A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1339 - 1339: The Young General Slayer - Part 5

"The pure white of the Royal Palace," Oliver commented to himself dryly. It was being sullied in the most base and ironic of ways. He wondered if the Kings of the past knew this was how nobles would act, if a fruit was dangled in front of them. He wondered if it was a way of seeing them humbled. But somehow, he thought, the humbling likely wouldn't work.

They would all return home on the morrow, seeing nothing wrong with their conduct. The only regrets they would likely have was that they didn't try harder.

Blackthorn had taken to holding a handkerchief over her mouth, and by the grimaces on the faces of the rest of his guard, Oliver thought they looked quite ready to do the same. He had his own handkerchief in his hand, after pulling it out of the breast pocket of his jacket, but he hadn't quite yet worked up the nerve to put it to his mouth and nose.

The greatest stir happened two hours in, when there came the arrival of the first Silver King, in the form of the Emersons. A great legion of guardsmen pierced their way through the crowd without mercy, putting more than a few individuals in dangerous circumstances with the wrath that they used to barrel them out of the way.

It all made for quite the graceful procession, however, for the old King Emerson was able to carry himself with an incredible dignity as he leaned on that cane of his, stooped over just far enough that his silver crown would not fall from his head.

His wife followed after him, half his age, but still old enough that there was grey in her hair. Then there were the Emerson princes, one of which Oliver barely recognized, from his time in the Red Castle at the Academy., in the form of Prince Tory Emerson. Naturally, the youth did not look in his direction. He did not even look his way when they shared the same castle in the Academy.

Not even fifteen minutes after the arrival of the Emersons, there came the Wyndons. Oliver recognized Princess Marble Wyndon amongst them. He had seen her exit the Blue Castle a few times at the Academy, surrounded by her retinue of guardsmen.

Then, before the hour was up, there was the Pendragon King. A smaller man than Oliver would have expected, but the gold of his hair and beard made it unmistakable that he was Asabel's father. If one had any doubts in looking at the father, then a glance at the mother would have cleared them up.

She was the spitting image of her daughter, if older, and with a far more serious and harsher air than Asabel chose to put on.

Seeing them, with their dragon sigil hoisted above them as they walked, made Oliver wonder if Queen Asabel Pendragon would be arriving herself. For her, the position was a complicated one.

She was not recognized to be on the same standing as any of the Four Silver Kings, though she was undoubtedly royalty, and would undoubtedly inherit the Pendragon lands when her father passed – provided the Pendragon King did not manage to alter the matter before his passing, using whatever degree of pettiness he might have felt from the difficult position his daughter had ended up putting him in.

That question was soon enough answered for Oliver. With a tap on his shoulder, Skullic announced his arrival, somehow having found Oliver in the crowd of people, despite them not hoisting a banner, as so many other Houses had done to declare themselves.

Before Oliver could even turn to greet him, however, the trumpets of the guards resounded above the noisy crowd to announce the entrance of another royal. And there came Queen Asabel Pendragon, the most beautiful woman that any would likely see in their lives.

She was flanked by the great General Blackthorn, and the great Lord Idris, as well as her knight Lancelot. Oliver wondered whether it was simply his personal bias that told him her presence seemed far more weighty than any of the other Silver Kings that had passed. Not only her, but the presence of her Pillars.

The others had been surrounded by their Pillars, just a she, but none of them had drawn his eye, quite like the way General Blackthorn did, or Lord Idris.

She had enough of an influence to keep the crowd quiet for a few moments, even after the trumpets had passed. She walked with a grace and intelligence one would not expect from a creature with such a fragile heart. She was the most caring of her lionesses. She didn't ignore the crowd, as the others had, in eyeing their way forward. She even paused, troubled, when she saw a woman toppled by the guards.

She did not move on again until she saw the woman safely set on her feet.

"Power corrupts, but I suppose it almost might nourish," Skullic noted with approval. "The years do that young woman good."

"Shouldn't you be going higher up? You at least have some position. It would be strange for you to stand out here with the rest of us," Oliver said. Skullic's men had merged with Oliver's own, and the circle of guardsmen around them, flying the banners of House Skullic, had allowed their circle to grow to nearly triple the size.

Oliver almost felt greedy to have a small stride of walking space to either side of him.

"I'm not going to bother," Skullic said, glancing at Mary. "They're a vicious crowd at times like this. It will be hard fought to get a position of viewing that is supposed to be granted to me as a Lord."

"You need not concern yourself with me, Daemon," Mary said, not missing his thought process. "I will be quite alright. You go and stand where you belong."

She was dressed as a noblewoman, with a fine necklace around her neck, of pearl and of ruby. But even that was conservative, compared to some of the other pieces that the noble ladies wore around her. Mary, it seemed, was not altogether taken by her supposed new standing.