Guarded Love (COMPLETED)

Fire

"Milord," a man bowed so low to the ground his forehead brushed across it, "I beseech you for an answer to my conundrum."

The King surprisingly sat in his throne, some of the court milling about while Reiss stood guard near the big chair. Alistair cast a quick eye to her and she smiled at the attention. "I believe," the King spoke to the man dressed simply and now flat out laying upon the floor, "that the answer to your problem is the...left passageway."

Beatrice softly coughed beside him.

"Right passageway?" he tried again.

Now it was Karelle who stomped a foot and rocked back and forth on her feet.

"Bloody hell, what other doors are there? You go left, you go right, either way there's always monsters down them," Alistair complained while picking at a small red stain upon his cuffs courtesy of a day with his daughter attempting to make jam. Reiss was uncertain where it all sloshed down her armor, and poor Brunt bore the, well, his namesake of it across his face and hair. True to his nature, he said not a word while scooping the squealing girl up to her room for a much needed bath even while scarlet jelly wobbled on the top of his head.

Shaking off her memories, Reiss focused back on Beatrice calmly finishing off a knot in her embroidery. "It's a riddle, dear husband."

Alistair puckered his face at that, "I hate those even more than giant spiders. Don't tell me, you're actually the day, or time, or lost youth, or a goat. There should be more riddles with goats in them."

"Ah..." the entertainer lifted up from his nap-bow and yanked off the field workers hat to worry it in his fingers. Reiss had to give him the costume was close to accurate, even with patches sewn up and down the worn joints, but the pale face couldn't hide a lack of tan. He was a man who never set foot in the sun. "I'm afraid I don't know any with goats in them."

"See, we are seriously lacking in goat entertainment," Alistair continued as if anyone was listening to him.

Karelle unearthed a small poster off her side desk and said, "There's a performing goat group, they do tricks and what not. Leap through fire, jump on people. Supposed to be funny."

"Not that, well, actually that's not a bad idea for whatever state function we have next. In particular if the Orlesians are showing up," Alistair smiled his ornery twist in the direction of the ambassador. She, in turn, paid it no attention. He'd told Reiss that with Harding on the true tail of the assassins Cherie went from being almost amenable to a total snake in record time. She wondered how he could put up with it all, but he'd shrugged and then claimed it was easier to face the challenges of the crown knowing at the end of the day he had her. It was silly, but it made her smile like an idiot to herself for days past.

Lunet's dire warning faded away to nothing more than a whisper on the cold wind. Her life was good, she had a future working with the guards, the potential of a real home, and -- Maker help her -- the care and attention from a man who seemed excited to give it. It wasn't perfect, but what in her life ever was?

"Sire, should I abandon this riddle or are you going to guess it?" the entertainer asked. He plopped his hat back on, but in the process smeared the thick red grease paint off his forehead. The once strong diamond pattern now looked more like a strawberry swirl.

Alistair waved his hand and then bounced up and down in his chair, "I don't know. Do whatever you want. I wish Ghaleb was here, that man was ace at puzzles, riddles, that stupid color box that you twist and turn until you want to throw it against the wall."

"He caught you painting the sides you couldn't get to line up," Karelle said from her side. She rarely looked up from her work, but managed to stay focused on the King's words in the off chance they were important.