A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"If they do that, after all the victories you've won, then they're bigger fools than we expected," Nila said, ignoring the problem at hand, and stalling at time by jabbing at something else. She looked around the room for a way out, and her eyes fell on Blackthorn. "Oh! What about you, Lasha? Why don't you do it?"

"What!?" Lasha said, reddening for some reason unbeknownst to both Oliver and Nila. "But I am merely an ally of Ser Patrick. I could not possibly rule in his place. That would be like taking on a wife's duty."

Nila looked at her blankly, and Oliver tutted.

"You didn't have to put it like that, Lasha. Now she's never going to do it," Oliver said.

"What? When did I say that? I'm fine doing it. Sure, I mean – yeah. I'll do it. Just I thought… you know, there would be other people that are better for the job," Nila said, shrugging, as if it was someone's else's business.

"But if you want me to, and you're speaking so highly of me, I guess I will. It just means that you owe me a favour."

"I owe you so many favours that you have yet to ask back," Oliver said. "Are you really fine with adding another?"

Nila laughed. "What's the harm? I'll keep adding to that list until it weighs you down like a heavy wagon. Then, when I feel like it, perhaps I'll ask you for a favour, and when that time comes, you'll be able to say nothing other than yes."

There was a mischievous look on her face as she said so, and she even ended the statement with a pronounced wink, which did nothing to inspire confidence in Oliver. He sighed. "Perhaps it would have been better asking you to do it, Lasha…" He lamented.

The Blackthorn girl shook her head fervently, still red. Just as Nila had matured, so too had Blackthorn. Once, she had been girlishly beautiful, but now she was well and truly a woman. As deadly as her sword was, her looks seemed just as likely to put a hole in a man's heart.

Oliver had heard that she too had already been receiving marriage proposals, but her family was forced to turn each and every one down, in light of her early martial achievements.

There came a knock at the door, as Greeves announced himself, before letting himself in without waiting for a reply. He stomped his boots on the doormat in the hallway, making even more noise, and then muttered something to Judas before walking in.

"Oh, blimey," Greeves said, taking a step back. "I didn't realize you'd brought such an army of women with you. So many roses in one place and I'll be looking out for cuts from the thorns."

"It would seem that those are your cuts," Oliver said, noting the glares that Pauline, Amelia and Blackthorn were shooting at him. As nobility, they'd seemed to know instinctively what kind of a slimy man that Greeves was, but three years of acquaintance with him hadn't changed that opinion.

In fact, it had merely grown worse, as Greeves grew more comfortable with them, and became less fearful that his head was to be cut off for a joke here and then.

"Good day, Lady Blackthorn. You're as beautiful as ever," Greeves said, bowing low. "Still not married? Every day that passes is a day that you grow older – don't forget that, sweetheart. Your looks won't last forever." He winked at her, as though it was some inspiring sort of tirage. Nila gave him a hard slap on the back of his head for his teasing.

"What the hell are you doing, girl?" Greeves scowled, holding the back of his head.

"I winked before you got here. Everyone's going to think I'm as lowly as you," Nila said.

"Pah, what's it matter what they think?" Greeves said. "You're a cunning merchant of coin now – surely you see the prices above all their heads? There's nothing to be feared."

"Unfortunately, I'm not a sociopath like you," Nila spat back. "Hurry up and sit down, we were just in the middle of discussing business."

"Already been informed," Greeves said, taking a heavy seat in the chair next to Nila, ignoring the glares of the noblewomen. Oliver didn't know how he could be so unaffected by the malicious glances – Oliver himself had hardly been able to ignore them in his time at the Academy. "We've got a High King that needs putting in his place, that's the top and bottom of it, ain't it?

Judas, did you bring that letter?"

"This one, Boss?" Judas said, producing an envelope.

"It's the only one I gave you, ain't it?" Greeves said, snatching it off him. "This," he said to Oliver, "is that letter of those men you've been asking for. Fifty trained cavalrymen to go with you, and another fifty trained Serving Class infantrymen, then two hundred of the most burly downtrodden bastards the world has ever seen."

"Language, Greeves," Oliver said, before addressing the heart of the matter.

"Come now, you've heard me say worse than 'bastards'," Greeves said, frowning.

"Not in front of guests," Oliver said. "You're relaxing too much. Lady Blackthorn is not even my retainer. She's an ally."

"I'd say you're the one getting comfortable, introducing her to me, Ser Patrick," Greeves pointed out. "But yer a few years too late on that one."

"Greeves," Oliver said, an edge to his voice.

Immediately, the man stiffened, and his confidence evaporated as if it hadn't existed in the first place. It took him a second to steady himself.

"Sorry," Greeves said, showing a rare bit of weakness. "I took a drink far too early this morning," he said, holding his hand up in front of his face and saw that it was shaking. "I think, after all, this might be getting to me. I wonder why that is?"

The glares being sent his way softened. Even the nobility by now knew Greeves well enough to see why Oliver kept him around. As bad as the man was – and he was bad indeed – there was a loyalty to him that had been cultivated well over the years. His investment in Oliver was one of the few fragments of light to be seen from the man.