Royal Gala

  King William studied his reflection in the mirror carefully, making sure he was at his best. He would go straight from his quarters to the Grand Ballroom where the Royal Gala was already underway.

            “Veneto, are you sure of your information?” King William asked, turning to his aid.

            “I am positive,” he said with a slight bow. “The slaves will attack sometime close to dawn. You know my source, and he is never wrong. Dawn is the time. Your nephew moved the time up.”

            The king scoffed. “That troublesome b*****d. I will deal with him later. First and most important thing is that we have to make certain the rebellion is stopped with relatively no casualties. How many did you say in the attack?”

            “Roughly two-hundred slaves. Four score of them will be archers, and the rest armed with swords and spears. Captain Alomar suggested letting them get as far as the drawbridge, then come from behind and surround them.”

            “It sounds fine, just ensure again that there are minimal casualties to my soldiers. That is my only concern."

            “What about your nephew?”

            “I will keep an eye on him.”

            The king combed back in place a few loose strands of hair before leaving the mirror and heading out. “Oh, and Veneto, make sure Captain Alomar gets the word that there are to be no survivors of the rebellion.”

:::

           

Glorious music.

Fine wine.

Singing and dancing.

Beautiful women in beautiful dresses.

This was the scene at the Royal Gala to kick off the Harvest Festival.

            I was seated alone at the head table watching everything transpire. My uncle had yet to arrive, for reasons I did not know. I motioned on of the servants over.

            “I was told by my uncle there was to be no Honey Ale served tonight.”

            “Yes, your majesty, King William said this was not a tavern so ale would not be served.”

            I cursed under my breath. “So there is no hope?”

            “No, your majesty, but we do have Burberry Scotch if you so desire.”

            I nodded. “That will have to do.”

            Just as the servant disappeared into the kitchen, the doors to the ballroom flew open.

            “All rise! Introducing His Majesty, King William XIII!”

            Everyone applauded, including me as I reluctantly rose to my feet. He nodded gracefully, walking with perfect stride as he always does. Heading straight towards me he only nodded, then came to rest in his seat beside me.

            The servant returned from the kitchen with a chalice of the Burberry Scotch. I thanked him then took a sip.

            “You know, that is imported?” my uncle asked.

            I savored the sweet taste. “Ah, it tastes divine.”

            “Stefan, why not dance with some of the guests?”

            I nodded. “I suppose I should,” I said, realizing suddenly that my uncle was striking up a regular conversation with me. Usually our conversations were forced, either having to do with Kolarian affairs, or something we disagreed about. Either way, it was odd to have him speaking regularly to say the least.

            “What is wrong, Stefan?”
            I shook my head, snapping out of my thoughts. “I just wanted to finish my drink first.”

            “Oh, I was not saying to dance now. In fact, we are about to have some entertainment. One of the slave girls is about to do a dance for us. I have a feeling you will particularly enjoy this, nephew.”

            I nodded, trying to act oblivious. “I am sure I will.”