#adviserposting

[your-evil-adviser]

On the Eve of Battle

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

It was with a strange ease that things fell into a kind of normality. It was clear that the Prince had a routine when he was living here in his own halls, and Perroy slipped into it with barely a ripple. They tended to eat breakfast in the morning together, after the Prince had spent some time doing sword drills and Perroy had organised his own day. After that they mostly attended their own affairs - Alphonse dealing with the estate and Perroy busy combing through what information they had to either identify the possible source of the assassins, or reduce the chance of them striking again.

The Prince had essentially given him free rein within the estate. Perroy used it to vet staff and make improvements to the security of the place with the aid of Madame Dubois, who had by now been informed of the situation. Thankfully she was clearly a good housekeeper who knew her people - a useful fount of knowledge. Judging the trustworthiness of strangers could be a challenge, after all.

While they mostly worked separately, Perroy did occasionally accompany the Prince on his duties, largely out of curiosity. He watched him resolve disputes and talk with tenant farmers and citizens, merchants and labourers. Alphonse was measured, thoughtful and fair in his dealings, and once again Perroy was struck with the thought that he could see why someone might wish the man dead. It was further motivation to work on his own responsibilities.

[your-evil-adviser]

On the Eve of Battle

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

As Alphonse had predicted, Mme. Dubois returned with a whole entourage of staff in tow, carrying buckets and bowls of steaming hot water.

After some deliberation they ended up relocating to Alphonse's room in order to give the servants more time to properly scrub away the blood on the flagstones in Perroy's. The staff dragged the large copper bathtub in front of the fireplace and began to fill it as the housekeeper directed affairs.

Once the tub had been filled it wasn't too long before Alphonse managed to convince the servants to leave. To Perroy's relief they had also left an array of sponges, brushes and other tools, as well as oils, scrubs, and Perroy's own collection of the above. He sorted through his things fussily, arranging them on a nearby stool; there was a process to bathing which he greatly enjoyed, and even with his headache and general wobbliness he was looking forward to it.

"Would you like to bathe first, Your Highness?" he asked politely, glancing up at him.

[your-evil-adviser]

On the Eve of Battle

Part 1 | Part 2

In the wake of the housekeeper's departure, the room suddenly felt both much quieter, and crackling with an electric tension. Perroy held Alphonse where he was for a moment, feeling the tension drain slowly out of him. Only once he was soft and pliant once more did he withdraw his thumb from his mouth, swiping it gently over his lower lip.

"Good," he murmured. "Now, my Prince. Have you eaten and drunk your fill?" He had a feeling that he was going to be keeping the Prince distracted for a while, and didn't want him to be going to bed hungry as a result.

And if that kept the Prince on tenterhooks for a little longer, then that was simply a bonus.

[your-evil-adviser]

On the Eve of Battle

Part 1 here

Less than a week later, the Prince and the Chancellor had both been busy.

Prince Alphonse's recovery had been gradual but promising, and the time had not been wasted. Perroy checked his food, made sure he rested, and acted as his eyes in the situations where the Prince's blurred vision made things like reading or writing impossible. In amongst all that, they plotted. By the time Alphonse was back on his feet, they had a plan.

Perroy had watched from a distance as the Prince addressed his troops, with a sense that he was watching a man who had finally been uncaged. No longer shackled by his desire to remain unremarkable, there was an undeniable charisma to the man. The troops seemed to agree, though the whoops and cheers probably had something to do with the fact that, after a stirring speech in recognition of his recent brush with death, Alphonse had granted them all extra rations, a generous amount of leave to visit their families, and the pick of his personal wine cellars.

More fascinating to the Chancellor was the fact that all of it had been the Prince's idea. It was social engineering in its purest form, Perroy's bread and butter, and yet he hadn't needed to be the one to suggest it. They'd worked together, of course. Perroy had begun to seed ideas around the camp well before the actual speech, talking wistfully about time off and family visits to the people he encountered while collecting food for the prince, or doing the other small chores he was currently handling for him.

It struck him, watching Alphonse speak: he understood why the Crown wanted him dead. Given the right motivation, the support of the right person - someone like Perroy, for example - Prince Alphonse was undeniably a threat to his brother's rule.

Perroy was still yet to throw in his lot with him entirely, of course. He wasn't looking to stage a coup - he just wanted the man to stay alive. And he wanted the kingdom to survive in the way most healthy for it.

That did sometimes mean breaking a few eggs. In this case: seeding chaos between the Generals. Nothing which would bring them to blows; just enough. He whispered to General Dumont about how his cavalrymen had been spurned for supplies in favour of General Odson. Odson, he told about unkind rumours which had been being spread by General Mitry. And so on and so forth. It was nothing life-threatening, but what it meant was that the Generals would not be working together while Alphonse was gone.

Because that was the next part of the plan, and the most important one.

"His recovery hasn't been anywhere near as smooth as we'd hoped," Perroy confided in General Absil. The man was a notorious gossip. "He's putting a brave face on it, but - well. He's still struggling with his eyes, and terrible headaches. The physician has recommended a leave of absence to recover." He prattled on, watching the General's eyes light up with glee. He would be there for a while yet, but his day would end with hearing that particular rumour pass like wildfire around the camp. Just as planned.

[your-evil-adviser]

In one of my missives, my quill slipped and I accidentally wrote 'Your Highmess' instead of the obvious. While incorrect, it's certainly accurate.

[your-evil-adviser]

What is all this noise coming from the training yard? Are you really still out here at this time of night? Really? This is why I have been so rudely awoken to the sound of clashing armour and grunts of exertion? There were so many more interesting options.

No. Put the sword down. You have done enough for today, knight, and you will be of no use to anyone in the morning if you are exhausted. You are a blade for my use - the crown's use, I mean, of course - and I will not have you blunted.

Come. My quarters are closer, and you are dead on your feet. Close the door behind you. Lock it.

Now. Remove your armour. Yes, every piece - yes, even the helmet, you ridiculous creature. You think I don't know who you are without it? I know everything. Your armour means nothing to me; you are the same soft, helpless creature in my eyes whether you are wearing it or not, and you will not sleep sealed in tin.

Kneel. Oh, you thought you would have the bed? The bed is mine, dear knight, and I do not share it with dogs. No, your place is on the floor by my feet. But you may rest your cheek against my knee for a moment. Just a moment.

Look at you, already nearly asleep. Both adorable and rather pathetic. This is the feared knight who guards us by day? Of course it is, because you were too stubborn to rest when you need it and now you are useless. If I find you out there again tomorrow night there will be consequences. - no, that was not an invitation! Good grief...

No, I am not caressing your hair. I am inspecting you. It is different. I am ensuring you are not covered in fleas, or lice, or whatever vermin with which you knights are usually infested.

Lie down at the foot of my bed, like the good dog that you are. The world will be here in the morning, and will not stop spinning without you to guard it.

Now, sleep.

[your-evil-adviser]

Why hello, Sir Knight. This area is certainly not your assigned patrol route at this time of day, and that is quite the glare that you're levelling in my direction. Have we a problem?

You dislike the influence I have over the prince? What a strange thing to say. I am an adviser. I advise. Are you accusing me of being too good at my job, that my guidance is deemed valuable? That your young master seeks my counsel on important matters?

Dear me. Now that is a serious accusation to go throwing around.

I'm not insulted. In fact, I'm glad you brought this to me. It pleases me to know that our dearest prince is so surrounded by people who have his best wishes at heart. For entirely altruistic reasons, of course. Duty, honour, and all that. Nothing to do with the way your eyes follow him, that wistful look you wear whenever he's near. Nothing at all.

-ha! Are you trying to intimidate me, Sir Knight? I'll admit that there aren't many in the castle taller than me, so it's almost refreshing to have someone try that tactic. Would you like to rest your hand threateningly on the pommel of your sword next?

No. I would not waste your time.

Let us speak frankly. The truth of the matter is that, in fact, we have more in common than we do which divides us. We are both loyal servants of the crown, are we not? And we both wish to see the day come - many, many years in the future of course - whence our dearest prince ascends the throne. You wish to be at his side when that happens, don't you? His loyal, adoring dog, ready to bare your teeth at anyone you see as a threat. Much as you are doing now.

I want that too.

It would pain me so, so terribly for anything to get in the way of that.

Because you're not the only one with ambitions - you know that, don't you? Our prince is so very, very adored. I see all of the longing stares, the wistful sighs. Believe me, it becomes exceedingly tedious. Once he ascends, there will be many vying to be the one to offer their shield for him.

We want only the best person in that role, of course. And that's you, is it not?

We would not wish anything to happen which might adjust that standing.

I'm so glad we had this conversation, Sir Knight. Have a lovely evening.

I will pass the prince your regards.

[your-evil-adviser]

Ah - guards. I am here to speak with Their Highness. Yes, I am aware they are bathing. Your services are no longer needed - return in an hour. It's hardly as if they will come to any harm while I am there in the room.

Hello, Your Highness. You won't mind me interrupting - my days are extremely busy of late, and we must speak on a matter of some importance. No, stay in the bathtub - continue. All you need to do is listen. Here, I will add more hot water before we begin.

Now. We must speak of your hypothetical betrothal.

There have been a number of further inquiries into the status of your hand. I have taken the liberties of investigating each of them for suitability.

First: Prince Marrek of Auster. You danced with him last season at the Solstice Ball, I believe? His mother enquired on his behalf, though he has also written of his own accord. He was most complimentary.

However, his missive betrayed a certain laxness of character. Indeed, when I asked around, this appears to be his defining trait. I have deemed him unsuitable; one could not serve a slovenly king.

He also complimented your eyes in the aforementioned letter and then got the colour wrong.

Are you getting cold again, Your Highness? Here, let me wash your back for you. Allow me to apply some of these scented oils, too. They will keep your skin soft and healthy.

Next: Lord Chauncey de Bouvre. He is seventh in line for the Aegian throne, from a good family. His servants speak well of him.

However he is not true royalty. Seventh in line for the throne - it barely counts. It would not be appropriate to lower yourself to marriage with someone of his particular standing. I have deemed him unsuitable, too. One must not sully true royalty with hands such as those.

Hm? I am touching you, and I am not royalty?

I am an extension of your will, Your Highness. It is as right and natural for me to touch you as it is for you to touch yourself.

There were a few others who put their names forward for your hand, but they were so inconsequential that it barely even matters. Perhaps there will be someone better matched in the next round.

There there, Your Highness. You still have me.