CHAPTER XVIII #5
I remove my hand and take in Keane’s appearance from afar, watching as he turns to the men at the table in greeting.
He’s the only one of the full group wearing all black, not even Desmond chose to wear the complete Warrior attire this morning.
Keane’s shirt is rich in its darkness with long sleeves, the fabric tighter around his arms and back and accentuating the proud muscles of his body.
It has a normal cut down the middle, one that wasn’t as deep as the one he wore last night, but I can still see that black chain sparkling from underneath before he turns away.
I sigh at the sight of him and walk into the storeroom, thinking to myself about Keane’s outfit.
He’s obviously chosen to make his Warrior affiliation known this morning, but the full and commanding black can’t only be a reminder for our group.
He’s reminding someone else this morning of his chosen Court, adding no hint of green to his ensemble before he meets with his father.
My head shakes in both confusion and curiosity. Keane played the role of Prince well last night, and even though he was clad in a dark ensemble, the shadow oak leaves on his attire were stitched in a vibrant green for the Court of Knowledge. So why the rebuff now?
Memories of the disdain in his voice this morning when I mentioned the fourth floor residence floods back into my mind.
It was almost as if he dreaded visiting his room, as if the thought of going there unlocked some hidden animosity towards the Court that raised him. But how could that be, and why?
I sigh and look at the too many shelves in the storeroom, each hosting various vegetables, fruits, bowls, pans, and cookware.
Everything. I spot a shelf holding mugs and grab a handful for our group, then bring them to a small corner where the large barrel of ale sits waiting in the shadows.
I pour and bring two filled mugs out for Chef and I first, smiling when Chef drops the knife in his hands and wipes his fingers on his apron in appreciation.
“To no longer having to sneak behind your back, Chef,” I salute.
“Here here, dear Alexis,” he laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement.
We both take a swig and welcome the early morning warmth in our bellies. I leave my mug on the table and head back in the storeroom to grab the other five, frowning when I can only fit four in my hands at once. How that curvy lady in Bartley’s Village can juggle six at a time is beyond me.
The men pause their quiet talking when I walk up with their drinks.
“No voluptuous chest here for you, Cal,” I tease and lean into him.
“Darn,” he replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he helps me with the other mugs.
“I’ve got two more,” I smile and turn to walk away.
Keane’s fingers brush just below my rear in my departure, the open gesture making me jump in shock.
What in the Ancients?
The Prince catches my gaze with a small smirk playing at his lips. I walk on and do my best to ignore him, but that mischievous smile of his has me panicking just a little.
Does Keane care if the men just saw that?
Do I?
There’s no doubt that Desmond has some idea as to his brother and I, and I’m sure Cal suspects something is going on. But what of Holis and Mana? Have they noticed anything between the two of us during our travels?
I return from the storeroom and bring the last ale to Holis, the quiet twin pulling out an empty seat for me to join the group. I smile at Mana directly across the table and notice Desmond watching me curiously, the atmosphere changing from light and friendly to quiet tension in a single heartbeat.
“Please,” I smile at the men sitting around the table, “I’d like to enjoy this breakfast with you all…”
With my simple words the group relaxes back into their chairs, forgoing the previous seriousness that could’ve remained all morning. I smile gratefully and take a heavy swig of ale, letting the drink still the nerves that were just beginning to re-route in my chest.
“Apple crumble, brown-sugared ham, potatoes, eggs, and some smoked trout for our Warrior brothers who don’t grace my kitchen as often as I’d like,” Chef announces, balancing four large platters on his arms.
Desmond arches a brow in defiance. “You’ve forced me to take my meals in my room, Chef.”
“True,” Chef chuckles, “your presence here scares away my help.”
“I’ve told him to work on that,” Keane smirks at his brother.
“No chance in the Old World,” Chef laughs, bounding back down to his kitchen.
He brings back a small stack of nice wooden plates and cutlery for the group, his whole ambiance swaddling us with his happy and providing nature as our table relaxes again to the smell of cinnamon sugar and black pepper mixed together.
I glance to Keane over my ale, knowing that it was he who requested Chef to prepare the trout for our group.
For me. He catches my gaze and gives a small nod, lifting his ale in salute.
I grin at his playful brown eyes and take another large swig, the lot of us moving through our breakfast easily in Knowledge fashion.
Our hands meet each other’s over conversation, our ales inching lower with every bite as the men leave no food untouched.
Eventually, Keane glances to his brother, the two of them rising from their seats and announcing our group’s departure.
The table takes a collective exhale as we all stand up with the Princes, everyone doing their best to ready themselves to meet with the King.
Keane leads our small group to the third floor of the castle, a floor used for housing visitors on one end and meeting rooms of different sizes on the other.
We follow him and his brother to the very end of the west wing and only stop when we reach the last door, watching as Keane pushes it open without knocking and beckons everyone inside.
I’m the last to enter with Golem, my step hesitant as I stop abruptly to take in everything around me.
The room is shockingly familiar with its circular walls, the space of it reminding me so much of the King’s study on the fourth floor but only larger.
In fact, I think we may be in the same tower of the castle as the King’s study, just directly below it.
The three beautiful high arching windows greet me first from across the room, but in lieu of King Zander’s desk resting below the windows, a large and intricately carved mahogany table is set for ten underneath it.
Desmond is already directing the men around the table, pulling out seats for each of them on the far left side.
I glance to the right of them, to a plush green rug that has brown settees settled on top.
All three pieces of furniture are formed into a half square to face the large meeting table, the room forgoing a fireplace and instead opening up for gathered conversation.
There’s no sweeping bookshelves like those that graced the King’s study, but there is, however, in the same corner as I remember, a large wooden staircase that juts up like the limbs of a tree, the tips of it disappearing into the shadows of the tower above.
Keane’s hand greets my lower back as he pushes me forward, pulling me out of my trance at the door.
My feet carry me forward on their own accord, something they’ve been doing a lot lately, as I glance to the large table in front of me.
Desmond catches my eye and nods at the chair next to him, the seat stationed directly to the left of the head of the table.
My brows furrow in question but I do as I’m bid, feeling as Golem takes a quiet stance behind me.
He moves away from the three arched windows and into the shadows, his arms folding gently over his robes as Stormfall remains sleeping on my shoulder.
I reach a hand up to his beak and stroke it gently, knowing that he’ll need to be awake for the conversation to come.
Keane quietly closes the door and walks towards the staircase, stopping at a small table that hosts various glasses next to it.
He grabs two large decanters, water and whiskey, then walks them over to our quiet group before placing the drinks in front of Cal.
He heads back to the small table and grabs a few small glasses just as the sound of heavy boots fill the room.
Our table promptly stands from our chairs, watching as King Zander descends down the towering staircase. Keane is the only one not standing at attention as he continues with the drinks, pouring a single glass of whiskey without looking up to his father.
My heart races as I shift in my stance, the anxiety and tension taking over again with every one of Zander’s steps. Keane finally turns to his father at the bottom of the stairs and holds out the whiskey in offering, his shoulders set proud and straight as he gives him a curt nod.
“Son,” Zander walks forward with a smile.
He’s wearing a beautiful green tunic with gold etchings of roses throughout, his brown and white peppered hair falling gracefully above his sharp Discerni features and the cut of his ears.
He leans into Keane and takes the drink, his kind blue eyes watching his son’s face for a few moments before smiling again.
“Father,” Keane replies, turning back to the table as Zander looks around the room. His eyes immediate land on Desmond, a flare of deep affection flashing behind his gaze as he walks directly towards him.
“Des…”
Desmond gives his father a small nod, the hint of a rare grin gracing his lips. He is so obviously Zander’s son, even though he isn’t, and the way the two of them look at eachother puts a smile on my face.
The King stops in the middle of the table and takes in Holis, Mana and Cal, his eyes passing over each of them in approval before giving all three a genuine smile.
“And the men who have watched over and protected our girl from the beginning…”