“So what are we waiting for?” Gabriel asked impatiently as they sat in the guests’ quarters. “We’re ready; why aren’t we in front of the King yet?”
After their fittings in the tailor’s office, the maids had attended to their hair and faces. Era’s normally scraggly hair had been tamed enough to shine in its tied-back state, and Gabriel’s beard had never been so well trimmed. He actually looks like royalty, Era noticed. Amazing what a razor can do.
“You’re actually eager?” Era asked jokingly. “I’m scared out of my mind.”
“You’ve met him before, though, right? You were the Archmage, after all.” He shrugged. “Why is it a big deal?”
“It’s just… I won’t be the person he remembers. I’m a little hesitant to see his reaction. And he is the King, after all. That’s jarring enough in and of itself.”
“What’s he like, anyway?”
“He is… kind. Thank goodness. We were blessed with a very fair monarchy this age.”
“Good to know,” he said, nodding. “No wonder we weren’t killed on the spot when I punched out Caine.”
“Precisely.”
“Anyway, what’s the hold up?”
“Politics, Gabriel, politics. It is a long game.”
“Heh. I see.”
After nearly an hour of idle chatter, a page finally knocked on their door. “Your presence is requested in the Throne Room immediately, sires.”
Era stood up nervously, opening the door to the young boy. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“Thank you, sir,” the youth said, running off with a bow.
“Ready for this, kid?” Gabriel asked, a hand on his shoulder.
“No, not at all,” he said with a nervous smile. “But I’m going to go anyway.”
“That’s the spirit.”
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