Francis tutted under his breath. It would not do to be seen in Wittensbach’s poor company. Francis made a mental note to keep as far away from him as possible for the rest of this visit.
Thankfully, a new procession into the room distracted everyone enough to still conversation. With a short fanfare of trumpets, the guests all struggled up from the cushions in order to bow for the arrival of the king.
At last.
Except, Francis couldn’t see much with everyone in his way. He saw the top of the procession: golden spears held by guards, holding up curtains of deep azure-blue between them and creating a mobile canopy.
Was the king…inside there?
Everyone began murmuring, and by the time they all sat down again, and Francis could see the throne dais…or, rather, not see anything except a screen of blue material, he realised that King Omar was hidden from view entirely.
Ingenious, Francis thought to himself. How he’d alwayswished to have a barrier between him and other people at social functions.
But, also, a little disappointing that he couldn’t see the man himself. How was he to win the good graces of a man he couldn’t see?
The other guests were also perturbed by this strange entrance, murmuring among themselves as the music struck up to play, and the food and wine continued to come. A diminutive herald came down from the dais and read a welcome speech aloud in several different languages one by one. Francis had to wait a while for the German version.
King Omar welcomed them to dinner, apparently, and bid them rest tonight for an early rise to the start of the tournament tomorrow.
Francis was thrilled to hear the evening wouldn’t last too long. He would look forward to going to bed by himself and having some peace and quiet. He was already dreading the morning and more socialising ahead.
Briefly he wondered how his friends were faring but knew they would be fine. They didn’t hate social engagements the way he did.
As he ate his meal, Francis gazed idly around the room, noticing for the first time on the gallery’s screen that the peacock motif served a function beyond being purely decorative. Some of the eyes in the peacock’s feathered tails blinked occasionally.
It took Francis a moment to realise that there werepeoplebehind the screen watching them, peering through peepholes carefully placed in the motif, their guests none the wiser.
Clever,Francis thought.
He wondered who was behind there. The king’s family? Or his concubines?
Francis hadn’t been aware King Omar had concubines. He had half a mind to ask Gustav about it, but the older man wasbusy stifling a yawn.
His questions could wait. For now, he would observe.
Chapter 6
Francis was not in a hurry for tomorrow to begin, but he was so tired that as soon as his head hit the silk pillows, he was out for the count. It felt as though he had merely blinked his eyes closed before it was morning, and attendants had arrived in his rooms with new clothes to wear, and tea.
Blearily, Francis rubbed his eyes and yawned. Time to get up and face this tournament.
Francis sipped a cup of chai as he selected another Turkish outfit to wear. He declined any assistance to get dressed. These clothes were effortlessly easy to put on and he loved that. He was dressed in no time at all.
Two more attendants arrived with a tray of breakfast foods; slices of fresh fruit, dates, white cheese, spiced meat, and some exotic looking bread.
Gustav trailed in as well with Archie in tow.
“Good morning, your royal highness,” Gustav greeted with a bow.
Archie was less formal. “Good morning, sir!” He looked Francis up and down, and chuckled. “Turning native, too, I see.”
Gustav frowned, but otherwise ignored Archie. “Shall we break our fast in the parlour room, sir?”
“Yes, good idea.”
Gustav nodded and directed the servants to set breakfast on the parlour table, so that Francis and his companions could sit down to eat.
“How was your evening?” Francis asked Archie. “No problems, I hope?”
