“It is safe to eat my Lord.”

Oliver Blackpool was a sliver of a young man. He was formal in his pressed uniform and his stoic stance. He hardly ever even moved. He could have been one of the many statues in the hall save for his breathing and his pallor. Most of the statues were painted with exaggerated color. Oliver, who rarely went outside to enjoy nature, was pale almost to the point of lacking any pigment at all.

He was referring to my dinner. Roast boar with potatoes and a lot of bread. I loved bread. A slice of bread with butter, or dipped in the juices of the meal, was exquisite. The dishes and cutlery were opulent hand-me-downs from Brandis. I had no interest in replacing the dinnerware. This would work just fine. Much of the castle was lef untouched. It was needlessly garish, but I had more important things to worry about.

If anyone had poisoned my food, for starters. Oliver was accomplished with the training to detect and prevent assassination by food and drink, but attempts had been made. Oliver was not my first tester. In my earlier years I had been naive, and that cost the lives of two people. After that, I smartened up, prepared my tester as best I could and he has survived two attempts since he started. It wasn’t glamorous to be certain, but I was definitely grateful.

Who would want to poison me? Plenty. There were the old loyalists to Brandis. Then there was Augustus. He would stop at nothing to end my reign. There were dignitaries from other lands who saw my position as tenuous. The list was uncomfortably long, and poison allowed them grater freedom to frame someone else and displace suspicion.

“Thank you Oliver.”

I proceeded to eat. I had never had to worry about nonsense like assassination prior to taking up the throne. My meals consisted of hardtack or some cheap tavern stew, not succulent boar, spiced vegetables, and all the bread I could eat. It was annoying to think someone would ruin such good cuisine was poison, but whatever got the job done. These people would stop at little to see my rule end.

It humored me when I ruminated over it. Many would deride me for eating lavishly while some peasant starved. They would ignore that anyone with some means would seek the comfort of food, that kings like August had starving peasants, and that I had implemented a bread program that not only provided the needy with grain, but it was already made into bread. Still, anyone who was inclined would gloss over my achievements to focus on whatever they needed to villainize me.

“I don’t mean to disturb my Lord while he takes supper, but the seals need strengthening.”

Ariadne Covenwraith was from a family of Brandis loyalists. She was practiced in occult lore. It was a creepy hobby, but I indulged her because it was useful and necessary. I wasn’t going to spend my days pouring over old books and saying weird things to the air. She claimed she was talking to spirits, and I had seen enough in my life to believe her, but I wanted as little to do with it as possible. I had enough dealing with flesh and blood mortals, I didn’t have time to deal with a whole different realm of spirits too.

Ariadne had proven her loyalties since before Brandis fell. She turned against her family and assisted in Brandis’ downfall. Her family schismed, and I exiled the loyalists. I didn’t trust the rest, but Ariadne had cowed them into submission and assured my that House Covernwraith was loyal now. I trusted her, and that was enough.

“Already? Didn’t we do that last week?”

“We did, but the recent attack weakened them almost too far. It was close this time.”

“Very well, but we’ll have to put more conventional protections around the seal as well as your wards. This group almost ruined everything.”

I stood, stuffing one last bite of bread into my mouth. Strengthening the seal required my blood. It was a dodgy ritual that I barely understood. Ariadne tried to explain it, but it was in one ear and out the other. She devolved into arcane terminology that sounded made up. I just wanted to know what was required, and if it worked, and it had, time and again. Of course, it was creepy and dark. Why didn’t these rituals ever require lavender, soft pillows, or sunshine instead of spiderwebs, darkness, and blood.

“Fetch Elias, tell him we are going to the catacombs and to bring a retinue to meet us.”

I spoke to one of the guards who waited by the doors. The armor man nodded and vanished.

Elias Blackpool was Oliver’s father. He was a great swordsman, but a shit dad. He wanted Oliver to follow in his footsteps. Some people were not designed to take up the sword. When I discovered them arguing for the third time I stepped in. I declared Oliver my royal taster. This alleviated the stress his father was putting on him and allowed him to pursue his true passions He was far more interested in learning from Ariadne, and his skill with poisons was helpful in his job as a taster. Still, his father was no idiot. Their relationship was still strained and I suspected they still fought out of earshot.

It was the only motion I sensed from Oliver. Mentioning his father made him uncomfortable. I felt for the boy. My own parents were wealthy shipping merchants who most certainly did not approve of their only son becoming a sell sword. They had both died in a tragic storm off the coast. When I found out, months later, I didn’t cry and barely felt anything but relief. My eldest sister ran the business now. Good for her. She was more aligned with their interests anyway. As for Oliver, I felt for him.

“Let’s be off. Oliver, come. You will need to see this if you are going to perform it some day.”

I knew this would be a huge conflict for him. His father would be there, but the thought of observing the ritual was tantalizing, and of course he had no interest in disappointing me. Ariadne smiled. She had a small retinue of practitioners, but Oliver was her favorite pupil. She had remarked that Oliver had a powerful chanting voice. She was quite enthusiastic about it. I found it strange, but I was inclined to indulge her. Occult types were strange at the best of times. I nodded, pretended like a powerful chanting voice also excited me, and moved to a different topic. Ever since, she had been enamored with her pupil and I was satisfied that they both had found a refuge.

The three of us exited the hall, my dinner mostly unfinished. At least the staff would divvy it up and it wouldn’t go to waste. I had absconded with a bit of bread in my coat for later.