Free RuneScape: Return to Canifis by T. S. Church

one.
    At the southern end of the room, on a square marble dais, sat the monarch himself upon his yellow-cushioned throne. Fromthe entrance the figure of the King seemed small, surrounded by a nimbus of pale light that streamed in from the high windows behind and above his throne.
    To Castimir, it all seemed very divine—too much so, in fact.
    Charlatan! he thought bemusedly. You’ve placed the throne so the sun is behind you. There is no magic here.
    As they watched, and waited, the wizard’s eyes crept over the audience. He felt their stares upon him, for he was dressed in little more than his blue robe, the very same one he had travelled in. With a conscious glance at his friends, he suddenly realised that both Ebenezer and Doric were more formally dressed, both attired as wealthy merchants. Such clothes befit men who occupied but a single rung beneath the nobility on the social ladder.
    I slept late. He shrugged. And I didn’t expect to be presented to a king.
    Nonetheless, he felt uncomfortable—ever more so as the crowd in front diminished and the party moved forward. Before him nobles pledged allegiance to their King, as they did every Midsummer, upon the longest day of the year, repeating the words given them by an austere priest who wore Saradomin’s four-pointed star embroidered on his black frock.
    Fitting for a realm whose enemy lives in a land of darkness.
    One person in particular caught his attention as they approached the front. A tall, lean man, with streaks of white in his dark hair stood a slight distance behind the throne. He was dressed in black cloth decorated with intricate silver stitching, and when he moved slightly, the wizard noted that the stitching was in the odd shape of an owl, with its head turned behind it.
    He is a man who is used to the shadowy work of government, Castimir guessed. Every monarch needs a knife in the dark, or a little something extra in the wine. He felt the man’s eyes upon him.It was an unnerving experience.
    “Lord Despaard, again,” he heard Doric whisper.
    And then it was William’s turn to step onto the yellow carpet and kneel before the monarch.
    “My Lord William de Adlard, you were not expected to offer homage to me this morning,” King Roald said. “For you have duties in guiding our famous guests in the day’s event.” The King’s voice echoed from the narrow walls, strong, clear. Castimir was close enough now to view him properly. His frame was hidden under a ceremonial vermilion robe boasting soft ermine edges, but the wizard guessed he was of lean build. His narrow face displayed a short brown beard and moustache, and upon his head he wore his golden crown, with a bright red gem set in its centre, as big as Castimir had ever seen.
    “But since you are here,” the King continued, “I will take what is given to me by God. I will accept your pledge to me in Saradomin’s name.”
    Castimir saw the priest step onto the yellow rug, standing deliberately between the King and the kneeling William in what was supposed to form a spiritual bridge between the men. As the man spoke the words that scores of others had echoed that very morning, William repeated them.
    “I pledge my blood and my life. I pledge my sons and daughters. I pledge all my worldly possessions and passions to keep King Roald Remanis the Third in good health upon the throne. I make this pledge under the eyes of Saradomin—”
    William coughed suddenly. Then he hesitated.
    A woman in the audience giggled behind Castimir.
    “This is not the time for levity, Lady Anne,” King Roald chastised the woman who Castimir turned to see for the first time. She appeared to have only just come in. He could not avert his eyes.
    She was beautiful. In fact, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
    She can’t be real. Try as he might, he could not stop himself from staring. Women like her only exist in fairy tales, and live in towers assailed by knights and guarded by dragons. Or is it