The Crimson Court (Chapter 1, WIP)

Leo, a page, is stuck at a royal party when his knight is challenged to a dual.

The Crimson Court, chapter 1

This day was supposed to be a special occasion, a celebration for a truly great deed. Instead of the normal day in and day out "training", I was finally allowed a moment's reprieve. I should have been my happiest. Before us was enough finely roasted swine, well-seared beef, and seasoned poultry to feed the entire city, along with enough wine to kill a dragon twice over. Instead, all I could think about was the sickening cackling that came from the fire, that monster's howl of pain as it burned-- "Relax your hand, boy. You're going to break that fine silver spoon if you squeeze it any tighter." I felt a hand on my shoulder, almost swatting it off before I realized who it belonged to. "At least try to hide that sour look on your face, you'll offend our hosts." Sir Aristo slowly sat next to me, although his posture and tone made it clear he was no happier to be here than I was. Surely not helped by the stiff, too-small red doublet he now wears, which could barely contain his massive frame, nor the fact he had to cut his once-long black hair to accommodate the local style. His deep blue eyes never met mine, his pointed ears listening for any small amount of useful information. I forced a smile and wave as a server filled my cup once more. "I still don't understand why we're here sir," I whispered. "They certainly didn't need our help for that one day-stepper, even if it knew a bit of magic. So why summon us?" I scanned the crowd. Noblemen in red avoiding the rowdier attenders of this celebration, Celcian sell-swords with their odd, blue-tinted armor already starting their chest-pounding and boasting, servants rushing this way and that to fulfill ever-increasing demands for food and drink, and through it all the local lord who sent our summons was nowhere to be seen, unfortunately extending our stay in this dreadful place. Sir aristo opened his mouth to speak, when he was rudely interrupted by one of the Sell-swords slamming a glove in front of him. His face wrinkled in annoyance, looking from the glove to the near giant who had put it there.