The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 44: Bards

Chapter 44: Bards
The presentations were about to begin.
With a nod from him, the stage came alive. Acrobats with several tricks up their sleeves mesmerized the crowd with their skills.
The people on his table always had something to say about each of the presentations. And it was never anything good.
"Why don’t you entertain us, Redmare and Rodick?" He cut through their criticism to say.
Both of them froze.
"Entertain? I beg your pardon, Your Grace."
"After them, you’ll go out and entertain everyone." His voice was firm.
Rodick tried to plead, while Redmare’s eyes hardened.
"Very well,Your Grace."
He needed a goblet of wine to fully enjoy the show.
And where was his damn Cupbearer?
Sighing, he glanced around.
She wasn’t supposed to go far.
Then, he spotted her. He had to shield his eyes to see her properly.
She was blushing desperately with a man, holding a cup to her lips.
Oh?
Then, the man she was with turned slightly.
Andon?
What in heaven were they talking about?
The performance ended and Redmare rose from his seat.
He bowed at Yeren before gracing the stage.
The instrumentalists began playing a random tune.
"I should sing?"
The people cheered, relishing the moment to ridicule a member of the council and a great peer of the realm.
"Go ahead." Rodick urged him on.
He picked a song that was commonly played at balls and soirees and tweaked the lyrics.
"Humbled by poverty,
She’ll bow to the highest bidder,
Selling her wares for a penny,
Dare she claim she’s not a sinner..."
When he finished, everyone was laughing, except Yeren, Claire, and Andon.
The man sounded worse than a toad in mating season - which was what provoked the feats of laughter from the crowd.
But, the song was so carefully chosen...
Redmare returned to his seat and Rodick took the floor.
He attempted to tell a joke - to which no one laughed.
Not even a smile was seen.
Redmare was bragging at the table, about how the women were cheering for him - as if they were all daft.
"Did you like my performance?" He leaned in to ask Yeren.
Yeren spared him a brief glance.
"My horse can do better than you."
The man’s lips thinned but he wasn’t ready to back down.
"I think your Cupbearer would disagree, don’t you think?"
Yeren kept staring ahead as if no one spoke.
When he turned, she and Andon were looking towards his table.
And she had that look on her face - the same look she’d had when she had rejected him at the Market square.
He hadn’t seen that look in the longest time - all he saw was a girl trying to avoid trouble she could not fight - and he was glad it was not directed at him.
For once.
Falstaff slapped Redmare on the back encouragingly.
The malice wasn’t against him, Falstaff never openly rebelled - no matter how provoked he was.
But the Stenlys were now involved. And the bitterness of two years ago still hadn’t died down.
"You haven’t had any wine, Your Grace. Call your Cupbearer to fill your cup."
He resisted the urge to smash someone’s head into the table.
"If you have a problem with my Cupbearer, sort it out with her. Don’t bore me with your childish whinings."
Redmare slowly retreated to his seat and sipped his drink.
"Pour me some wine." He commanded Redmare.
The red-bearded man stiffened, his lips thinning.
"You have a girl for that..."
"Are you going to disobey?"
"No, Your Grace." He picked up the pitcher and filled the cup.
Yeren lifted the cup to his lips and drank without taking his eyes off them.
Just as he set his goblet down, a woman joined them.
"There’s no space," they all began to say.
But Rodick stupidly stood up for her to sit.
"Your Grace." She reached for Yeren’s gloved hand.
He stared down at his hand coldly.
She slowly redrew her hand and smiled.
"I’m Lord Rodick’s distant cousin, Your Grace. Lady Eleanor Roslin."
He nodded, cracking a smile.
"A pleasure, Lady Roslin."
She beamed like he’d just offered her a marriage proposal.
"I’m glad I finally got to meet you in person, Your Grace. I have heard tales of your handsomeness... indeed." She chuckled lightly.
Redmare, Falstaff and the others stared at her, wide-eyed.
Those old men would never mind their business, he reasoned.
"There’s a boat on the lake rowing to the bank and back. I would be extremely honoured if you’d escorted me, Your Grace."
Escort her?
Any woman he was seen with was considered as a prospective wife.
Yeren looked at her... actually looked at her.
She was beautiful, with long brown hair and rosy cheeks.
Her sapphire gown went well with her eyes.
It reminded him of his Cupbearer, who in her quest to become a full-fledged servant, wore a uniform that had no bearing on her person.
She reached for his hand again. One of her hands was ungloved. Her fingers were long and well-manicured.
His guard stepped forward in preparation to escort him to the lake.
"I don’t know how to row, Lady Roslin."
"Nonsense!" She laughed out loud. No one joined her.
"Do call me Eleanor, Your Grace."
"Perhaps another gentleman will be delighted to escort you?"
Her smile crumbled like broken china.
"Pardon?"
"Gentlemen," he turned to the men at his table. "Please suggest a suitable escort for Lady... Eleanor here."
The men exchanged glances.
"I only seek your company, Your Grace." She batted her eyelashes at him.
Rodick looked away.
"I will drown both of us before we reach half of the journey."
She cracked a smile.
"Then so be it, Your Grace."
All of them looked at her wide-eyed.
"Someone will finally murder the King off our hands." Falstaff murmured.
Yeren ignored him.
Turning to her, he asked. "Can you row?"
She looked away, pretending to think about it.
Then she said, "No."
"I’m afraid it won’t work, Eleanor."
She looked around.
"Your guard can row us, Your Grace."
He glanced up at the guard beside him.
The poor man pulled his visor down and looked the other way.
"Very well, then. Shall we?" He stood up and offered her a hand.
She gave him that dazzling smile again, showing off her perfect teeth.
He smiled back, trying to ignore the fact that he might drown if he wasn’t careful.
"This way," she guided him.
The men at the table began laughing as soon as he left.
They drew attention as they walked down the aisle like moths to the flame.
Eleanor was all smiles, chattering to keep the mood alive.
As if by a strange pull, he turned towards where Claire and Andon were seated.
And his eyes met hers and locked ever so b
riefly.
Something flashed in her eyes before she looked away, severing the contact.
Andon winked.
Was she jealous?