Chapter Forty-Four
I stared at the landscape passing us by below us. The road to Lutece, the capital of Gallia, would take nearly a week by carriage, perhaps more. Thus, rather than have me waste weeks of my time -or perhaps afraid I'd take very opportunity along the road to drink, be merry and generally enjoy my freedom- for the trip to and back, a flying vessel was prepared. Freedom calmly took the sun on the deck of said ship, his tail swishing back and forth.
A complement of manticores were taking the sun too, their knights hanging around the lower decks preparing themselves for the moment they'd parade across the streets of Gallia. I didn't like the fact I had to parade together with them, but there wasn't much I could do to prevent it.
I missed Wardes, but he had his duties, and a squadron of manticore knights was definitely in the overkill territory.
"This is going to suck," I mumbled, my arms crossed over the edge of the flying vessel. "Isn't it?"
"Craa!" Raven cawed, flapping his wings by my side. "I love you!" he hopped a bit closer, rubbing his side against my shoulder as I smiled gently, patting his head with my left hand. With how things went, we'd be reaching the capital in less than two days, and any assassination attempt would have to, at the very least, require a cannon to blow the ship apart.
The form fitting ceremonial wear I had to put on was flawless. It was a silly thing, but at the court of Gallia, light blue and blue were colors reserved for royalty, and royalty alone during parties. While deep purple in dresses was such in Tristain. It was a matter of keeping to the class status, or something of the sorts. Thus, since I was going to marry into royalty, my clothes were dark blue. It was to indicate that while I wasn't royalty yet, one day I'd marry into it. Course, if the engagement fell through, then those clothes would have to be burned -they'd be destroyed anyway eventually, because Brimir saves us from reusing the same clothes at important ceremonies!
Fashion was important, and I hated fashion.
"Your grace," the leader of the squadron spoke, catching my attention. "They are about to serve supper," his face was clean shaven, his eyes a light hazel color just like his hair. The guy had presented himself a few hours prior, and would practically be my shadow for the entire trip. His name was kind of long too -perhaps he had a lot of family members that his parents cherished, but I did vaguely remember there was a Joseph-François in his long list. He was a Chevalier, a small noble with little to himself, but the chance to prove his worth and become someone higher in rank within the military.
"Lord De Damas," I said as a way of acknowledging his words. "What is in program for today's course?" I began to walk away from the ledge, the man following me three steps behind.
"I have been told it will be a service of Gallian cuisine to better accustom your grace to the foreign menu," he answered. "The chefs hope it will be to your grace's tastes."
"I am sure it will," I replied. I was not nicknamed The Sewer Systems that Works of Italy by my friends for no reason. As long as it wasn't poisonous, I'd eat it. Even if it was poisonous in large amounts, I'd still eat it. Hell, I'd eat it as long as it tasted good, but also if it tasted horrible if I was hungry.
Apparently, Gallian cuisine loved their fishes. They loved their fish, and they loved their venison. They loved their fish and their meat not mixed together in the same plate, but pretty much set as different dishes in the same time slot.
By all that was holy, I could get used to Gallian cuisine.
"My compliments to the chefs," I remarked as I stared at De Damas, the man having politely finished his own lunch. We were dining with the captain of the ship, who was a noble by himself. A certain Rouette, a fallen noble that had yet found employ as a ship captain -perhaps because he had found employment, he had fallen from grace. The fact was, as long as a noble didn't work, he was a noble.
The moment a noble had to work, he stopped being a noble and became a fallen noble. Nobles did not need to sweat, after all. Sweating was considered in bad taste.
"We will land at Lutece's main port tomorrow afternoon, your grace," Rouette said. "From there, the road is straight all the way to the Grand Troyes."
"Without a doubt, they'll have guards along the road to show the way," I replied. "I will remit to your experience on the matter of parades, Lord De Damas," I looked at the Chevalier, who in turn bowed his head lightly as a mean to say that he accepted.
"On the matter of the parade, your grace," Joseph-François said, "your manticore might not be used to it. It would be best if you used one of ours."
"Well," I sighed. "I suppose I should err on the side of caution. Though wouldn't that leave one of your knights on foot?"
"We brought a few more manticores," Joseph-François said. "One is meant as a gift to the crown of Gallia."
Both of my eyebrows rose at the same time. "Wasn't the gift of the royal family of Tristain a beautiful handcrafted crown?"
"The manticore comes as a gift from your family, your grace," Joseph-François said.
My family? More like, my mother. So, my mother had gifted the crown of Gallia -Isabella- a manticore. As if to say, this way, you can both go riding in the sky together. Well, really, as far as gifts went it was quite the interesting thing. I wasn't acting just as Isabella's betrothed though, but also as a sort of ambassador for the foreign crown. This basically meant that I was bringing the gifts of half of the Tristain nobility to the party, the royalty and pretty much would also need to spend the next day discussing certain key points of the alliance between our two countries.
They had given this highly dangerous, highly risky, utterly mad responsibility to me.
Well, myself and Joseph, to be more precise. And by Joseph, I didn't mean Joseph-François, but Joseph de Gallia.
Of course, I was pretty sure whatever we said to one another would be meaningless, and the true diplomats would deal with it behind locked doors elsewhere.
I was only there to put on a nice show, grin, smile for the crowd, make Isabella happy and the crown of Tristain happy, and hopefully ensure the foreign nobles of Gallia wouldn't be too angry or too biased against me by giving them a good old show of let me wash your hands so that you may wash mine. This, unfortunately, was probably going to be my life.
So...in the end...
I was going to be the head of a parade, drink half a barrel of wine behind closed doors with Joseph, and then go back home to resume my schooling.
All in all it wasn't a bad thing, all things considered.
"Nevermore! Nevermore quoth the raven!" Raven cawed from his perch behind me.
"Also, you will have to go without your familiar for the duration of the parade and the ball, your grace," Joseph-François said, and to that, my eyes widened in sheer grief.
This world truly was cruel beyond belief.