#evanderxerika

THE THREE DAYS since meeting the Norwegian governess had gone by in a flash, and Evander woke eager that morning. Despite Svala’s warning, he had not prepared at all. While he trusted the Queen’s judgement, and did not doubt her own prowess in the pen, he still simply could not fathom and threat from the girl. He had spent years in the fight, and had only just recently returned. Even if she was once a warrior, he was fit and fresh, whereas she had grown soft at the hands of babes. And so he’d spent his night drinking and smoking and screwing some servant girl who had made herself more than readily available, as some lasses did in the presence of power. Evander had enjoyed himself thoroughly, and expected to do the same today. He awoke well after the sun had risen, though still early enough to prepare. He called for a hot bath and carefully selected his clothes. He had chosen out one of his finest silk tunics to pair with his kilt, intending to boast in the end when it had not obtained a scratch. Despite it’s finery, it was easy enough to move in, and the flow of the fabric would make for an excellent show.

As the servants drew his bath, his footman carefully shaved his face. Evander was nothing if not vain, and he was sure to make some hearts swoon as he swung his sword. News of the stand-off had traveled fast, and Evander was excited to know they would be observed. Finally dressed, powdered, and perfumed, the chancellor made his way down to the South Lawn as the sun neared it’s peak. Already, bystanders were gathered, and squires stood by with a selection of swords, both sparring and sharp, as Evander had requested. He would leave the choice up to the Lady on what kind of game she wished to play. The chancellor held his hand over his eyes against the sun reflecting on the green and looked out in search of his opponent as he neared the standing Squires, fervently awaiting her arrival.

EVANDER HAD MADE a long journey from the sea to the Scottish palace. It had taken him 3 weeks from receiving his King’s request in the port at Calais to make the route back to his home soil, but he’d made it eagerly. Evander was quick to accept his friend’s offer, not wanting to leave him stranded in Scotland being circled by the sharks at court. He had always stood by Alasdair’s side when it mattered most, and nothing mattered more than this. Not that the promise of warm, dry chambers and warmer women hadn’t helped. Now as Evander’s carriage pulled up to the palace, he felt a sense of homecoming. As the wagon rolled to a stop, the newly minted Chancellor hopped out, taking in the visage of the stone palace on rolling green marsh. It was not as grand to the eye as the palaces in France, for instance, but Evander knew it held finery inside to sate his every vice. And more importantly, it held his best friend, who had finally heeded his word and taken his throne as King. A smug smile formed on the man’s lips as he looked upon it.

Four more carriages filed in behind Evander’s, laden down with his trunks of clothes as well as imports and spoils of war brought in from the sea for his new King to enjoy. The footmen began unloading the carriages efficiently, and Evander stopped one, watching them walk by with a rare bottle of whiskey. “Put this aside and bring it to me when I see the King.” He instructed and the boy scurried off with a quick nod. As he oversaw the offloading of his riches, another carriage pulled up to the palace, and through the window Evander spotted the flash of women’s lace and rich golden curls between the crack of the curtains. He had no idea who the visitor could be, but he had nothing better to occupy himself and thought what better to do than take this opportunity to give a diplomatic welcome to his King’s home. Evander trotted over to the carriage as it rolled to a stop, waving off the footman after he placed the step stool, replacing him with a hand outreached to help the guest down. “A most gracious welcome to his Majesty’s palace, milady.” He greeted, charisma dripping from his voice.