A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Terrible. Cruel. Impossible," Asabel complained. "And no way at all to be treating a princess. Lancelot would have you cut down on the spot if he overheard. Besides, what would your father say?

What of your Patrick ancestors? Making a joke must be against your founding principles, mustn't it? I don't think I've ever seen a single one of you truly smile."

Oliver remembered back to Dominus. Indeed, the man could be awfully serious… His nature was that of a serious man, and his purpose was a serious one. But that did not stop his playful temperament. He would play the darkest of tricks, and take delight in the worst of things. There was a more humorous man in him than any gave him credit for.

Just when Oliver was about to defend himself, Asabel delighted herself with a discovery. "Or could it be that there are more to the Patrick's than the world gives them credit for? A rare sense of humour? Now that's the sort of treasure that would be worthy of a princess."

Her single jutting canine crept out of her lip as she smiled. A disarming sort of smile. A smile that came when she lowered her walls all that way down, until she was but Asabel, playing the game of princess.

Oliver returned it, and just for a moment, they could catch a glimpse of who the other one was, past the masks that they presented so often. A moment that didn't last nearly long enough. Lancelot turned his head at the glass door, sensing movement, and it quickly faded away.

Asabel sighed. "I suppose that shall do for today, Oliver Patrick. I will keep my word, and I shall tell Lancelot to do the same. But do not be foolish. If your enemy is the man that I think him to be, even you will not be able to handle it alone. After all, even your father was unable."

Before Oliver could ask what she meant by that, she pulled open the door, and announced the end of their meeting to Lancelot. "We've come to a conclusion," she said. Experience new tales on empire

Lancelot glanced behind at Oliver. "Good," he decided after a moment. "Shall I show them out, then?"

Verdant stood, hearing them from across the room. "You have been a most gracious host this evening, Your Highness. We thank you deeply for the privilege of your company," he said, giving a deep bow.

"The privilege has been all mine, Verdant. It has been delightful to see you after so long. I wish to ask you about your priesthood when we get another moment, may I? Or would that be intrusive?" She said.

"I would never dare to refuse such an earnest request," Verdant said.

"Then I shall call upon you sometime soon. I feel I have much to learn from you. Your choices have been far different to the ones that we are told we have available. I am a little jealous of Oliver, having access to such a valuable perspective so freely," Asabel said, sneaking a glance at Oliver, as he came in front of the balcony.

"I'm as surprised as you are that he's agreed to become my retainer, believe me," Oliver murmured.

"Ah, then I have not done a proper job of explaining myself, I think," Verdant said with a wink. "I'm sure, in time, it will become evident that it is I that has been given a privileged position in your service."

"You genuinely believe that," Lancelot noted. "From the boy that could not even read what was in front of him without his glances, and now you claim to be able to see so far into the future. Where are those glasses, Verdant?"

"I have less need for them than I used to," Verdant said, not at all put off by the hidden current of aggression under Lancelot's comment. "There's a fine line between eyesight and vision."

Lancelot snorted in derision at the wordplay. "Are you done with them, my Lady? I'll call the serving girls to escort them out."

"I'll come to the door and bid them a proper good evening," Asabel said. "I admit, Lancelot, I share the same opinion as Verdant. To put it out in the open with you, so that you might prepare yourself, I should warn you that I do not intend to allow the distance between Oliver Patrick and I to grow to what it once was."

"And I would assume that I cannot counsel you out of this?" Lancelot said, sounding thoroughly exhausted – but his behaviour was better than it had been earlier. It seemed as though he'd taken Asabel's thorough scolding to heart. Whatever the man might be, Oliver saw that he was at least loyal.

Seeing that, he felt near-certain that he could trust Asabel's word that the both of them would keep quiet about what had happened the evening before.

That should have been a cause for celebration, given the amount that he'd worried about it, but now that the problem had seemingly ceased to exist, he merely felt nothing. He hardly wished to think about it, though the events of the day continually came to his mind unbidden. They felt like a fever dream, something out of place from reality.

With the suddenness through which they'd happened, and the similar suddenness with which things had returned back to normal, it would have been easy to convince himself that it hadn't happened at all.

"Not today," Asabel told him. "But I will listen to your counsel, as I always do. I can't not promise that it will sway me, though."

"That is all I can ask for, my Lady," Lancelot decided. "Mary, prepare to see our guests out, would you? Barth, you prepare the door."

"At once, Ser," Barth said, whilst Mary gave a light courtesy, holding the edge of her skirt as she did so.

"Did you get a chance to sample the tea?" Asabel asked, speaking to Jorah. Jorah seemed surprised to be called upon, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him that she was talking to.