//------------------------------//
// Chapter 22 - A Happy Occasion 
// Story: Bad Mondays 
// by Handyman 
//------------------------------//

It was a beautiful ceremony.
 
A surprisingly humble affair, given Duchess Stormcrown’s tastes, but word had it that it was how her daughter wanted it to be. The priest had joined their claws together, each holding salt and ash. One was to preserve them on the road ahead against all troubles; the other to remind them of the finality of their commitment. With salt held in her claw and his own supporting it, the ash in his claw and her own supporting it, the priest bound their forelegs together with gold-threaded linen.
 
Words were solemnly spoken and holy vows sworn before the priest raised his claws to the air, wings outstretched to encompass the two burning braziers at either side, and proclaimed the union to the world.
 
And the temple erupted.
 
The long-standing and ancient building, founded in granite and creaking wood, came alive with renewed vigour, vitality, and colour as the hallowed cloisters and soaring arches bore aloft songs of praise and celebration. The dreary, dirt-stained glass of the tall windows was forgotten in the revelry as the light that flooded the building. Dried tall grass, shorn from the earth and dyed a bright white, descended from the rafters like the virgin snows of winter. The bride, resplendent in the golden tresses of flowers that adorned her wings and crowned her head in glory, smiled and embraced her husband. Tied down as he was in silver-threaded silk bands, with small iron weights that hung from his forelegs and wings, he embraced her in kind, his wings stretching to encompass her. Their first kiss as husband and wife was hidden from the world, a precious secret.
 
It was a happy occasion and one Handy did not wish to spoil with his presence, but life as the servant of a king rarely deferred to one's wishes. As a non-communicant of the religion of the All-Maker, Handy felt it prudent to stand at the back of the temple, as out of sight as possible without being rude, yet still ultimately present. He felt awkward and out of place at most public gatherings like this even in the best of circumstances, say, where everyone else happened to be the same species as him. He felt worse about it now and for once cursed his own reputation for making him feel even more awkward. Still, he couldn't leave or excuse himself.
 
He was representing the king after all.

 


--=--



Word to the wise: never be too clever for your own good.
 
King Johan preferred to eat his meals in a smaller drawing room rather than the feast hall, saying something to the effect of: "Dining halls are for families and politics." He would often invite a few others, sometimes council members to discuss matters of the day in an informal setting away from court. Occasionally he'd invite a few courtiers or whatever noble or supplicant who had managed to get into his good graces. Even the occasional servant that happened to be waiting on him that day would be invited to speak with their king in private.
 
Of course, sometimes he'd have his royal knights seated to join him and regale him with their stories.
 
And every time, said knights would make him rue the decision.
 
The royal knights, being the king's personal chosen bodyguard, had certain privileges and informality that came with their position. One such privilege was making the king look like an ass. Johan knew from experience that it was a long standing tradition for Gethrenian royal knights to roast their king in private, away from prying eyes and ears of course. It just so happened that Handy drew the short straw one evening to have a go at him. While Joachim was slowly eyeing each of his seated knights as he listened to them tell him of their accomplishments and joke of their daily affairs, wondering which of them would begin stoking the fires that would make him apoplectic, Handy waited.
 
And waited. And waited some more, for he had realised a weakness of Joachim's.
 
The bird made terrible decisions when drunk.
 
Therefore, as the meal wore on, the wine began pouring, and most of the table had downed at least one or two cups, Handy got up and went for a stroll around the room. Hands behind his back, he began to idly inspect the tapestries. He stopped at a particularly incomprehensible tapestry behind Joachim's seat at the head of the table. It depicted something involving volcanoes and soldiers. Handy couldn't make it out, but it was distracting enough to be believable cause for the pause in his steps.
 
So it was that when someone got Joachim started on a relatively serious matter of discussion, Handy, with his back turned, waited for a suitable juncture or lull in Joachim's diatribe to lightly cough into his fist and put words in the bird's mouth. Each time it worked, and as he drank deeper into his cups, Johan’s subject matter got increasingly ridiculous without his knowing. It had started as the king's opinion on the virtues of philosophy and introspective moral thought. He was talking about something involving pigs and trumpets by the time he stopped to wonder why everyone was laughing.
 
Not long after that—indeed, the very next day after he had yet another bout with Shortbeak, finally managing to hold his own with the bird when it came to polearms—he got the news. It was the unhappy news that he was to attend the happy occasion of a noblegriffon's wedding to impart the unhappy apologies that the king could not personally be there to share his happy congratulations. Handy, as one might imagine, was unhappy about this, he hated social gatherings of any kind. He had thought the coronation feast would be his last for a good long while. Joachim was well aware of this, and found it most amusing to personally see Handy off, smiling genially, knowing full well Handy was scowling beneath his hood.
 
Ivorybeak, however, promptly had a litter of kittens when he heard the news and had summarily kidnapped Handy, spiriting him away to splutter incomprehensibly at him for a good five minutes before Handy managed to get him to make some sense. It was there that Ivorybeak had impressed upon Handy the particularly sensitive problem he, in his person, now posed.
 
See, the king got invited as a matter of course to all manner of events going on in his kingdom. Tourneys, feasts, balls, festivals, and yes, even weddings. It was a courtesy and an expectation among the high nobility to invite the king. Even if he would very much like to go to some of these events, he had to politely decline the vast majority of them as a matter of practicality, saving what valuable time he had to indulge in such affairs for the most politically expedient or important reasons. By all rights, the marriage of Duchess Stormcrown's daughter, who had an… interesting reputation, to some lower standing clan would not be one such event.

Oh, but King Johan had a Sword, someone who could represent him personally. Someone who would be unmistaken in the king's intent to recognise the event and honour the occasion without personally being there. That would have been the case, of course, if the office of Sword had been filled by literally anyone other than Handy. 

Handy, being who he was, might cast a darker interpretation of the king's intent towards the occasion than was desirable. So it was that Handy had to forego some of his duties to be educated in absolutely every courtly manner possible in order to avoid such a disastrous circumstance.
 
Handy was not an idiot, nor was he that bad of an actor to be unaware of other people's' perceptions or how they could be manipulated. He had learned a lot standing behind the throne in Joachim's court: the intricacies of interpersonal interactions and intrigue; the subtle jockeying for power and prestige, recognition, and renown; the clashing of ideals and cynicism. The mental acuity necessary to juggle propriety, humility, ambition, and boldness in conjunction with the dizzyingly complex web of people, personalities, and positions was astounding at times. He had also learned, much to his own surprise, how much he enjoyed seeing it all play out.
 
It turned out that he liked to watch and learn. There was power in perception after all, something he was already keenly aware of, like an actor learning how to play a role by watching someone else play it before him. Thus he entertained Ivorybeak's lectures, both to calm the chancellor's nerves and to see if he could learn something to add to his repertoire.
 
It still didn't make him any happier about the matter by the time he left Skymount and went on his way to Stormcrown lands.
 
His introduction to Duchess Stormcrown prior to the wedding was a matter of course and of respect. She looked somewhat conflicted and worried by the human's presence, but that was to be expected. Handy made it quite clear to the good duchess that the king sent his regards and respect, that Handy's presence was strictly in the most complimentary manner possible, and that he'd take pains to make it so at the reception. She seemed somewhat mollified by this circumstance, if seemingly still worried about something. 

Handy wasn't sure why. Sure, his presence could be skewed in all the wrong ways, but the woman should be glad her king deigned to recognise her daughter's wedding at all. It wasn't as if she was marrying another important ducal family or anything. Something like that might actually acquire the king's attention.
 
So it was that Handy made himself unobtrusive and as inconspicuous as he physically could at the ceremony itself. This was no mean feat, but easy enough once the proceedings started. Granted, being expressly forbidden from wearing armour probably helped put people at ease, and it was an excuse to put his dress suit to good use for once. At the close of the ceremony, he waited until the majority of the temple had emptied before leaving himself. He received an amused expression from the local priest when he noticed him at last, a ‘feather’ he believed they were called.
 
The reception was held at a walled estate, with immaculately maintained gardens with flora from as far away as the Wyrwood Forest in south-eastern Equestria, and as far north as the Icy Blue Oak vales of northern Henosia. Stormcrown had always boasted that she had the finest gardeners in the kingdom, able to maintain such diversity without any magic. Handy was pretty sure that was bullshit, but he'd seen stranger things happen. Needless to say, the gardens were spectacular. Even this late in the year, rare flowers still bloomed, and carefully constructed ditches filled with water traced spiralling patterns of mirror like water and bright green grass. It was one of those gardens in which it would be a genuine pleasure to simply spend a few hours wistfully taking a stroll, allowing the mind to wander, and Handy would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted. There was peace to be found there.
 
He shook the thought off and went about his work. He had made arrangements with his guard, which protocol demanded the Sword of the King be accompanied by on official business. Instead of a fellow knight, like Tanismore, Handy opted to conscript a somewhat unwilling royal guardsgriffon who had been standing around the castle for the job. He was young, paid attention, and kept his beak shut, qualities Handy found desirable considering he wanted to cause as little of a scene as possible. Fortunately, the griffon was also diligent and had found the guest room given over to Handy for the night, and had prepared the royal gift he was to present in advance. Impressed, Handy genuinely considered doing him the courtesy of learning the bird's name, but held off on such pleasantries until another time.
 
The building the celebratory ball was to be hosted in was, in a word, astounding. It stood in the centre of the estate and consisted of fluted arches and vaulted ceilings, constructed of great brown stones quarried from some coast far to the east that made up the interlocking corners of the building. The main body consisted of glistening limestone, coated with a surface cover that immunized itself from the depredations of rainfall and kept its lustre and colour. Like a cathedral, its roof was capped with towering spires and flying buttresses, interspersed with gryphonic gargoyles; long dead worthies of renown who had served the Stormcrown clan. The purple slate that formed the sloping, domed surface of the roof shone in the evening sunlight, and come nightfall, it would reflect the subtle hues of moonlight back onto its surroundings. Each of the walls was taken up by countless tall, arched windows of clear glass, each easily three times Handy's height that drew the light in, soaking the interior in glory. When the night came and the chandeliers of shining brass and glowing crystal shone, it would share its light in kind with the gardens outside.
 
Inside, dark mahogany flooring complimented the rich oaken columns that reached skyward and supported the great ceiling. The interior dome, painted in white and highlighted in gold filigree, displayed some mythic scene from gryphonic history. The floor descended two steps into the dance floor, with the sides given over to long tables covered with succulent delights and favours that made the mouth water and the stomach yearn to be filled. Servants went to and fro, disappearing behind cleverly concealed covers into the quarters beneath the building where food was prepared and stored, and all that the guest may require was taken care of.
 
It was a building made to impress, and Handy had to give the Stormcrown's credit: it was a very nice place to hold a reception, though it was a shame he couldn't see it being used for much else other than spectacle. Speaking of spectacles…
 
He had timed his arrival so that he would enter after a good number of the guests had already gone before him. It was important to be seen. However, he had to ensure that he did not arrive last, for it would not do to appear tardy. He could not see the faces of the Stormcrown guards beneath their silvered full-faced helms, or their body language beneath their swaddling white cloaks, but he could see them twitch as he entered the estate and made his way up through the gardens. 

The small clusters of polite conversation outside quieted as he strolled to the ball. He was announced by a ridiculously overdressed servant as he entered and was presented to the ballroom. The crowd of dizzyingly varied griffons turned to regard the figure in white. Handy had never seen so many griffons so overly dressed in his life. Really, it was so disconcerting after being used to them wearing nothing most of the time.
 
He shook it off and walked on, the tell-tale flap of his guard’s wings following in his wake as he made his way over to the centre of the ballroom, to a very nervous-looking Cecilia Stormcrown and her beau. The floral tresses on her wings were now gone, as were the weight silk on her husband’s arms, though she still wore her bridal crown. The pair appeared anxious as he approached. Cecilia appeared as grand as ever, dignified in her off-white plumage. The excess feathers of her head, so often a feature of the griffons he had come across, were tied back into a twisted bun, with two large feathers left standing upwards. Her yellow eyes were framed by a soft blue shadow, her claws and beak a dark black. Her new husband was taller and a light navy blue in plumage. Handy believed he was called Fenislaus. Time to go to work.
 
Handy lowered his voluminous hood and gave a slight bow to the happy couple. 

"Lady Cecilia, Lord Fenislaus, I bring the happy returns of His Majesty, King Johan of Gethrenia, and his apologies for his inability to be here in person." Handy enunciated each word carefully and abandoned his usual falsified airs for the sake of being clear. 

With a quick glance to her husband, Cecilia extended a claw, and Handy braced himself for the one custom that extended across worlds for some unfathomable reason. He tried not to squirm as he took her claw in his gloved hand and lightly pecked her on the 'knuckle' where her middle talon met the base of her claw. Funny thing about griffon claws: despite appearances, whatever the hell they were made of was smooth and pliant. To his alarm, Handy felt a small beat of a blood vessel when his mouth touched the claw, and pulled back with as much dignity, grace, and speed as decorum allowed. Thankfully, griffon tradition mandated only the lightest of taps since, you know, beaks. 

“His Majesty would also like to present you with a gift to commemorate this happy occasion." With a slight bow and a sweep of a hand, he stepped out of the way as the guard behind him advanced forward, holding a wicker basket containing a stylised nest. In it were several clear crystal carvings, glass sculptures inlaid with delicate golden thread to accent its features, scale mountains, a simulated waterfall, and a pair of stylised griffons. However, the prize of the little scene was an egg slightly smaller than Handy's fist. It was yellow, the top half at least, while the bottom was a blazing bright orange that reached up like licking tongues of flame.
 
Cecilia seemed utterly ecstatic at the gift, gasping at the sight and bringing her claws to her cheeks in delight before quickly latching onto the arm of her bemused husband and shaking it excitedly, trying not to squee like some schoolgirl. Animated muttering rippled along the spectators, including some barks of surprise. So far so good. 

Handy wasn't sure what was so great about it. It was just a painted egg, and he knew it wasn't representative of fertility or anything since griffons gave live birth. Maybe they were a bigger symbolic deal in high Gryphonic society than he had thought? He didn't know; he was just pleased they were happy.
 
"Oh, I just love it!" Cecilia clapped happily as the guard passed the basket to a servant who took it away. The sight of the bride and groom thrilled and relaxed went a long way to easing the tension of the crowd at Handy's presence. "Thank you so much. Please, let the king know we are pleased with his gift and wish him all the best."
 
"I'll only be too happy to relay your feelings, my Lady. My Lord."
 
"It's a pleasure to have you here," Fenislaus chirped, his voice surprisingly deep despite his build. "Please, enjoy your stay."
 
"I'll be sure to, thank you." Pleasantries exchanged, Handy backed off a step with a light bow from his shoulders, then turned and walked off. The crowd parted ever so slightly as he passed, and the servant at the door called out the arrival of another guest to greet the couple. One meeting off the list; he had two more to seal the deal on public perception of his arrival here, and it was already going well. 

Next up would be to pay his respects to the real power present here at the wedding: Cecilia's mother, the Duchess Stormcrown. This he was reasonably confident in, as the duchess had seemed reasonable enough when he had approached her before the wedding took place. All that he had to do was make a show of the king's regret at his unavailability, be quiet enough to seem confidential and respectful while loud enough juuuust to be overheard by eavesdroppers.
 
Stormcrown was off to the side. A large griffon by any measure, she wore a sparkling blue gown with white filigree. Otherwise, she was the spitting image of her daughter; every inch the grand lady of noble bearing. Her smile was positively beatific as she excused herself from a conversation partner at his approach. He was on the verge of opening his mouth to greet her when she lifted up her claw. Handy smiled, gritted the teeth behind his lips, and bore it, and for the second time that night, he kissed a griffon's claw. Odd, he had not been expecting wrinkles.
 
"Your Grace, you look radiant this evening." Handy smiled a smile that did not quite reach the eyes.
 
"Baron," she replied, deliberately using his lesser title. "A pity His Majesty could not deign us with his presence."
 
"That it is, but he felt the need to acknowledge this fine event nonetheless. He remembers fondly your speech at his coronation and felt it would do ill to not respond in kind. Even if he is busy with his royal duties." She nodded at that thoughtfully. A talon rose to her beak in contemplation.
 
"Such a shame. I do remember him and Cecilia getting along so well at the time," she said with strange emphasis. Handy noted it but decided to pass it over. It wasn't worth questioning.
 
"She is a lovely girl your daughter, I wish all the best for her new life."
 
"Oh we all do, Sir Knight," she said carefully. Handy couldn't help but pick up a dagger slipping under her words somewhere, but he couldn't for the life of him pin down what could be behind it. He opted to be careful.  "Especially now with such good news on the way."
 
"Good news?"
 
"Oh, His Majesty does not know?" she asked, blinking lightly. "My, I could have sworn I had sent word. He does so like to keep track of these things. I'm sure you understand."
 
"…Yes. Yes of course," Handy responded lamely, his mind racing. What the hell was she talking about, and why the sudden adversarial tone? Had he missed something? Ivorybeak hadn't mentioned anything, and Joachim hadn't said anything, so what the hell was she referring to? "Forgive me, I was merely worried about the discretion involved."
 
"Of course, such delicate matters need not be discussed so openly." Handy tried not to let his eyes widen at the choice of words. What game was she playing here!? Who else was in the know? Why didn't Joachim tell him anything about this? Did he even know!?
 
"I must again compliment you on your dress, Your Grace," Handy opted to redirect the conversation, "and the preparations for these celebrations were evidently well-planned and in good taste. A truly magnificent spectacle."
 
"Only the best for my beloved daughter, befitting a regal bearing, wouldn't you say?"
 
"Quite." He needed this conversation finished now. God only knew how much he had already fouled up. "I'll be sure to drink to her health."
 
"It certainly never harmed her so far." the duchess tittered. 

Handy smiled in return and gave a light bow. “Your Grace."

"Be well, Sir Knight," she excused him as she turned back to another guest. Handy retained a pleasantly neutral expression as he walked off, hiding the racing thoughts in his head.

'Maybe it's nothing,' he reasoned to himself, taking a proffered mug of mulled wine. The fine wood was tall and thin, and crafted with scenes of griffons cavorting and dancing amidst flowers, inlaid with copper and tin. 'I don't know what she hoped to gain from embarrassing the king or me personally, but perhaps that was all that it was about.'
 
The thoughts ate at him as he kept to the edges of the ballroom, flitting in between the columns that bordered the dance floor that still steadily filled with guests. He opted to keep his distance. To be seen was enough; he didn't need to interact with anyone, and from appearances, most people were keen to leave him in peace as well. 

He knew from the occasional glances he got in his direction that word of his conversation with the duchess had gotten around. He had failed in the primary objective pressed upon him by Ivorybeak. Now everyone would think Johan had an alternative, less pleasant reason for sending Handy.
 
He fobbed off his empty cup on a passing servant, who seemed very surprised to have a cup placed in his open claw. Then he went to the third and final requirement of his stay at the ball, making his way to the groom's family. The counts of Crossguard, the Wyrdwings were an amiable bunch and were known for their fine diplomacy and peaceable characters. They got along well with all of their neighbours, and it was likely this reason that they had managed to secure such a good match for their son and heir. Granted, word had it that Fenislaus was an utter buffoon, so it was just as well a generation down the line those lands would belong to the Stormcrowns and not the Wyrdwings. The Wyrdwings would avoid seeing all they had worked for destroyed by an unfortunate scion, and the Stormcrowns would gain a wealthy trading city at a crossroads. Win-win. At the very least, it was a win for the Stormcrowns and an avoidance of loss for the Wyrdwings.
 
Nonetheless, Handy was not expecting the bear hug the boisterous and gregarious count pulled him into when he approached their table. The man was pre-eminently pleased by the considerate showing Handy had put forward for the benefit of his son's wedding. He had rightfully not been expecting the king to have done anything to acknowledge the marriage at all. Other than that slight hiccup, his appeasing of the groom's family went down well, and he soon found he could excuse himself from their side. With those formalities and appearances taken care of, he was supposed to simply spend the remainder of the evening not unduly worrying anyone or giving the king a bad name.

Instead, he was left wondering the exact intent and purpose behind the duchess' little show. He had made the mistake of eyeing her from across the room before he corrected himself, cursing inwardly. He didn't need to be seen to be perturbed by whatever she was insinuating, if only to prevent people from thinking he was actually hiding something. 

The night wore on for another hour or so before Handy exited to get some air in the gardens. To his surprise and delight, fireflies danced lazily over the waters as he walked along the winding paths of grass and earth, keeping some of the larger shrubs and trees between him and the ballroom as he thought.
 
The food was being served and the music began playing, but Handy was not hungry, and though the stringed music lilting from the hall was beautiful and uplifting, it failed to brighten his darkened mood. He did not like failure; he liked it even less than having this assignment foisted upon him. 

If he was right and the Duchess was just making a show for the sake of a show, then he had nothing to worry about than slight indignation and rumours attached to Joachim, which was bad enough. Handy was supposed to be there so all the dark and suspicious things were applied to him, not the king. At worst… she was actually insinuating something, which would cause people to start digging, and digging meant they would find something. He found himself stopping to distractedly gaze at the dancing fireflies, each one multi-hued, their colours slowly shifting like fairy lights on a Christmas tree. He knew that whatever they were, they were incomparable to fireflies from home, but he didn't care. Even their distracting beauty couldn't keep him from his worries for long.
 
'What if?' The thought worried away again and again. He cradled one arm with the other as he stroked the side of his chin in thought. He was drawn from his ruminations when he heard someone alight along the path close by. Turning, he noticed a young griffoness approach.
 
"Good evening, Milord," she said smartly, giving a friendly smile. He couldn't place her accent, which was not unusual, but she didn't sound Gethrenian at any rate. She was brown-feathered, tan-hided, and her violet eyes peered into his. She was dressed in a form-hugging white gown, with a white veil that hung over her wing and draped over her flank and tail.
 
Handy briefly glanced back over his shoulder. The nearest griffons out in the gardens at this hour were far too far away to listen in and were currently walking further away. He looked back at the approaching griffon.
 
"And a good evening to you, ma'am. I do not believe I've had the pleasure?" Handy smiled for effect but kept his arms crossed: He was done with kissing claws for the night.
 
"The pleasure is mine." She did a gryphonic curtsy, bowing forward, head lowered, one claw drawn inward to the chest, and the wings slightly extended, pointing downward. He noticed she was wearing a red-gold web over her throat; jewellery he knew from court that was fashionable from the south eastern realms of Griffonia. "I am Cynthia Greydoor."
 
"Handy Haywatch." 'Greydoor? I am unfamiliar with the name. Not a major clan, surely.' "What brings you out here tonight?"
 
"Oh, I just had to get away from all of that for a while," she said, gesturing to the ball dismissively. Handy found himself frowning momentarily before he recovered. Why would anyone be openly dismissive of the ball? Granted, he wasn't happy to be there either, but that was because Handy was the sort to be happy simply vegetating in his room if he could help it. "Dreary really, don't you think?"
 
"It's not to my personal tastes, no," Handy conceded carefully, wondering what had brought this griffon out here. Perhaps she was of a minor clan, sent to test the waters and potentially gain some insight into what was going on between the duchess and the king, and bring word back to her masters? She was shit out of luck if that was the case. He turned to look back out at the gardens. "Still, at least the sights are pleasing to look at."
 
"Oh my, you flatter me!" she tittered, hiding her beak behind her claw. Handy eyed her in confusion momentarily before readopting his mask. "I didn't know you were such a charmer."
 
'Neither did I. What's this really about?' "I find it makes life more bearable. So tell me about yourself, Miss Cynthia. Are you enjoying the party?"
 
"Oh, it really is simply dreadful, all these griffons competing with one another for petty one-upmanship."


'Uh huh,' "Dreadful."

"It’s really unsightly, and at a wedding too! For shame."

'Sure,' "Hmm."

"One would think one's worth and loyalty would be enough to get ahead in this world, but they always insist on these games."

'False humility is a fun game, isn't it?' "They?"

"Oh, those unimportant riff raff pretending to be somegriffon important. You know the sort."

'Indeed I do.' "I believe I am familiar."

“I can see you're above all that. The king's Sword would obviously be somegriffon capable and of good character. Surely you out of all griffons could appreciate my view on the matter, yes? I believe we could have that much in common."
 
'Yeah, I can tell which way this wind is blowing. Time to go.' "We may or may not," Handy said, lending a bit of bite to his words, "but I know I do not appreciate being patronized. Have a nice night, Cynthia."
 
Cynthia blinked once as Handy turned on the spot and strode calmly away and further into the gardens, beak opening and closing at a loss for words.
 
"E-Excuse me!?" she half-exclaimed, voice midway between an offended gasp and alarmed surprise. "I beg your pardon? Have I done something to offend you?"
 
"In a manner of speaking," Handy deigned to reply, not even pausing in his step. He heard a brief flap of feathery wings, and the griffon was behind him once more.
 
"I do not know what makes you think you have the ri—"
 
"What are you doing here?" Handy asked calmly, turning on the spot and staring down at the griffon contemptuously.
 
"I-I am a guest."
 
"Are you? I am unaware of your clan. From where do you hail?"
 
"Oh, the Greydoors are an extensive clan. Why, you can find us all the way from the Hebrides to—"
 
"From where do you hail?"
 
"I-I am from Western Vyrshire. Born and raised."
 
"Not with that accent you're not." Handy gestured to the jewellery lattice about her neck. "A pretty decoration you have there. I assume it’s a gift?"
 
"Milord!" she said indignantly, her feathers slightly ruffled. "I'll have you know I had this commissioned by the finest goldsmith in the north—"
 
"South, I think you'll find. I will be the first to admit I am not the most up to date in court styles and fashions, but I know the northern courts of Gethrenia are rather more austere when it comes to that sort of thing. By and large of course. So whose guest are you precisely?"
 
"I-I'm a friend of Lady St— Lady Wyrdwing! Yes, my mother had served her family for years, so I am—"
 
"Clearly not a retainer of any sort. There are plenty of common folk here, usually as servants or hanger-ons, but you're not one of them. Not dressed like that you're not, and especially not with so many lies. Perhaps I should go talk to Lady Wyrdwing about how you are defaming her good name by sneaking in undesirables into the wedding feast?" Cynthia was quiet after that, her mouth open and talon raised in protest. He hadn't been very loud and was pretty sure none of the few griffons in the nearby gardens had overheard him.
 
"For the record, most persons of rank do not use 'milord' in address. Frankly, I find it amusing and strange that griffons even have that distinction of tongue." Handy looked up for a moment, gazing over her head before looking back down. "Because you’ve shown audacity and courage, coming straight to me to try to claw your way up in the world and somehow set foot in the royal court, I'll not breathe a word about this. But if I were you, I'd be much more careful in how I go about my business. I think you'll find most people don't particularly care for nakedly ambitious social climbers. Enjoy the party."
 
And with that, he left the young griffon in the gardens. He wouldn't see 'Cynthia Greydoor', or whatever her real name was, for the rest of the evening, nor did he care for her ultimate fate.
 
He just didn't want the bother it would bring.
 

--=--



The fashionably late arrival of several pony guests had been a bit of a surprise, and not all of them had Equestrian accents either. One or two appeared to be nobles of some description, and the others were… merchants? Some other persons of worth and means, he gathered. He didn't care; he just kept his distance. A lot of the mares had saddles though. That was weird.

It seemed the Stormcrowns preferred the airy elegance of balls and buffets to the feasts of Skymount, which was not all that surprising. In Gryphonic courtly culture, it seemed the manner of events greatly depended on regional culture, wealth, prestige and, most importantly, the particular eccentricities of the host. A Gethrenian nobleman would be expected to attend anything from a folk festival, to a boisterous open table feast with war drums, to the cultured airs of a dinner party, and everything in between. That one was caught unawares or wrong-footed or even committing an occasional faux pas was not shameful. Indeed, it was expected, and was considered a compliment to the host's ability to keep his or her guests on their toes. What was shameful in Gethrenian culture was failing or, worse, refusing to adapt. One was a failure of the host for inviting a buffoon, the other an insult on the part of the guest.
 
That helped explain the dissonance Handy felt watching that same Duchess Stormcrown, whose lungs had veritably rocked the royal hall of Castle Blackwing during the coronation feast with a belch, act like the high lady of the evening now. Handy's personal distance and alien nature helped him in this environment somewhat, but he knew he needed to be seen, hence why he couldn't just wander the beautiful gardens at night for too long before needing to come back. 

At least the food was good, but Handy only took the smallest amounts from the side tables so as to not appear rude. He eyed the coconut on the table with longing but let it be. He'd go hungry tonight if he had to, in order to avoid getting caught in conversation. He knew he was being watched. More importantly, he knew people were following his eyes to see who he was watching. That was a level of thinking you needed at these sorts of things depending on who you were and how much attention you drew. Inference could lead to an avalanche of rumour as Handy well knew, so he made it a point once in a while to land his eyes on this or that griffon on the far side of the hall whose names and faces he didn't know, just to throw people off.
 
It was all so that nobody would draw anything from that lovely chat with Duchess Stormcrown because he was watching her too closely. God, he missed his helmet.
 
However, much to his relief, the music picked up and the dance was called to order. His eyes were drawn to the fancily-dressed and well-groomed griffons gathered at the foot of a simply massive window with five arches at its summit. The iron framing segmented the clear glass into the image of the countryside itself, with a stylised sun and a castle in the background. Handy briefly reflected that it was a shame the glass was not coloured—it would have made a stunning stained glass window in the sunlight. They played string instruments, their dark wooden frames polished to a near mirror sheen. He surprisingly recognized two of the instruments. Two griffons were playing what looked like carbon copy replicas of violins from Earth while another had some strange harp-like contraption. Another had strings on both sides of the instrument and created a deep, bass noise when he played, and the rest of the instruments were unidentifiable.
 
Nevertheless, the music was breath-taking. A slow cadence built up to sombre-sounding highs and deep rumbling lows, and Handy was treated to a show of Gryphonic ballroom dancing. Some of the women unclasped the sides of their dresses and let the extra folds fall to the floor. It was then Handy felt the air get noticeably warmer and, just under the majestic sound of the stringed instruments, he could make out the unmistakable sound of rushing air. He couldn't figure out what was going on until he saw griffons take flight.
 
Suddenly, it made a great deal of sense as to why the room's ceiling was so high.
 
The male griffons had their own variety of costumes, clothes, and high class robes of course, but their finery was nothing to the splendour of the dresses their womenfolk wore. The long tresses and folds fell beneath them as they soared up on powerful wingbeats. There they hung above the dance floor while other griffons took their places alongside one another on the ground. Handy realized the sound of rushing air was the noise of hot air being pumped up through the columns surrounding the dancefloor, through pipes cleverly concealed in the various sconces and Gryphonic statues that clung to them. The resultant updraft made the act of staying in the air for prolonged periods without the aid of natural wind or flapping one's wings much easier.
 
Then they waltzed in the air, the long, colourful trails of crystal, golden thread and material starlight that was the tails and tresses of their ball gowns twirling beneath them. Their fellows beneath them on the ground engaged in a complicated waltz of their own, on four legs rather than upright, with wings held at a distance from their bodies. Their own movements were at once differing to and at the same time complimenting the sky-dancing of their peers. The room was filled with music, colour, and the light sound of delighted laughter. 

Handy found himself mesmerized, much to his own surprise. It really was something to behold, even more impressive for the unspoken etiquette and rules that determined how many were to dance in the air in comparison to those on the ground and when they would switch. For once that night, he genuinely enjoyed himself, quietly watching the display for what it was.

"Would Sir care for further refreshment?" Handy turned to regard the voice. It was a serving griffon holding a silver tray aloft, more of the carved wooden flutes with the strange, honeyed wine on offer.
 
"No thank you." He gave the white-feathered griffon a light smile before turning back to the show. His attention was brought back to the server when the bird cleared his throat. "Yes?"
 
"I'm afraid I must ask Sir's indulgence for but a moment." The servant’s face was implacable with the practiced, polite neutrality of the professional waiter. He glanced slowly over to the side, roughly in the direction of the duchess on the far side of the room. "If you would be so kind."
 
Handy resisted the urge to follow his glance and thought about the situation for a moment. He then took a wooden flute, muttering quiet thanks before making a show of watching the dance as the servant walked off. He kept him in his peripheral vision, seeing him stroll behind a statue and a row of large ferns and colourful flowers in the corner, disappearing beneath the ground through a servant's door. A clever arrangement to allow the servants to go to and fro, to be sure, and get everything where it needed to be without directly getting in anyone's way.
 
It took him a few minutes before he could make his way towards one of the many windows, idly looking out into the gardens beyond before he could safely make his way after the griffon. Only after he was certain that whatever eyes were focused on him had grown bored by his inactivity and wandered elsewhere, thinking him contemplating another walk in the gardens. It wasn't the first time he had disappeared that evening, after all.
 
The servant passages were just beneath the floor of the ballroom. He could still hear the music and the sounds of the guests’ footfalls above him as he walked in the dry stone corridors. They were surprisingly tall and wide, even if he still had to walk with a bit of a stoop. And hot, very hot. He soon learned why when he passed by a stone stairway leading down to the boiler rooms. He felt goosebumps when he looked down it and caught sight of a griffon shovelling coal into a fire to heat the air to aid in the dance spectacle above. Briefly, he wondered how that griffon could stand that heat with his fur and feathers before moving on.
 
There were several doors along the way, and more than once he passed by busy servants carrying trays and equipment. The few that bothered to stop and notice the lurching human walking past them blinked in surprise but didn't bother stopping him. He felt a slight sense of trepidation at that. Someone should have questioned him by now. The more paranoid side of him suspected something foul afoot, but for once his rational mind prevailed. The Duchess literally had no reason to see harm come to him and to do so would only cause no end of grief for her from the king. Although… someone else might very much like to see that happen.
 
He had been forbidden from carrying his hammer to the event, but he did slip in the sharpened sliver of metal that had proved to be endlessly useful to him. His hand slowly reached for the pocket where it was located. His walking slowed as he looked around the corridor he was in. It was dark down here in places, but the lights from the various rooms provided enough ambiance to see well enough. He had yet to find the server who had tried to get a hold of him. What was this truly about? Was he involved with that chancer he met out in the gardens?
 
A door opened to his right all by itself, revealing a dark interior. No sound came forward, and Handy, not being one to fall for an obvious trap, took a step back. His hand clenched on the blunt portion of his improvised blade, waiting.
 
After a minute, a dark grey claw clutched the doorframe, and the white-feathered head of the server from before poked out, giving Handy an annoyed glare before looking down the hallway and back.
 
"Oh, just come in already. We don't have all night!" he hissed before retreating into the room. Handy, hand still clutching his knife, entered. The door shut, and Handy immediately turned, backed away, and brought his knife out. Then a lantern burst into life in one corner of the room, revealing it to be a modest wine cellar with small casks held aloft on cross frames lining the room. "Were you seen?"
 
Handy remained silent, and the griffon rolled his eyes.
 
"While I am glad to see you didn't come completely unprepared, put that letter opener away before you hurt yourself. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't be here myself. I have griffons for that sort of thing."
 
"And exactly who are you?" Handy chanced.
 
"You don't remember?" he harrumphed. "I suppose that was too much to hope for. It was only for a few seconds after all. I am Herman."
 
"The name doesn't ring a bell."
 
"Normally that'd be great news, but let’s skip over reminiscing for now. I need you to listen." Herman patted down his face, small tufts of white powder lifting from the feathers of his head and revealing his feathers to be a dark grey hue. The dull brown of his eyeshadow burst away to reveal blue as the dust fell from his face.
 
"What are yo—?”
 
"I am the Lord Caretaker of Gethrenia,” he said simply, pulling a cloth and wiping away at his beak vigorously. The dark grey colour gave way to a soft yellow before doing the same to his claws.
 
"…What."
 
"It means—"
 
"I know what the Lord Caretaker is. I also know there currently isn't one. Who exactly are you and why are you wasting my time with these lies?"
 
"Because if you don't do something, I fear Duchess Corinthia Stormcrown might do something foolish."
 
"I don't have time for this." Handy made for the door. Herman didn't make to stop him, completing his strange transformation.
 
"Time enough for your little talk with a certain Fancy Pants in Canterlot though, hmm?" That made Handy pause as he reached the door handle, and he turned to look at the Griffon. "Don't act so surprised—it's literally my job to know things like this. Frankly, I don't care that you're making a little money on the side by shepherding some useless trinket to Firthengart in a week's time."
 
"How did you hear about that?"
 
"Ways and means. Fancy Pants’ workers aren't above receiving a little extra in their pay by the end of the month. I knew it'd be worth my while checking up on you and the knights when you weren't with the king. You taking a pony home with you was admittedly a surprise however, though not the most scandalous thing to happen that week." The conversation suddenly made Handy feel very apprehensive.
 
"Alright, suppose I am willing to entertain your assertions," he said very carefully, taking his hand away from the door. "What do you want?"
 
"I want you to convince the good Duchess that contemplating blackmailing the king is a very unwise thing to do." Handy blinked.
 
"I'm sorry, what?"
 
"Lady Cecilia is pregnant." Herman finally finished his cleaning and placed the dirty rags under his wing, before turning and looking meaningfully at the human. Handy just raised an eyebrow.
 
"She didn't look it."
 
"There are ways of telling, even this early."
 
"I fail to see how this has to do with… the…" Handy trailed off as the gears turned in his head. A realization played up at the back of his mind that he was trying to wilfully suppress. "Wait. Wait, now hold on. What exactly are you trying to imply here?"

"I think you've already guessed." Herman reached behind a row of casks against a wall and pulled out a bundle. He shook it loose to reveal a cloak, protected by a layer of paper to keep the dirt off of it. He put the rubbish paper under another wing and placed the cloak about him. Handy's mind raced. He tried to recall everything he could about Cecilia and that morning he had caught her leaving the king's room after the coronation.
 
"I believe we are done here," Handy said suddenly, venom in his voice. "I will not stand by and have you bad mouth the king with spurious accusations."
 
"Accusations that he'll no doubt believe. That’s why I had him send you here."
 
"Do not presu—"
 
"Oh, will you get a hold of yourself damn it! I am Herman, the Lord Caretaker of the king's council and his master of spies. The fact that you do not know I exist is because I begged the king to not make my position public, because everygriffon assumes you are filling that position."
 
"Preposterous!"
 
"Absolutely preposterous, but griffons believe it, and my former master made the mistake of allowing anyone other than the king know who he was when Geoffrey came to power," Herman said calmly, though his voice was a bit terse. "The king was going to ignore this wedding like so many others, but I had been looking for an excuse to clamp down on this before things got out of claw. Your little agitation proved the perfect excuse, so I suggested he send you here in revenge so that I could meet you outside of the capital without anygriffon back at court hearing the slightest whisper of this."
 
"You're talking pretty openly now."
 
"Considering half of the servants here are getting a nice little bonus and the surrounding three rooms are filled with a few 'friends', we don't have much to worry about."
 
"Okay, hold on," Handy said, buying himself some time to think over this griffon’s words. "Even if what you say is true, we can't be sure it’s the king's," he said very carefully. "Lady Cecilia… gets around. A lot. It could be anyone's."
 
"That is exactly why her new husband-poor dim-witted fool that he is-has no idea that it might not be his."
 
"Surely he knows she—"
 
"I honestly don't think he does, but that’s neither here nor there." Herman pulled out a puffed cap and placed it at a slant on his head. "The fact of the matter is, the timing is… unfortunate."
 
"Alright, okay, saying I believe you, saying that this is all true… What of it?"
 
"What do you mean, 'what of it?'"
 
"Duchess Stormcrown is far from an agitator or an enemy of the Crown." He recalled what little he remembered from Geoffrey's notes on the various vassals of the kingdom before Joachim had destroyed them. "Say that this child is Johan's. What is she going to do? Announce it publicly, shame her daughter, and estrange her from her husband?"
 
"Probably not, no," Herman deadpanned. "But what do you think the king would do if he were to be convinced it was his?"
 
"Excuse me?"
 
"You know his Majesty. What do you think he'd do if suddenly he found out he had fathered a child unknowingly?"
 
"I… well. He is the king; he could just sweep the matter under the rug."
 
"That is what a sensible king would do. I am asking you what he'd do, being the kind of griffon he is." That gave Handy reason to pause. Joachim was a surprisingly dedicated and practical king when it boiled down to it, but that very same morning he saw Cecilia flee his room he had seen him burn away months, perhaps years of meticulous research notes and evidence of all the foibles and weaknesses of everyone of import within the kingdom. He literally threw away all the power and wealth that would have flowed his way to show that 'he was not his brother'. A man like that might do something foolish if he learned he had a child. You know, like try to somehow take responsibility for it despite the fact the mother was already married and her husband thought it was his. That could get bad fast.
 
"…Does Cecilia know of this?"
 
"Seemingly she doesn't think so, from what I've learned. Still, appearances can be deceiving. I prefer erring on the side of caution."
 
"So why send me here at all? Just have the king turn down the invitation altogether."
 
"Because Duchess Stormcrown offers him a way out."
 
"What?" Handy asked, a creeping feeling scuttled along the back of his neck at the implications of Herman's words.
 
"Whatever Cecilia may or may not know, Stormcrown definitely does. She's been spreading whispers. She seems dead certain that it’s the king's. She is liable to inform him of it."
 
"And?"
 
"Use it as leverage, taking care of the child with her daughter, and making sure not a word of scandal gets out."
 
"Forgive me for being blunt, but royal bastards aren't exactly unheard of."
 
"Royal bastards of the lone heir of a clan and a throne while bearing a different clan's name are significantly more worrisome however, wouldn't you agree?"
 
"I…" Handy drew up short, the sudden problems crashing down in his mind one after the other like a line of dominos. "…Oh my God."
 
"Exactly my point," Herman agreed, fixing his hat. "Stormcrown has no interest in the throne for now, thankfully. More than likely, she'd use it as leverage on the king, at least until Johan gets some proper heirs of his own, hopefully a few. Johan is young, well-liked and, because of you, some of the more unscrupulous griffons in the kingdom are a bit wary of him. That's why I had you sent here: You're a message—your presence is meant to raise all kinds of questions."
 
"I've spent the entire evening doing my best to avoid doing just that."
 
"Which only raises the question of why," Herman continued. "Which is what we want."
 
"We?"

"Yes, we."

"How does raising questions avoid people probing into the issue you want to keep secret?"
 
"We want to keep secret," he emphasised. "You are not to breathe a word of this to Johan."
 
"What."
 
"You heard me."
 
"Why even tell me at all if that’s what you want?"
 
"Because of that poor show up above. She had you on the back paw earlier. You need to make up for that."
 
"Confronting her again will only raise questions."
 
"We want questions raised," Herman continued, "because it weakens Stormcrown's position, if only because people wonder why the king sent you."
 
"Because I am his Sword! This is making no sense to me."
 
"Basically, if she tries anything now, people will think it's slander, especially now after her daughter is married."
 
"But it also hurts the king."
 
"Which she doesn't want either. Griffons like him, remember? Especially the common folk. This wedding has done much to redeem her daughter's reputation in griffons' eyes because of the stellar name of the Wyrdwings. She doesn't want to make it public. She just wants to make it appear as if the king is shaken by something. We want it the other way around."
 
"But we still have to tell the king! He'll listen to me. He won't do anything about this if I talk him around."
 
"Can you? Can you guarantee he wouldn't?"
 
"Have a bit of faith—he's not an idiot. He'd leave well enough alone."
 
"And if he doesn't?"
 
"If… if he doesn't, well… it's still his decision to make. H-He should know," Handy insisted. They stood there in silence for a time, the Spymaster and the Sword.
 
Uncertainty rapidly plagued Handy's mind. He knew it was wrong to do as this griffon was telling him to do, but at the same time, he could not be entirely sure Joachim wouldn't do something foolish based on principles. He had surprised him before; could he be sure he wouldn't do so again? Perhaps one night when his thoughts were dark, and inhibitions and sense lowered by drink, could he pass some rash order or command? No, he had to be more sensible than that, he simply had to be. Because if he wasn't…
 
"I believe I shall leave the decision to you then, Handy the Milesian," Herman said, now every inch the lower tier noble guest and no longer the serving griffon he once appeared to be. He walked past the human, a light, friendly smile on his beak. "Perhaps you are right and I am just a cynical bird whose soul is older than his feathers. I am just looking to protect the king and the realm, after all. Just like you."
 
Handy watched him leave. He paused for a second just beyond the door before snapping the talons of one claw, an action which surprised Handy.
 
"Ah, before I forget, don't worry about that girl in the gardens. I have an eye on her now. But before you retire for the night, do be so kind as to let our dear hostess know how much you appreciated her efforts for tonight. It really is a splendid party. I'll see you in Skymount."
 
And then he had left, the door drifting closed but coming to rest against the frame. After some time, he heard the rooms nearby open and the clack and padding of gryphonic paws and claws against stone as several of Herman's ‘friends’ left with him. Handy was left with his thoughts, mulling over what he had been told.
 
Upstairs, the ball still continued. Well over a hundred or more guests danced and laughed, drank, ate, and conversed in the midst of song and music and the glamour of a wedding celebration. The sound could be heard even here, a metre or more beneath the surface through the wooden and partial stone brick floors, carried through vents and pipes so that even the lowest area of the serving quarters could hear the joy above them.
 
For Handy, he heard none of that, lost in his thoughts as he was.
 
For him, everything seemed very, very quiet.
 

--=--



The moon hung high in the sky, and the music had died down long ago. Many of the guests had retired, and the ballroom was in a suitable if somewhat chaotic mess, ever indicative of either a successful evening or a ruinous one but definitely the farthest as possible from a boring one.
 
Duchess Corinthia Stormcrown, second of her name, relaxed in a lounger to one side, quietly chuckling to herself as the only friend she had that could give her a run for her gold in drinking snored her head off in the chair next to her. The rest had retired for the night or were taking the opportunity to dance on the floor with their dates, now that it was mostly empty.
 
Cecilia had already departed, leaving her to show face until the very last of the guests had departed as was traditional for Stormcrowns. She didn't mind. It was right when these parties were winding down that you could have a quiet glass of wine and speak candidly. No politics, no scheming—everyone was too drunk and full and tired for that nonsense. Just griffons and their wits and their wine, truly the best things in life as far as she was concerned.
 
Well… almost.
 
She hid a satisfied smile behind her glass as she took another sip. It was at times like this that she missed her husband. He would still be talking up a storm with his wild stories. He'd easily keep two dozen griffons up to the wee hours of the morning with nothing more than his charm and desire to tell tall tales. Sadly, one had to move on from the loss of such things.
 
She got up as her friend was roused and escorted back to her chamber by her servants. The night was now more or less at an end as she left the lounger herself, trying not to let her wine legs go out from under her. She prided herself on never having to once use her wings for balance no matter how drunk she got. She sure as Tartarus wasn't going to start now.
 
"Your Grace." The voice shocked her, as did the tall shadow that suddenly fell across her. She blinked up in surprise as the white-cloaked human stood before her. His face bore a friendly smile, brighter than the one he had worn earlier in the evening. "I believe this is yours?"
 
"Oh!" she exclaimed, spying the necklace of silver and sea-blue pearls she had worn that night. She patted her neck and looked back at the lounger she had laid down upon for an hour or so. She looked cautiously at the human and the necklace he held out in a gloved hand. She spied her own guards watching the situation and let out a breath of relief. "I… thank you. Where?"
 
"On the dance floor actually, found them as I was crossing it," Handy answered. He let her take the necklace from his hand before withdrawing it into his cloak. "A lovely party tonight, a spectacular sight. Even if I did find myself lost in your gardens more than the dance."
 
"Thank you, Sir Baron. I hope you enjoyed yourself."
 
"I certainly did." Handy gave a slight bow, "I'll be sure to give the king nothing but the greatest of praise for the Stormcrowns. Truly, he has no more honest friends in the entire kingdom." And with that, he turned around and walked towards the exit.
 
That sudden action caught her off guard.
 
"I… I'm sorry?"
 
"Your Grace?" Handy asked, turning back around with a confused expression.
 
"Is that it?"
 
"Is what it, my Lady?" Handy asked, tilting his head slightly.
 
"Nothing else?" she raised a brow questioningly, taking a brief glance around at the remaining guests.
 
"Not that I am aware of, Your Grace. Why? Was there something you wished me to bring back to the king's attention?"
 
"What? Oh no, no, I just, well, you have been very distant most of the night."
 
"I am an intensely private individual, Your Grace. I meant no offence,"
 
"None taken, I was just wondering if there was anything… else…"
 
"I assure you, Milady, I don't know what you are referring to," Handy said with a light chuckle. It sounded… wrong coming from him, from the image she had built in her mind. Still, she knew him from the coronation feast. He was not some mythical shadow that had no humour. "Please, if there is something I can help with, I would be most remiss if I did not offer my services on behalf of His Majesty."
 
"Oh it’s nothing, I assure you."
 
"Are you certain? You seem perturbed. Is there something you wish to say?" Handy asked, taking another step towards her, his face full of genuine concern. The few guests who had remained finally started to notice the conversation. "I would hate to leave you unsure of the king's intentions."
 
"I beg your pardon?" she asked politely.
 
"His Majesty is deeply concerned over all his subjects, and would hate to be remiss. I was only concerned you had something worrying you that the king could directly address and take responsibility for." His face betrayed nothing short of the utmost professional concern. The way he stared into her eyes told a very different story.
 
"I-I don't know where you are getting that from!" she said with a bit of a laugh. "There's nothing I want to bother the king over."
 
"Truly? Nothing at all?" He continued standing there, letting the question hang for a pointed second before continuing. "Well, if you are certain that is the case, then goodnight, Lady Stormcrown. It has been a pleasure being your guest."
 
He gave another curt bow of the shoulders before walking off, before stopping once more, talking just low enough she could hear him.
 
"Oh, as I will not be around tomorrow to do so myself, please, on the king's behalf, relay to Lady Cecilia his congratulations once more and our compliments on what a lovely, glowing couple she and her husband made this evening," he said with a smile, revelling in the look in the duchess' face before leaving the ballroom, lifting his voluminous hood as he went.
 
The guest buildings were on the far side of the gardens to the west. He didn't enjoy the brief trek through the splendidly arranged garden, such was his mind abuzz with concerns and worries. The building might or might not have been grand itself—he didn't know. He didn't bother to dedicate any of it to memory as he entered through the tall doors, walked up the marble staircases, and found his assigned room. There were griffons here and there, but he didn't bother to look at any of them, his contemplative expression hidden. Eventually, he found the guard who had been assigned to him standing outside the room he was to stay.
 
"Pack up."
 
"Wh-What?" The startled guard jumped.
 
"Pack up. We're not staying here."
 
"Why… but… I'm sorry, what jus—"
 
"Are you questioning me?"
 
"N-No, Milord, I just—"
 
"Just get your things together. I assume you didn't touch my pack like I instructed?"
 
"No, of course not!"
 
"Congratulations. What’s your name?"
 
"Halfwing, Sir. Gendri Halfwing"
 
"Well, Gendri, we're finding the nearest inn to the train station and getting the earliest train back to Skymount."
 
"But why?"
 
"Because reasons. Now if you hurry up, we might actually get an hour's worth of sleep under our belts by the end of it. Come on."
 

--=--

 
By all accounts, Joachim was amused.
 
Handy figured he would be. He had been honest about his experiences, from Ivorybeak's diplomatic freak-out up to and including the bumbling social-climber skilled enough to slink her way into a high profile, exclusive wedding, but so tactless that even Handy could spot her for what she was. He spared not one detail of his own discomfort. He knew it'd make his friend laugh; he knew it'd make the rounds among the knights; he knew it'd mean he'd have to take quite a bit of ribbing from his peers. He was fine with that. He really was.
 
It helped him ease the guilt.
 
Herman was as good as his word. Handy did actually meet him when they were back in the castle. But it was once, and only once. He had met him walking out of the king's private dining room. He had been dressed in a typical noble courtier's get up. Not so fancy as to be noticeable over anyone else's, yet not so drab as to be out of place among the now familiar faces of the serving staff. Joachim didn't even refer to him at all when Handy talked to him afterwards. Handy felt it best not to bring it up. However, the spymaster's presence kept churning the decision in his heart, his doubts about his friend's pragmatism versus his principles. He had to tell him, even just the possibility alone.
 
Yet he didn't.
 
They didn't know, of course. It was still very possible the child wasn't Joachim's, very possible. But the timing was suspicious, suspicious enough that it had gotten the spymaster worried, suspicious enough that the duchess was willing to risk insinuating it for her own gain. They didn't know for sure, couldn't know for sure. It could be someone else's entirely. It could even actually be the kid of her husband. He didn't need to bother the king with spurious accusations. He didn't need to worry him with maybes and what ifs, unverified claims or hearsay. That the duchess believed it was so was irrelevant. It'd only cause more trouble to bring it up. Herman was right.
 
And as he stood there behind the throne during court, he found his gaze drawn to the back of Johan's head more than once.
 
Wondering if he really believed his own reasoning.