The light from the candle seeping under the door is barely discernible
in the pitch blackness of the hallway, but he knows His Majesty must have
retreated to this last, and earliest, of his haunts, for he can be found
nowhere else by his increasingly hysterical servants. After a gentle rap
on the door, he pounds a little harder. "Go away," is the reluctant
answer. Another, more gentle rap succeeds in the door being opened a
moment later. "We thought it might be you. Hold a moment." His Majesty
takes a sealed letter from the small writing table, closes the door, and
locks it with a key he produces with a haggard gesture from his nightgown.
"A few visitors today, your Majesty?"
"We've seen more nobles this last week than we ever knew existed in
the realm! Whence do they all come?"
"Nobility is cheaper than coin, your Majesty. Not all monarchs are
blessed with your abundance; I pray the wars go well. And it isn't hard to
predict that one and all were here to provide an opinion of who best to be
your right-hand?"
"Yes, and the thing of it is, many of them make sense, even though
their arguments are opposed. Would that we had two appointments, the issue
would be readily solved."
The gentleman glances at the rolled up parchment.
"Yes, it is done. We've chosen, and though there'll be little
domestic bliss, may age prove the bearer of wisdom and so offset the pain
of the tongue-lashing in store."
"Perhaps setting a wedding date will appease her somewhat, your
Majesty?"
"Indeed, it might, old friend, it just might..."
