Under the Oak Tree Novel - Chapter 225

Chapter 225 Side Story Chapter 31

Gabel was not the only knight staring at Maximilian’s sister. The others seemed equally as enamored. Noting their reactions, Ursuline Ricaydo looked exasperated.

“We are here on official business. How disgraceful, gawking at a girl while the conflict still rages.”

“I was not gawking,” Gabel grumbled sheepishly, standing straighter.

The knight’s face instantly darkened at the mention of the conflict. During the journey to Croyso Castle, the Remdragon Knights had engaged in a fierce battle with a band of raiders that outnumbered them threefold. They had lost one of Gabel’s squires, a lad he had been extremely fond of. Though Gabel had quipped that anyone who could be bested by a bandit had no right to don the armor of a Remdragon Knight, he had readily shouldered the expense of the squire’s costly funeral.

As Dristan’s ragtag militia rapidly established itself into a bona fide army, Gabel was not alone in losing a cherished comrade. Like rats swarming a storehouse, the militia was relentless, rushing back every time they were driven away.

It was clear they had the backing of Dristan’s royal family. How else could starving peasants have acquired warhorses and steel weapons? It was alarming to imagine that, somewhere out there, twenty thousand men were organizing themselves into an army with a clear chain of command.

“Please, come with me.”

This time, the head steward led them to the third floor instead of the reception room. Riftan directed one last glance at Maximilian, who hurriedly hid in the shadows. Her eyes seemed to darken, and her round face shone as pale as a ghost’s. Beneath her plain, reddish-brown dress, her petite body appeared rigid with tension.

Riftan looked away. He wanted to believe that her wariness stemmed from concern over the news they brought.

…..
“Wait here a moment, please. I shall see if His Grace will receive you now.”

Leaving the group of knights at the end of the marble corridor, the steward disappeared through a massive, ten-kevette (approximately 3 meters) mahogany door. It was the council room, where Riftan remembered being turned away on a previous occasion.

He waited patiently at the entrance for the Duke of Croyso, who seemed to be taking his time acknowledging their arrival. When Riftan finally strode into the room with the other knights close behind, he found the duke lounging at his desk on a lion skin chair.

“I am told you bring a message from His Majesty,” the duke said, interlacing his fingers. His frigid green eyes glinted with discontent. “Why did he not send a messenger directly from Drachium?”

“His Majesty wished to be fully informed of the situation on the eastern border,” Riftan replied monotonously, approaching the desk. “As such, we have been sending regular reports.”

The duke’s impeccably groomed mustache twitched. His voice dripped with condescension as he said, “So, tell me. What does His Majesty command?”

“The king is concerned that this conflict might drag on. With Dristan’s royal army now involved, it could very well escalate into war. His Majesty wishes the situation resolved before it comes to that.”

“If it is true that Dristan’s royal family is supporting the raiders, we will simply penalize them in accordance with the peacetime law,” the duke said apathetically, leaning back in his chair. “There will be no compromise with the scum who invaded my land. Even the king cannot force me to endure such humiliation.”

“And how do you intend to penalize the King of Dristan?” Riftan retorted. “Will you personally lead an army to the east and drag King Thorben before the tribunal in Osiriya?”

The duke’s face flushed in anger. “I will have the support of the other six kingdoms!”

“The peace agreement was established by the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. Do you truly believe they will make the King of Dristan stand trial?”

Riftan tried his best to hide his animosity and kept his voice calm as he continued.

“Dristan will try to break the Armistice of the Seven Kingdoms, using the peacetime law as the kindling to spark the fire. None of the kings believe the pope has the right to pass judgment on them.”

“You dare to lecture me?”

“I am merely conveying the king’s message.”

Riftan maintained his composure despite the duke’s outrage.

“His Majesty has made it clear he will not condone any action that would threaten the peace. Therefore, I urge you to resolve the current conflict as soon as possible and put an end to your dispute with Dristan.”

Riftan pulled out a letter bearing the royal seal of Wedon and placed it on the desk. The duke did not reach for it right away.

Instead, he glowered at it for a long time before barking, “If that is all, you may leave!”

Riftan complied, swiftly leading the knights out of the room.

Gabel sighed as they walked down the corridor. “Was it wise to be so high-handed? The duke’s ire will be very troublesome to deal with.”

“I maintained all the necessary courtesies,” Riftan snapped as he quickly descended the stairs.

The group of women from earlier was no longer on the second floor. Before he wordlessly moved on, Riftan glanced at the spot Maximilian had hidden earlier. On the first floor, servants sprung seemingly from nowhere to lead them to their rooms.

“We will have a meal and a bath prepared for you at once.”

Riftan shucked off his armor once the servants left and went to the window overlooking the garden. Pale rays of winter sunlight played along the dark green conifers, and birds pecked at the withered, yellow grass in the flower beds.

He cracked open the pane to scour the area of the grounds where he knew Maximilian frequently strolled. Then, leaning against the wall, he breathed a sigh. He felt as though he had aged three years in just a few months. With another weary exhale, he turned away to lie on his bed.

***

In the end, the duke agreed to enter negotiations with Dristan. It was not as though the man had any other choice. Riftan departed for the border again, this time with the duke’s messenger, to begin talks with Dristan’s royal army. Before he knew it, Aquarias (the season of water, equivalent to spring) was upon them as he traveled back and forth between the border and Croyso Castle.

When the matter came to a positive conclusion, the Duke of Croyso invited the Dristanian messengers and all the eastern nobles to a lavish banquet. It was most likely to appease his discontented vassals who had suffered considerable losses throughout the months-long dispute.

The banquet hall was decorated more extravagantly than ever, and an abundance of dishes involving all kinds of rare fruits and spices filled the tables. Riftan twisted his lips as he watched the duke seated on the dais. The man had been nothing but domineering during the discussions. He now seemed to be making merry conversation with Dristan’s messengers, who were seated next to him. Riftan found it laughable. Looking further down, he felt his disgust evaporate as his gaze fell on Maximilian sitting demurely beside her father.

He surreptitiously watched her popping grapes in her mouth one at a time until he felt his throat burn with thirst. Grabbing his goblet, he gulped down wine. Every time he saw her, she somehow seemed more beautiful than the last. It pained him to even look at her. With a troubled sigh, he called for a servant to refill his goblet.

Hebaron clicked his tongue. “Anyone would think we’d lost. Why the long face?”

“It wasn’t a victory either.”

“Holding off twenty thousand raiders with little more than four thousand men for half a year is a commendable feat,” Hebaron muttered, licking his greasy fingers. “Besides, the arbitration went more smoothly than we expected, and the king himself is pleased with the result. No one can deny your contribution either. You’d best prepare yourself. I guarantee there will be a ceremony to appoint you commander when we get back.”

When Riftan made no reply, Hebaron stared blearily back at him.

“You’re not going to let us down, are you?”

“If I am named commander, the Remdragon Knights will become retainers of Anatol. Will you be content serving the liege of a provincial fief at the end of the kingdom?”

“You bring that up now?” Hebaron retorted with a snort. “If you recall, most of our members are bastards, commoners, descendants of a fallen house, or the second sons of low-ranking nobles. In short, none who stand to inherit anything. If I cared about such things, I would’ve crushed you long ago.”

Riftan bit back the urge to ask the knight whether he even had the ability to do so. Taking a swig of ale, Hebaron continued more calmly.

“Moreover, we all know how hard you’re working to rebuild that pithy piece of land. We look forward to living there.” His lips twitched as he shot a disapproving glare down the table at Ursuline Ricaydo. “Of course, there are those who wish you would establish yourself first at Drachium.”

When Riftan did not respond, Hebaron concluded, “Still, the choice is yours. All of us are resolved to follow whatever you decide.”

The knight’s golden-brown eyes seemed to urge Riftan to make up his mind. Riftan, who had been staring into his goblet, eventually spoke.

“I don’t intend to evade the matter this time either,” he said gravely. “If King Reuben wishes to bestow that mantle on me, I will accept.”

“You must.” Hebaron’s face broke into a satisfied grin, and he slammed down a goblet of ale in front of Riftan. “When you officially become commander, I pledge to treat you with the utmost respect.”

“I look forward to it.”

With a sigh, Riftan accepted the goblet. He knew that once he started drinking with Hebaron, he would be committed for the rest of the banquet, where the merrymaking was sometimes known to go on until sunrise. While he normally would have vehemently avoided such a situation, tonight, he found himself engaging the knight in a drinking contest.

The nobles around them sat swathed in pompous airs. As the competition grew rowdy, Riftan could feel their contemptuous glances. Even so, he was desperate to draw Maximilian’s attention. He would have pulled the most preposterous of acts if it meant meeting her eyes for even a moment.

Sensing her quizzical gaze on him, Riftan emptied his goblet every time Hebaron filled it.