Ambassador

Gardens and ice

The palace gardens were nothing to be scoffed at, certainly. The archways and seats made for the perfect inspiration for a beautiful artwork, Fabian mused. But the slow trickle of the freezing fountain was occasionally interrupted by a chattering countess, or by the delicate trimming of an evergreen by the gardeners. Every time he felt the urge to sit on one of the many wooden benches or hammocks, perhaps by the embers of a crackling fire pit, he saw a new path, a new section that made him venture on. Eventually, he found his way into a woodland, shrouded in trees and with brown leaves littering the gravel pathway. It seemed like no gardener had set foot in here since before the autumn had come and had its way. Suddenly - bang! And he was on his backside, on the wet, cold and slippery floor - great. As he tried to regain balance and get back on two legs, he realised that his feet were indeed just as cold as the ice itself. "Well, shit." His gloveless hands, too, seemed to be turning a painful shade of blue. "I guess I'll come back once I have some sensible clothes on..." In his breast pocket, the freezing outline of a pocket-watch pressed into him, sending shivers throughout his body. 'Fine. let's see what the time is." An open gasp echoed into the trees as he saw - he had just an hour until dinner! How had he not seen the sun edging below the horizon? Oh, great. Now he had to run.

And so he did, careful not to slip on any rouge ice, Fabian jogged and then sprinted through the gardens, past the fountain, and came, sopping wet, into the castle.

Once he reached his room, he was relieved to see the fire going strongly. Immediately, he got to stripping his freezing clothes and hanging them to dry by the blazing flames, before sitting on the rug there himself. Before long there was a knock on the door and a group of maids came hurrying in. The shock on their faces when they saw the state he was in was apparent, and they immediately apologised for not coming sooner. He merely smiled and shook his head.

"No, no. It's my own fault, really. Making your job so hard." Instead of answering, the eldest of the trio pulled a few things from his wardrobe and held them in front of him: a blue velvet blazer, a pair of red trousers with a bejeweled belt, and a ruffled silk shirt with emerald-green ribbons on the sleeves. He politely declined her offer, instead swooping over to the dark wardrobe himself. She was a little taken aback, but waited patiently as he tried to find what he was looking for - god, he missed his manservant! But, at last, there it was, tucked away and folded at the bottom of a drawer. All three maids crowded around to see - and their eyes seemed to twinkle.

"Of course, and what would you like to wear with it, Sire?" He just shrugged and said "Anything that goes. I'm no expert but I'd say this is pretty easy to match to anything."

Who he assumed to be the head maid nodded and began to rifle through his clothes, while the other two began to comb his hair back and cover his face in powder.

By the time they were done, he had ten minutes to get down to the dining hall. It was two floors under his room, and in the centre of the house, while he was currently in the East wing. But, when the three women pulled him over to the full-length crystal mirror, he knew it was worth it. He thanked them profusely, and set out on his way to the first dinner in a new land.