A horse whimpered somewhere in the ranks behind him, and Basil's own mount gave a sharp, wet snort as if to agree with the tension in the air.
His father had decided that a squadron of honor, was the appropriate way to receive their illustrious ally, which in reality meant dragging a few dozen knights of the princely guard away from their pissing-about to sit around in the mid-heat or mid-cold, which depended only on how the day felt. Basil wasn't entirely sure what kind of insult a grown Prince was supposed to take from being welcomed by a Prince's son, but in the world of his father and Lucius, a misplaced sneeze could apparently start a war with the man.
Provided he was told just how easy it was to make a civil one in Kakunian's backyward.
