Our father, well-acquainted with the palace's labyrinthine corridors, led us through its maze with ease. The initial overwhelming opulence gradually gave way to a different kind of elegance. I could feel the shift immediately; the grandeur of the foyer, with its gilded details and soaring ceilings, was replaced by a subtler form of beauty. The walls, still adorned with delicate golden accents, seemed less ostentatious, and the ceilings, once presenting intricate carvings, now presented a more understated grandeur. The heights became more modest, and the decorations simpler.
Eventually, we reached our destination: a waiting room lined with rows of plush couches. I noted how the seating arrangement started at a door on the far side and extended in an orderly line, reaching all the way to the last row of sofas positioned just before the entrance we had used. The room's decor was intentionally minimal.
Aside from four large portraits of notable figures on the wall opposite the couches, there were no other adornments. This simple, functional design underscored the room's purpose as a place for visitors to wait, focusing on comfort and utility rather than opulence.
In the first couch nearest the door sat a man in his late twenties, his sandy-blond hair and clean, albeit slightly worn, clothes marking him as someone who had risen early to secure a place. His attire, though tidy, lacked the refinement of ours, indicating he was likely a commoner who had waited outside the palace since the first bell. I admired his dedication—a dedication I knew I lacked. I assumed he was a commoner who had woken before first bell and waited outside the palace for first bell to ring so he could be let in immediately. I commended his dedication: waking up earlier than I was ever willing to.
As we approached, he stood up and said, "Your lordships, allow me to give up my—"
"You needn't do anything of the sort," the Duke interrupted firmly. "Some may demand you relinquish your spot, but I will not." The commoner hesitated, then reluctantly resumed his seat. We took our place on the second couch, just a foot away from his.
The man, visibly uncomfortable, asked, "Are you s—"
The Duchess smiled reassuringly. "Yes, we're sure, dear."
The Duke added, "You beat us fair and square. I won't allow anyone to leap-frog ahead of us and displace you."
The commoner's face brightened with gratitude. "Thank you, your lordships."
Minutes of uncomfortable silence followed until Anna broke it with a question. "What's your name?"
"Ospak Bergfinnsson, young mistress," he replied.
Anna's smile widened. "What are you petitioning for, Ospak?"
He swallowed nervously before responding. "I'm the mayor of Neneske, a town about thirty miles from here on the road to the Empire. The trade caravans, after their long journey from Tostad, often cause havoc in our town. I'm petitioning for an increase in my budget for additional guards."
The Duchess nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure your petition will be granted."
Ospak's shy smile returned. "I hope so."
We lapsed into silence once more until Ospak inquired, "Begging your pardon, your lordships, but who are those in the portraits? I see a crown on one man's head. Are they the royal family?"
Acknowledging his curiosity, my father responded, "Yes, that's King Koll Oyaluria, his wife Queen Astrid, and their children, Princess Halla and Prince Thorfinn."
I looked at the portraits of the royal family, soon to be my acquaintance. The King, with his light brown hair and fair skin, clearly reflected his northern heritage. Beside him, the Queen, with her dark hair and sun-kissed complexion, showcased her southern roots. They both seemed to be in their twenties, while their children— the princess, who appeared to be around ten, and the prince, no older than five— added a touch of youthful innocence to the regal display.
I was engrossed in the portraits of the royal family when another figure entered. A bald, overweight man, his face marked by deep folds and a perpetual scowl, walked in. His cheeks hung heavily, and a pronounced double chin drooped from his thick neck, giving him a rather unappealing appearance. He was followed by a downcast companion, who kept a few steps behind. The man surveyed the room slowly, his eyes moving back and forth between the man on the first couch and our group for what I presume was a minute.
He took a few deep, wheezing breaths, his jaw working up and down as if he were chewing on the very air—a strange sight indeed. "Shouldn't this commoner have given up his spot to you?" he demanded.
Before Ospak could reply, the Duke interjected, "I'm sorry, and who are you?"
"I am Ambassador Iric Arnisson of Loresia," the man declared pompously. "And who might you be to deny me my rightful spot, Lord…?"
"Duke. Duke Romano Calo," the Duke said scathingly. I could already see the Ambassador's face pale but the Duke continued, "--and I don't appreciate Loresia treating our citizens with such contempt. This man, made it here before we did. Furthermore, we arrived before you."
The Ambassador stammered, attempting an apology, but the Duchess cut him off. "As our duchy is primarily responsible for making sure your trade makes it to our shore from across the sea. I'm shocked by how gauche an ambassador of Loresia could be."
The Duke nodded in agreement. "The Calo Duchy will be reassessing its stance on the Republic's trade through our ports."
Flustered, the Ambassador muttered, "I-I'm terribly sorry, Lord Calo. If there's anything—"
The Duchess's tone grew colder. "You could start by apologizing to the man you called disgusting."
The Ambassador winced and mumbled a grudging, "I'm sorry."
Ospak, eager to diffuse the tension, quickly waved his hands. "Apology accepted!"
With a pointed comment, the Duke continued their verbal flogging, "Loresia doesn't even have nobility. Perhaps you've been here too long. I will ask the King to request a different ambassador to alleviate your exposure to our country's apparent infectious nature."
The ambassador's already pale face went even more white and he said, "No your lordship, I'm--"
The Duke hissed, "I insist." The ambassador hung his head in defeat. He and his companion moved past us to the third couch. I noticed a metal collar around the neck of his companion. She was a slender, beautiful woman with blonde hair clothed in a revealing outfit. I was already disgusted at him but seeing this made my distaste double.
We spent the remainder of the morning awaiting the third bell in silence. The ambassador didn't make a sound out of fear for additional punishment. The commoner man nodded in thanks to the Duke before returning to stare at nothing. I assumed he preferred to stay clear of the power struggle between the two.