation again. The young prince shrugged mentally. Griff was a friend. And friends were not people you ignored or pretended not to notice.
Stony silence ensued until Griffin swung the little door open once more, this time followed by another servant, a rotund woman staggering under the weight of a large platter. Relam’s mouth immediately began to water as the aroma filled the room. A roast! He watched impatiently as the massive slab of meat was lowered onto the table and Griffin began slicing off portions. He served the king first, as was proper, then Relam and then the queen. The moment Relam took his plate, he noticed that it weighed rather more than usual and that he had been given an exceptionally large portion. His eyes widened slightly and he glanced at Griffin. The servant merely winked and smiled slightly. Relam smiled in reply, looking around the table surreptitiously. Was it his imagination, or was his father’s plate a little emptier than usual? Again, the young prince wondered how much Griffin had overheard.
The aroma of the roast caught his attention and all other thoughts were driven from Relam’s mind. He quickly cut a large piece from his portion and tasted it, chewing thoughtfully. The beef was cooked perfectly, tender and juicy, somewhere between pink and red in color. The outside of the roast had been encrusted with powerful spices. Relam swallowed and cut another piece hastily, suddenly realizing that he was terribly hungry.
Over the next half hour, the royal family ate while servers came and went. Potatoes, baked in their jackets, were brought out to go with the meat, and another loaf of bread. Relam ate ravenously of everything that was put before him, until at last he was forced to admit defeat, having well and truly overstuffed himself. His mother had stopped eating some time earlier, as had his father. The king looked on with a bemused expression as Relam sat back with a sigh.
“Wish I could still eat like that,” he remarked. “One of the unfortunate things about growing old.” He patted his expanding middle for emphasis. “But you’ll work it off during the trials and then with your master.”
“You could train with me for a day,” Relam said slyly. “Help prepare me for the trials.”
“Would that I could,” his father grumbled. “Meetings all day every day, listening to everybody’s problems and trying to find answers. Then there’s the negotiations with local rulers, the-”
“What your father means to say is there are many demands on a ruler’s time,” the queen explained, interrupting the litany of complaints. “It is not an easy job.”
“But necessary,” the king sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And it is our burden to shoulder. We are born into privilege and power, but also into duty.”
Relam nodded soberly. He had observed before that royalty was not all it was cracked up to be. His father had only confirmed it.
“But you don’t have to worry about that yet,” the king said briskly, pushing back from the table. “You are only a prince, and not yet confirmed in your duties. You have plenty of life ahead of you before you have to take over my job.”
“So enjoy it,” Relam’s mother added, smiling gently at him.
Relam nodded. “I will.”
They sat in silence for a moment, then the king stood. “Well, I have some things from Marc to read over before the meeting tomorrow. And I daresay you could use some rest, son. Unless Tar Agath took it easy on you for the last day of training?”
“Not hardly,” Relam replied with some feeling. His father laughed and his mother smiled widely. Relam grinned in turn. He was warm and safe, with a full stomach and he had gotten a celebratory meal with just his parents. A rare occurrence for the royal family. All in all, a perfect night.
As his father disappeared into the next room, grumbling about trade negotiations, Relam retreated to his room and shut the door, groaning as his stomach protested. He would regret eating so much later. But it had been worth it.
As he started across the room to his desk, a tentative knock sounded from the outer door. The prince sighed and turned around, wondering who it could be, a half-formed suspicion lurking in the corners of his mind.
Relam paused at the door, left hand resting lightly on the latch. Then, he pulled the door open suddenly, his right hand dropping to his dagger, just in case.
But his precautions were for naught. Standing in the doorway was a slight boy of thirteen years with straight blond hair and a rather impudent smile.
“Didn’t even flinch!” Aven said, smiling.
Relam shrugged. “It’s not as though I haven’t gotten you before.”
“Yeah,” Aven admitted, digging the toe of his left shoe into the floor and twisting disconsolately. “But I’ll take even a small victory. Anything you need me to do? Practice gear to air out, maybe?”
Relam grinned. “Isn’t there always?” He ushered Aven in, shutting the door. He liked the younger boy’s total disregard for protocol and formality. It was refreshing in the normally stuffy palace. And Aven was totally devoted to Relam. The prince was something of a hero to the young servant.
“Phew!” Aven said, holding his nose as he examined Relam’s practice gear. “Hard day today?”
