Under the Oak Tree - Chapter 220 - Side Story Chapter 26
From that day on, Riftan avoided the banquet hall. Triton sighed in resignation as he watched his vice commander spend his days swinging a sword at the training grounds.
“I did think you were being unusually docile these past few weeks. Are you tired of the inaction already?”
“We’re leaving for Drachium Castle soon, are we not?” Riftan replied curtly, slashing his blade in the air. “I should loosen up my muscles before then.”
Triton silently observed Riftan with his arms crossed before coming down the steps, drawing his own weapon.
“Very good. I’ve been itching for some action myself, so what do you say to a spar? It’s been a while.”
Riftan lowered his bastard sword with a sigh. He had been training for five hours straight, and he was drenched in sweat. Wiping his forehead, he picked up the tunic he had discarded earlier.
“I advise against it. I don’t want to permanently deprive you of the use of your arms.”
“Heavens, it seems the vice commander is afraid he will be humiliated,” Triton taunted, looking up.
Riftan followed the commander’s gaze and frowned when he saw a group of noblewomen lined along the window. Their days seemed to consist of nothing more than leisurely strolls around the estate, drinking tea, and watching the knights train. As someone who had never lazed a day in his life, Riftan found such a lifestyle incomprehensible.
“Serving a noblewoman is a knight’s highest duty. We would be remiss to deny these charming ladies their entertainment.”
“There you go again,” Riftan said, shaking his head, “always spouting—”
He froze as someone caught his eye. Sitting by the fifth-floor window was Maximilian Croyso. Though she was some distance away, Riftan could feel her curious gaze on him. His next words slipped out before he knew what he was saying.
“Very well. I’ll humor you to pass the time.”
“I do love your insolence.”
After removing his coat and donning light protective gear, Triton got into position. He gave Riftan a relaxed smile.
“It makes it all the more gratifying when I put you in your place.”
Riftan snorted and raised his blade. Triton feinted with his sword a few times before charging at lightning speed. Soon, sounds of clanging metal filled the training grounds.
As he parried Triton’s furious attacks, Riftan had to fight the urge to check if she was still watching. He could spar all day long if it meant leaving a lasting impression on her. It began to grate at him that this person who had stolen so much of his attention did not care about him at all.
“Where’s your head?”
Sensing Riftan’s mind was elsewhere, Triton pounced with a heavy swing of his sword. The ferocious offense jangled Riftan’s nerves. After parrying just in time, he launched into a counterattack. Before long, Triton’s lips pinched into a grim line, and his swordwork slowed. Riftan snapped to his senses and backed away.
“Goddammit, I didn’t mean to burden your arm.”
Riftan lowered his weapon as he looked over the older knight with visible concern.
“Did I say we were done?” Triton grumbled. “I can still fight.”
“You’re recovering,” Riftan said, more annoyed with himself than the commander. “Do you really want to cripple yourself over something so trivial?”
He would never be able to forgive himself if he injured his superior while trying to show off his strength to a woman. The last months-long campaign had left the commander’s arm weakened. Riftan looked over the man’s wrist with a grave expression, then straightened out of his defensive stance.
“We should have the mage cast a restorative spell.”
“You are becoming more and more of a worrywart,” Triton said, sheathing his sword. “I am a knight, not a frail old man.”
“It is the vice’s job to worry about his commander’s condition. If you find my behavior that disagreeable, I suggest you recover faster.”
Riftan dragged Triton to a mage to be treated. Though he watched the swelling in the commander’s wrist go down, he still felt terrible. What had happened to his usual self-control? He was disgusted at the person he had become, constantly making blunders.
“Do lighten up,” Triton said, patting Riftan’s shoulder. “If you recall, I was the one who suggested we spar. I would have been affronted if you’d gone easy.”
Riftan pushed the man’s hand off. “Sparring is supposed to be a light exercise.”
Triton shrugged and picked up his cloak. “This is the longest you’ve been off the battlefield since you became a knight. I understand you’re restless.”
Heat rose in Riftan’s cheeks.
Triton watched him closely and said, “But you still need to attend the banquet this evening. It will be the last, and we ought to thank our host for his hospitality over the past few weeks.”
“Are the reparation negotiations over?”
Triton nodded. “Now all that’s left is to report back to His Majesty in Drachium. After that, you should be free of any duties for a while.”
Relief flooded Riftan alongside a feeling of loss. Trying to shake off the emotion, he kept his voice impassive as he said, “That’s the best news I’ve had in a while.”
Triton made sure to remind Riftan multiple times about the banquet before he left.
That evening, Riftan entered the hall wearing a lifeless expression. Even without the commander’s insistence, he was sure he would not have been able to resist her pull. It was his last chance to see her after all. This night would mark the end of his turmoil. Clinging to his resolve, Riftan glanced about the room.
As befitting the final victory banquet, the cavernous space was lavishly decorated. Gold adorned the walls, and the lilting melody of a lute floated through the air. Nobles in their most extravagant finery sat along tables full of fragrant wine, rich food, and fresh fruits.
The banqueters threw Riftan furtive looks as though he were a crow in a peacock cage. He ignored them and joined the Remdragon Knights at their seats. The Duke of Croyso, in an ostentatious display of fur and silk, sat overlooking them at the head of the table. Maximilian Croyso was next to him in an elegant velvet dress.
It took all of Riftan’s willpower not to stare at her for too long. He ordered a servant to bring him a goblet of wine. Across from him, Triton gave Riftan a satisfied smile.
“You’re quite obedient despite your grumblings.”
“Don’t look too pleased. I’m only here to help you save face after wounding your reputation this morning.”
“I see I will have to do something about this blasted arm soon,” Triton said, scowling. “Just you wait for me to fix those ill manners of yours.”
Riftan hid his smile behind his goblet, his spirits lifting a little thanks to Triton’s easygoing banter. More relaxed now, he began to partake in the food and drink, and he even conversed with the other knights from time to time.
Not even thirty minutes passed before his attention gravitated back to the young woman beside the duke. Though this was the longest she had remained in the hall, he had yet to see her talk to anyone. She sat as quietly as a mouse, her face devoid of any emotion. Her demeanor was so cold it made Riftan question if she was the same vulnerable girl who had played with the cat.
Sipping his wine, Riftan surreptitiously studied her. Could she be ill? Her face was ghostly white, and her eyes appeared dull as though they concealed her true feelings. He had hoped to see her bright smile one last time. Feeling both disappointed and concerned, he shifted in his seat.
“You seem bored, Sir Riftan.”
Riftan looked up to find an alluringly beautiful noblewoman in a rose-colored dress. She did not seem phased by his grave expression. In fact, she maintained her smile and boldly extended a hand.
“I was growing bored of the conversation as well. I wish to remedy that, but I cannot seem to find a suitable partner. Would you care to join me for a dance?”
A woman asking a man to dance was highly unusual. The commander broke Riftan’s shocked silence by kicking his shin under the table and shooting him a glare warning him not to humiliate her. When he reluctantly rose from his seat, the woman’s lips curled into a pleased smile.
As he awkwardly led her to the middle of the hall, she murmured, “I’m told you played a vital part in resolving the recent conflict. His Majesty must be very proud.”
Riftan furrowed his brows as he tried to recall the woman’s name. They had been introduced previously, but all he could remember was that she was the younger sister of one of the knights.
“It would be a relief if he did not rebuke us for taking longer than expected,” he replied curtly.
“Is His Majesty so harsh?”
“He holds high expectations for his vassals.”
“I hear you are His Majesty’s favorite.”
He smiled cynically. The king merely saw him as a useful tool to keep close. Seeing no reason to share such an opinion, Riftan kept silent.
Despite his awful manners, the woman continued to chatter. She seemed to be enjoying the dancing. While he spun her around, he cautioned a glance at Maximilian Croyso and caught her hastily looking away. Had she been watching him? The moment he wondered this, he felt disgusted with himself for having such hope.
Like a beast fleeing a trap, Riftan detached himself from the woman as soon as the music stopped. The mystery woman moved even faster. She suddenly teetered and leaned into him for support.
“I feel a little dizzy. I must have overindulged. Would you be so kind as to escort me back to my room?”
A sigh escaped Riftan’s lips at the blatant invitation. There seemed to be two distinct ways these noblewomen reacted to him. Either they evaded him like the plague or wanted to claim him as a plaything for their beds. This woman clearly fell into the latter category.
Looking up seductively, the woman pressed her lithe body against him. “I would like to make this last banquet one to remember.”
Though he wanted to force her off, he decided to at least escort her out of the hall to avoid causing a scene.
The woman pounced on him as soon as they entered the gloom of the deserted corridor. Riftan felt like a monster carcass being devoured by a harpy. Her slender arms coiled around his neck like vines, and she mashed her moist lips against his.
Riftan scowled and pried the woman off him. “You seem to have recovered your strength. I trust you can find your own way to your chambers.”
“You’re no fun.”
The woman pouted as she looked up at him provocatively. Clearly, she was affronted that someone in his station would dare rebuff the likes of her.
“Loosen up,” she chided. “I’m only suggesting we have a bit of fun.”
“My apologies, but I have no interest in that sort of fun. You’ll have to find someone else.”
“But I’m not interested in anyone else.” With a slow smile, the woman leaned into him again, cupping his face. “You’re the most beautiful man I have ever seen, like one of those gods those evil pagans worship. Is it true you people know one hundred and eighty ways to give pleasure?”
The giddiness in her eyes made his skin crawl. Revolted, he wrenched her hands away.
“You people? Are you accusing me of being an apostate?”
“No, I was merely—”
“I have been knighted by the church. Are you aware I can have you charged for slander?”
“I see you are a man of no depth,” said the woman, her face contorting into a scowl. “Very well. I shall find myself another partner.”
She shot him a haughty glare before stalking off. He straightened his clothes, crumpled from all her yanking, and swiped at his wet lips. His mood plummeted. He had no desire to return to the banquet, but he knew he had no choice. Anyone who had seen him leave might think he was enjoying a tryst with the woman, and there was a high chance one of those people might be Maximilian Croyso.
