Page 4 of The Sun King's Noon

“The city has required every hand. We have rebuilt houses, streets and temple statues. We have buried the dead. We have paid for stone, timber, and grain. We have endured, and now we reap our hard work.”

A few heads dipped in agreement.

“As you all know, I sought allyship and knowledge with the Velari that we could not find in our own libraries.” Richard steepled his fingers. “You will be disappointed to know the Nightbourne Realm wants no part of our battle against Gloamvarn.”

The generals blanched and exchanged glances.

“And so,” Richard continued, “we shall seek our allies elsewhere.” He nodded to the portly man seated by Corwin. “Lord Steward.”

Byrom jumped to his feet, a monocle hanging precariously at an eye. He fumbled a stack of papers, dropped a few, and scooped them up again with a cough.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.” He adjusted his monocle with trembling fingers. “As the king has said, allyship must be pursued with urgency. Therefore, in two weeks’ time, we will host a Summer Ball here at the castle.”

The chamber erupted.

“In two weeks?” spluttered Lady Treasurer Kestrel. She’d just turned thirty-two, and yet bore deep wrinkles around her eyes. “And how will we finance such a venture? We have bled the treasury dry with repairs and provisions?—”

“And the kitchens?” Lord Gregory of Granaries interrupted. The handsome, dark-haired man had taken post after his predecessor suffered a nervous fit after the blood-troll attack. “How will they conjure feasts with meagre supplies?”

“What of our schedules?” Brast, Lord of Housing, wheedled. “I am due to visit Duke Jenkins to arrange refugees in his spring manor.”

Richard lifted a hand, and the clamour hushed. “There is nothing more important than gaining allies. Not comfort, not your preferred schedules, and certainly not your fear of hurried work.”

A few scowled while others looked chastened.

“The Summer Ball,” Byrom ploughed on, “will be held in the Great Hall. We will drape the rafters with red and gold sashes. The floor will be polished by the end of next week. The masons have assured me the windows can be made presentable within ten days. We will require additional servants, and I have distributed notices throughout the city. The guest chambers arebeing aired and re-bedded as we speak.” He glanced at his notes. “As for food, we have received fresh shipments of meat and vegetables this morning. Menus are being carefully considered for we do not wish to offend any—oh, which brings me to?—”

He straightened with a beam. “I am pleased to report that Naradesh and Frostheim have already accepted our invites, and their royal envoys shall soon be on the way.”

A surprised murmur rolled around the table. Lord Physic, a sallow-faced man who oversaw sanitation strategies, gaped. “Naradesh? You are certain?”

“W-well, yes. Quite. Their reply was written in our tongue.”

Lord Physic shook his head in wonder. “There has not been communication with them since…well, at least not in my lifetime.”

Richard smiled. “Which is why I sent Lady Agnes as my envoy.”

The wizened Lady of the Libraries had been half-asleep over a tome when he’d told her she was to travel to Naradesh. She’d squinted up at him and muttered,“Throwing me to creatures of the deep, are you, Your Majesty? Well, I might as well drown proper. Let the fishes have me instead of all the dust amongst these books.”

Yet, there’d been a spark of excitement in her wrinkled eyes, and when the carriage was ready, she’d hobbled to it faster than Richard had ever seen.

Malgrin combed knobbly fingers through his beard in aggressive strokes. “You sentthatwoman? Your Majesty, she is nearly a hundred and, frankly, eccentric to the point of liability. We’d surely appear foolish before an ancient kingdom like Naradesh.”

“A wrong impression,” said Lord Warden Wycliffe. “Why, they might think us a joke by the manner she speaks.”

Richard inclined his head with a hum. “Lord Commander Dain informed me that the Naradeshi people hold strong respect for their elders. So being, I had faith that Lady Agnes would charm them into acceptance.”

Corwin muttered about the odds of Lady Agnes kicking the bucket on the trip back, to which Elara kicked his leg under the table.

Byrom cleared his throat again, ignoring Corwin’s yelp. “Now, Frostheim has, of course, accepted. Their princess is on her way, excited, the letter says, to reunite with her dear old friend.”

Richard winced. It’d been six years or so since he last met Princess Seola, who’d often visited as a dignitary for her mother, the Queen of Frostheim. It would be good to see her again, but she was a true force of nature—loud, boisterous and far too affectionate—and their reunions always left Richard exhausted.

“Estara”—Byrom hesitated—“has not yet dispatched word.”

Several councillors shifted uncomfortably, and Richard knew why. Their eastern neighbour had been a strong ally while the late King Haldric had been alive. But once Richard had taken power, the relationship had become strained. In part, Richard knew it was his fault. After his engagement with the Estaran prince was called off nearly seven years ago, King Marius had grown resentful. Had even?—

Richard bit the inside of his cheek and gave his head a firm shake.Do not think of it.