The court of Mareth.

The journey to the palace was not a comfortable one. James kept thinking about it. The conversation he'd had not half an hour back. Was he ready to take such a step? To change the plot so thoroughly and irrevocably? He wouldn't know until he tried. Why was he almost scared of the prospect of getting power?

The behemoth on the highest hill stood, white and imposing, with many towers and a keep of their own. It was almost like they'd built it to be a fortress incase the city were ever breached. There was a gate and guards and everything.

He'd only moved with the two servants his father had given him, and Ben, and the other spy whose name he'd found out was Gideon -Gid for short.

Hansworth, now dressed in the colours of house Halden, also escorted him. He couldn't well bring the children, but at least now Talia was there to take care of them. He'd offered to bring her but she'd declined.

There was a line to enter the palace compound. Being from one of only four Ducal families, James could have demanded he be let through by the lesser nobles, but he didn't particularly care when he arrived. He wanted the day to be done with already, particularly before it even started.

But the line moved on, and soon the carriage was being led to one of the towers specified by the guards. The king was holding court there before the hunt begun later. James sighed.

Now the whispers, the isolation, the unpleasantness of a court of politicians. He didn't quite mind the isolation though. He'd ended up settling for a simple black shirt and one of his original leather jackets, and a pair of dull coloured tight pantaloons. His hair, which was starting to grow unapologetically long, was slicked back with oil, and his face was powdered. He'd looked handsome when he'd seen himself in the mirror, and he'd not been shy about telling everyone in the manor. Even the butler and his stuff were not spared the indignity of witnessing his divine looks.

There was a special entrance for the servants, and so James found himself standing at the back of yet another queue of young nobles waiting to be presented to the king. Some were as young as Crest.

The older ones recognised him though, and some were throwing surreptitious looks back at him. He could think of more than one reason why. His clothing was unique, for one. His very presence was significant, and he was the son of a Duke. He was supposed to demand his right to be let in front of them so that he may pay his respects to the king first.

Yet more and more people came, and they went ahead of him; their faction mates let them claim spots in front of them. The whispers were loud as trumpets.

"What's he wearing?"

"Always heard he didn't respect decorum—"

"Why is he standing all the way back there?"

"Tch. The little wretch knows his place. Money may buy a title, but it can't buy status. It can't buy class."

James heard them, but he'd never been one to care for such drivel. Besides, his mind had way more pressing matters to consider. What would it mean to become as influencial as he was just about to become?

"James Halden, I presume?"

James frowned, looked up to the slightly taller and more built youth. He looked a little familiar, though James couldn't quite place him.

"Timothy," the boy offered. "I'm Timothy Raven."

James willed his frown to remain in place. He didn't dare let recognition show through in his eyes. Although he only needed to pretend for a few seconds to make it convincing.

"Oh, from house Raven? Well met," he offered a hand.

The other man hesitated in taking it, inspecting it as if he was sure it contained germs of some sort. The way he grabbed it, looking James in the eye, as if he was doing him a favour. It kind of rankled.

"We were supposed to meet much earlier though, in Uluth town. I heard you passed through there?"

"Oh? That place with the dragon rumours and all? I didn't know there was another noble there."

"I find that hard to believe. My intention to deal with the dragon meant my arrival was known of far and wide."

Was the guy fishing for something? Odds were, James was guilty of whatever it was, but he was more well versed with hiding his guilt than Tim was at reading people.

"Now that you mention it, I may have heard of the son of a Baron in the area. Of course, I had no trouble extending my stay a while. They do have a bit of tasty alcohol down in Uluth. You didn't show up though, so I assumed the rumour was nothing more."

"So you're saying you couldn't visit me like propriety demands, an—"

"Of course I couldn't!" James snapped. "You're just a Baron's son. Not even the first born son. Of course I couldn't!"

James turned his nose up at that, put his back towards the boy. He was of a higher rank, and he would be damned if he was going to be answering questions like a common thief.

He only wanted to be left alone. Sometimes his unwanted status and authority had its little uses. The whispering rose to a crescendo, so much so that James doubted the other side of the doors was unaware of his presence here.

Tim might have tried to retaliate, maybe even physically, but some of house Raven's allies were there to pull him aside.

It was true that the Halden house lacked proper surbordinates, but what they did have, were a few allies. Those houses were the only ones not being openly hostile to their claim of Duchy, but they were being quiet, watchful, cautious. They were waiting to see which way the wind blew.

James could see who he thought must be two of them at least. Albert Instamar, a childhood friend of his, and lady Mariane Brisby. They were both children of Northern nobility, close enough that people thought they might be engaged. They were at the front of the line though, and they were the only ones not openly whispering about James. They were giving him a lot of attention though, with their frowns in his direction every so often.

James must have stood there a whole hour. He was the last noble to be presented to the king.

"And last, we have the first born son of the Duchy of Halden, James Halden!"

The room was quiet. Oppressively so, as James made the long walk down the now worn carpet. No doubt all sorts of wild rumours had already spread among the nobles gathered in the room.

The king sat on an oppulent chair coated with gold at points. It had no cultural significance, other than a symbol of a nation's existence. The very banners on the castle walls, those that depicted some sort of bird carrying a wheat stock, if not unimaginative were just dull.

A fairly young kingdom, Mareth had been founded by a tribe of wandering farmers who'd found the land more conducive than the mountainous and rocky one down South in Alicia.

They'd gone to war a few times, but they didn't have great national heroes, legends, or any such. They were just a country. No more, no less. And the king had no legend to cement his authority like the dynasty of wyvern rulers in the North, or the Sun god's chosen family in the empire of Solaris.

The royal family was just the royal family. It had been like that as far back as anyone could remember, so it would remain like that. And so this bearded man with ordinary brown hair and plain features only a little accentuated by the rich ornaments and silk he wore looked down at the young noble approaching his throne. He looked bored, even more so than James felt. He also looked boring, but James was sure thinking that was some kind of treason.

"Lord Halden! How long has it been since you've graced the royal capital with your presence?!" the man's voice bellied his facial expression.

"It's been many a summer, your majesty. And your highnesses. It's been far too long."

"You will of course be joining us in today's hunt, won't you, James?"

Even in his bowing state, he had to show hesitation. It was not completely an act too.

"I would love to, your majesty, but I'd hate to impose—"

"Nonsense. You are the representative of a Duchy. I think one of you lesser lords will be willing to give your spot to lord Halden?"

James winced. "But—"

"Which weapon would you prefer? Spear, or sword?"

James wished the old geezer could read a room. He could feel the lasers aimed at his bowing form, and it was not pretty. Or maybe he could read a room, and this whole persona was a fraud. You just couldn't know with politicians.

"I'd prefer a bow, your majesty. If you please."

"Oh? A man accustomed to the hunt, I see? Good, good. Most choose a sword as though hunting is the same as a duel between nobles."

James didn't know what to say to that, and the king's customary tactlessness was shining through. He was saved by the unlikeliest of people.

"I will escort lord Halden to the armourer, father," spoke up a muscular voice.

Prince Mikhail stood next to the last prince, the youngest and least active politically. He wasn't the only one who'd stepped forward. The bright blonde woman was now frowning at her brother. James hadn't been told to rise yet, so he saw everything from his prostate position. The whole court was watching.

"Fine. You can rise, my lord. My son Mikhail will escort you."

James stepped to the side with Mikhail. It wouldn't do to turn your back on a king. Mikhail didn't say anything as he led him through a side entrance. No one even made to approach.

They were silent even as they moved through the winding steps of the central tower. James wished it would stay like this forever. He would live happily if he never heard a word from the snake's mouth.

"You don't like me a lot, do you?" Mikhail asked.

"Hmm?" James started slowly, "don't I?"

"I would know everything you know."

"I know nothing."

"I could consider having the Halden join my faction. You don't have a faction, do you?"

James shrugged. "I know nothing."

"You are going to insist on obstinacy, are you?"

The royal children were all different from their father in subtle ways. For one thing, Mikhail had the same brown hair, but his was brighter somehow. His features were more balanced, his facial hairs barely setting in. He had a sort of elegant beauty.

The first prince and Emily were both blonde, but Emily had all the charms of a woman, and then some. Perfect body shape, perfect facial symmetry, a kind of gold speckled eyes that just formed a picturesque portrait with her hair. Roland was more gently endowed, but he was also a very gentle creature.

He had a kind of royal bearing that was so at odds with his ordinary looks.

Right now, looking at Mikhail's sneer, James wondered what that author was thinking when he'd described him.

"You don't want to make an enemy of me," the prince warned.

James nodded. "True."

"Yet you insist on defying me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, prince Mikhail. And I thought you didn't have a faction."

"You could be the first member of it. I could make the Halden Duchy the most prosperous in all the land."

"I will see what my father thinks when the next semester ends."

The prince growled. "You're the heir. You have the authority to do this much, at least."

James only shrugged this time. The prince didn't try to convince him again. One way or another, they were enemies now.