The steward awaited him outside of the King’s throne room, where he addressed the concerns of the peasants.
                The Steward himself was an elderly man, having served three men now. The crows feet around his dark grey eyes ran deep and long, reaching almost his salt and pepper sideburns which ran down to a thin, well tended beard and pencil moustache, and up to his cropped hair. Despite the man’s obvious age, he still kept a well defined stature with little sight of a paunch or hunch. He was still strong, and looked, regardless of his ornate, black and silver livery, like a tough man.
                “Lord Damyen, I am most sorry for your loss.” The steward called out as he approached, with just two of his guard and Astor. He bowed, non-too-deeply.
                “As am I Lord Steward.”
                “Three years it has been, my Lord, to what do I owe this pleasure?” the old man had always known how to flatter.
                I seek an audience with the King, he invited me personally, you should know.” He smiled, his hands clasping the front of his shirt. The Steward kept the same, dull expression.
                “I do know, I was present when His Majesty the King wrote the letters. I am afraid, my Lord, that He is currently indisposed.” He said nothing more, no suggestions or advice or any help. Damyen narrowed his eyes.
                “Lorin, we have each known the other a long time. My father spoke highly of you, and I have often shared his view. Tell me, when shall the King be free so that I may speak with him?” sometimes you have to play the yes-man to advance, this he knew well. After all, the steward was a King’s steward and therefore, a higher rank than he.
                “The King shall be holding an audience later so that the people of his fine country may share with him their concerns. Or you could speak with I.” Damyen had the sense he was being difficult.
                “As much as I value your advice Lord Lorin, I must ask of the King something of a more personal matter, if you should allow it.” The old man folded his arms and surveyed him. It seemed to take forever, but eventually, he complied.
                “I shall speak with His Majesty, wait here.” And he left.
                Inwardly, Damyen cheered with his success. Things today were finally looking up.
                He waited for what felt an age before the old man finally returned. He looked haggard, but he walked briskly towards Damyen. This he liked, he would not be kept waiting by an old man’s slow pace. Damyen tapped his foot on the floor.
                “Sorry to keep you waiting Lord Drayvon, I would not interrupt His proceedings with something minor, so I waited between matters of import—“
                “—minor? And how would you know this?” Damyen raised an eyebrow to the old man.
                “You would have been far more insistence.” He breathed. “His Majesty agreed to treat with you, He would ask that you wait in His lounge till He is ready.”

The End

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