The grey-haired soldier, his black face set in an amused expression, nodded to the portly Chancellor, then signalled to Master deLacy to begin. The Master of Ceremonies’ staff struck the ground and the trumpeters and drummers sounded ruffles and flourishes. The crowd hushed as the Master of Ceremonies struck the ground again, and a herald cried, “Hearken to me! Hearken to me! His Highness, Arutha conDoin, Prince of Krondor, Lord of the Western Realm, Heir to the throne of Rillanon.” The crowd cheered, though it was more for form than out of any genuine enthusiasm. Arutha was the sort of man who inspired deep respect and admiration, not affection, in the populace.
A tall, rangy, dark-haired man entered, dressed in muted brown clothing of fine weave, his shoulders covered with the red mantle of his office. He paused, his brown eyes narrow, while the herald announced the Princess. When the slender, red-headed Princess of Krondor joined her husband, the merry glint in her green eyes caused him to smile, and the crowd began to cheer in earnest. Here was their beloved Anita, daughter of Arutha’s predecessor, Erland.
While the actual ceremony would be quickly over, the introduction of nobles took a great deal longer. A cadre of palace nobles and guests was entitled to public presentation. The first pair of these was announced. “Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Salador.”
A handsome, blond man offered his arm to a dark-haired woman. Laurie, former minstrel and traveller, now Duke of Salador and husband to Princess Carline, escorted his beautiful wife to her brother’s side. They had arrived in Krondor a week before, to see their nephews, and would stay another week.
On and on droned the herald as other members of the nobility were introduced and, finally, visiting dignitaries, including the Keshian Ambassador. Lord Hazara-Khan entered with only four bodyguards, forgoing the usual Keshian pomp. The Ambassador was dressed in the style of the desert men of the Jal-Pur: cloth head cover that left only the eyes exposed, long robe of indigo over white tunic and trousers tucked into calf-high black boots. The bodyguards were garbed from head to toe in black.
Then deLacy stepped forward and called, “Let the populace approach.” Several hundred men and women of varying rank, from the poorest beggar to the richest commoner, gathered below the steps of the palace.
Arutha spoke the ritual words of the Presentation. “Today is the three hundred tenth day of the second year of the reign of our Lord King, Lyam the First. Today we present our sons.”
DeLacy struck his staff upon the ground and the herald cried out, “Their Royal Highnesses, the Princes Borric and Erland.” The crowd erupted into a near-frenzy of shouts and cheers as the twin sons of Arutha and Anita, born a month before, were publicly presented for the first time. The nurse selected to care for the boys came forward and gave her charges over to their mother and father. Arutha took Borric, named for his father, while Anita took her own father’s namesake. Both babies endured the public showing with good grace, though Erland showed signs of becoming fussy. The crowd continued to cheer, even after Arutha and Anita had returned their sons to the care of the nurse. Arutha graced those gathered below the steps with another rare smile. “My sons are well and strong, they are born without flaw. They are fit to rule. Do you accept them as sons of the royal house?” The crowd shouted its approbation. Anita reflected her husband’s smile. Arutha waved to the crowd. “Our thanks, good people. Until the feasting, I bid you all good day.”
The ceremony was over. Jimmy hurried to Arutha’s side, as was his duty, while Locklear moved to Anita’s side. Locklear was formally a junior squire, but he was so often given duty with the Princess that he was commonly considered her personal squire. Jimmy suspected deLacy of wanting to keep himself and Locklear together so watching them would be that much easier. The Prince threw Jimmy a distracted half-smile as he watched his wife and sister fuss over the twins. The Keshian Ambassador had removed his traditional face covering and was smiling at the sight. His four bodyguards hovered close.
“Your Highnesses,” said the Keshian, “are thrice blessed. Healthy babies are a gift of the gods. And they are sons. And two of them.”
Arutha basked in the glow of his wife, who looked radiant as she regarded her sons in the nurse’s arms. “I thank you, my Lord Hazara-Khan. It is an unexpected benefit having you with us this year.”
The weather in Durbin is beastly this year,” he said absently as he began to make faces at little Borric. He suddenly remembered his station and more formally said, “Besides, your Highness, we have a minor matter to finish discussing regarding the new border here in the West.”
Arutha laughed. “With you, my dear Abdur, minor details become major concerns. I have little love for the prospect of facing you across the negotiating table again. Still, I’ll pass along any suggestions you make to His Majesty.”
The Keshian bowed and said, “I wait upon Your Highness’s pleasure.”
Arutha seemed to notice the guards. “I don’t see your sons or Lord Daoud-Khan in attendance.”
“They conduct the business I would normally oversee among my people in the Jal-Pur.”
“These?” said Arutha, indicating the four bodyguards. Each was dressed entirely in jet, even to the scabbards of their scimitars, and while their costuming was similar to that of the desert men, it was different from anything Arutha had seen of Keshians.