Rens watched as the priest exited the chambers before exhaling an unbecoming growl of frustration.
"Sire?" One of his men questioned cautiously - and it didn't come as a surprise to the commander. He rarely fumed behind closed doors. When his anger was incited, it was incited in the face of those who angered him. And yet... that little brat of boy was forcing him to closet it all. Not only was it vexing, but it was demeaning, as well.
Had they have been in Casteria, his insolence would've been met with fifty lashes - at the very least. Rens would've wanted to hold the whip himself - deliver the punishment directly. Truly his grandfather must've overestimated his ability to muster patience in the face of such disgrace and disrespect.
Still, he wasn't entirely blinded by Nikolai's actions. He figured the boy would be feral - all Krovs were, after all - but the mange of the Kazbirati arrogance blighted him to the very core.
The commander huffed and raised a hand to his sentry.
"Send for Lucius."
Their response was immediate and rather noisy as they obeyed their master, and, upon entering the silence of solitude, the commander sighed and relaxed into his wooden chair. It was hard and uncomfortable - shaped with hard angles, as if the Krovs who constructed it did not know the carpentry behind soft curves.
His eyes drifted up and were immediately pulled to the carving adjacent to him. What had Nikolai called it, again? The Sow of the Sky? What sort of backwards people had a woman looking down to guard a chamber of men?
"Pitiful," he mumbled to himself.
"What is?"
Rens' muscles twitched violently in alarm.
"For the love of Deus, Lucius!" He snarled, whirling around to find the man, dressed in dark gray, pressed against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest. "How long have you been there, then?"
He offered no response, only bolstering Rens' distaste for him. When his grandfather had assured him that Durans had vouched for the man's troth and efficacy, the commander knew to be wary - his youngest brother was wily and often acted in underhanded ways. Getting his token of certitude was not as beneficial as it might've sounded.
"Not a man of many words then," the commander muttered, more to himself than to Lucius. "Or perhaps a man who knows only a few."
"I am not a dullard, my lord."
"Oh, now you speak?" Rens countered. "Well, at least you are a man who will defend his honor if necessary. That is something, I suppose."
The sordid man pushed off from the wall with his right foot, his left hand reaching into the folds of his tunic.
"Honor is an illusion, my lord." His footfalls were as silent as a cat's. When he was within arms distance, he withdrew an ampule made of amber glass and placed it upon the table before the commander. "Use caution with this elixir. Cover your nose when opening the ampule. Do not let it touch your skin. It will find open wounds that you did not know you had."
Rens gingerly plucked the ampule from where it was placed, examining the contents.
"There isn't a half an ounce of liquid in here," he said turning to Lucius. "This amount is potent enough to work on a boy of his size and stature?"
The man regarded him as if he had asked the question in a foreign tongue, but before the commander could prompt him further, he spoke.
"That is the queen of poisons, my lord. That amount is potent enough to work on him ten times over."