Pine trees wrapped with red and gold ribbons ushered in the Lord of Love's gift giving season.
For a month the capital was placed on half duty, his majesty wasn't expected to return until after holidays end, and Nathan was given a week all to himself.
Whenever he wasn't laying with Larosa, he was singing with her, walking her through town and paying a blacksmith in secret. She went on about her studies within the Achieves, where she spent most of her time researching methods to combat illness and poison. She spent a bit of time reading bestiaries, learning of nightmarish creatures a child would hear of as a bedtime story.
"Some places not even a thousand men could conquer if they tried," she explained as they sat within a tower facing the mountains. "There's even a haunted woods, a few days travel from the valley, where the dead horde lost souls and treasure."
"Treasure?" Nathan wondered, looking into the flurrying sky. "Enough to buy the world's most beautiful lady in the world a proper ring?"
"You're seeking a ring?" She asked, leaning into his chest. "For who, this beautiful and lucky lady I may ask?"
"Tis a secret," he teased, wrapping his arms around her.
He could've stayed in that tower all night, as it was his last before returning to serve Turd Lord Pyr.
The Phoenix Blade greeted him the following morning, grasping him by the throat with a scowl.
"Where did you learn that technique?" The bastard asked, a stone like grip.
"My father," Nathan replied, itching to grasp his hilt.
While releasing him, the Phoenix Blade laughed. "A peasant from the valley? No wonder it looked fit for a jester more than anything else!"
Nathan put a hand on his hilt.
Not even a chance to blink, the Phoenix Blade gut punched him. He coughed spit, felt as if hammer had been taken to his stomach, collapsing to his knees.
The Phoenix Blade hissed in his ear, "The next time you threaten me, it's your neck!"
"Enough!" Winwell said, storming into the throne room with a pair of knights at his side. "Gravous, what's the meaning of this?"
Gravous, the strongest man Nathan had ever known, growled, with a wide grin. "Am I to answer? What good is this contract if the best I get is stable boys and skirt wearing knights to walk like dogs all day?"
Hands on their hilts, the guards nervous, Winwell ordered Gravous to stand down at once.
Horns sounded from outside the city, his majesty returning at last.
A drunken Isaac stumbled his way into the throne room, oblivious to the massacre which would've ensued, and waved everyone to make for town square.
Huddled amongst bickering guards in formation, Nathan saw Larosa, among other apprentice's and doctors, alchemists, and the Achieve Master himself. The latter was among a handful, Captain Winwell, Lord Isaac, and Marys Pyr, his majesty's younger sister.
Carl stumbled from his wagon, mouth greasy from whatever he may have inhaled on his return journey from the most dangerous places in all the kingdom.
Winwell waved to Nathan, who hurried his way to greet his majesty and join the ranks of his guards.
"Son of Nordwell?" Carl mumbled, breath reeking of turkey. "Serpent way, er, Style of the Snake?"
Nathan nodded, shifting to allow his sword hilt to be seen by his majesty.
Carl smiled, then belched, a few loose pieces of meat plopping on Nathan's face.
His majesty then greeted Isaac, who had a smug grin as he always did, caressing his brother's shoulder. Within minutes, Nathan walking among the kings guard, Winwell ahead of his majesty, and Lady Arika of the White Blade in the rear, the Pyr brothers started arguing.
Upon learning of his brother's false accusations, haven convinced the kingdom a surge of troops was needed for the war front, Carl drew his short sword, a stubby bright steel blade. Guards restrained the brothers, Winwell demanding they not dishonor their parents' legacy, and Isaac laughed watching his brother try to waddle out of white knights' grasps.
"At least someone's securing the name of Pyr," Isaac said, stroking his stubby face. "How many ducks do you shovel in your mouth when you're not laying with any village wench with a pulse?"
"You're mother was a whore with a fat ass!" Carl shouted, and Marys scowled his majesty. "Sleep with your eyes open cunt!"
Marys snatched his majesty by the wrist, cursing in his ear, though he shoved her away, waddling to the throne.
Isaac left, and it seemed to be as peaceful as it could get, Carl ranting for minutes on end about his brother. Winwell ordered riders and ravens to spread word around the kingdom, no further effort was to be made with the front, and Nathan was somewhat disappointed he wouldn't get a chance to be on a battlefield.
For the next year he trained his men, becoming known as Snake Sword, or Snake, and he formally proposed to Larosa in secret.
On a rainy morning in the tower facing the mountains in the north, they took their vows.
"Until my last day," they recited to one another, holding hands, looking into one another's eyes, "when the stars become my home, I so dearly swear to cherish thee, honor thee, tend to thee in sickness, and love thee as you are now, who you will be, and shall never forsake thy name."
Though not official, they would pledge to one another until Larosa's apprenticeship was fulfilled.
In another four years' time Nathan's first contract would be complete, and he would be free to exit his majesty's service or swear fealty as a knight. He wanted to return to the flow of the river on a quiet afternoon, where people smiled and waved, there were no crooked grins or fat fingers, and he almost missed the lectures or clouts from father.
Despite Winwell's best efforts the rapid increase of troops sparked the other great kingdoms to reinforce their own military power.
Carl demanded Isaac go to the front lines himself, to the no man's land where kings and lords were free to discuss terms, though the turd lord was often out of the capital, traveling with a small entourage and Gravous.
So training continued, there was expected to be a massive offensive within the following year, and it was costing the kingdom more coin than House Pyr could afford. None of the other nobles offered more than the bare minimum, and though Carl demanded they give more, House Pyr was under scrutiny for Isaac's recklessness and Carl's hoarding.
All day he stuffed his face, and at night he bed whores from every corner of the capital.
Whether silk skirted with so many rings one would believe them to be high borne, or a rag wearing harlot pampered best as possible before being shoved into his majesty's chambers, he slept with all of them. Nathan often stood by the door, closing his nostrils from the stench, in disbelief one could bear fucking Carl for anything less than a million coin.
On a night so hot he believed he'd melt through his mail, Car requested him inside, the royal chamber reeking of sweat, shit, and meat. Geese leg in hand, Carl talked with a stuffed mouth, wondering what Nathan knew about the world beyond the valley.
"Ever heard of the Graves?"
Nathan nodded, fighting every urge to cover his nose, recalling a few tales he was told as a lad.
"Thousands of years of warfare cursed those lands," Carl muttered, scraps of meat dribbling from his lips, "and there's thousands of lives worth of coin, enough to last a kingdom for centuries!"
"It's home to demons, your majesty," Nathan said, forgiving himself for breathing with his mouth. "Some say that Razelael himself awaits anyone foolish enough to travel so far."
Carl frowned, growing a puzzled look. "Rizzu, Razzy, who?"
"Razelael," Nathan explained, "An angel of the death god."
After licking the geese leg clean, Carl tossed it to the side, then stroked a dirty blonde haired harlot's breasts.
"Then we'll take a quick stroll. Nothing too far, and we'll inquire about adventurers in that merchant town where brave fools gather to take on such endeavors."
Winwell didn't like it, none of the Royal Guard did, and despite his itch for combat, Nathan didn't want to march to an early grave.
"This, could be the death of us all," Winwell muttered, with Nathan in a near empty tavern. "Were I you, I'd write a letter to your father. Write him, if we end up leaving sooner than expected."
Nathan cursed, slurring under his breath, a bitter dark ale in hand.
"I'm not going to die," Nathan said, running a hand over his hilt. "By father's own legacy, and his father and so on, the serpent style will keep his majesty's men alive."
Winwell made a small grin. "And his majesty?"
He didn't answer that, but exchanged a grin with Winwell, the two thinking the same thing.
Fuck the king.
He farewelled Larosa on a sunny afternoon, waving to her as he marched out of town square with Fat Carl's entourage. Winwell at the front, Arika at the rear, and Nathan was among a few men he trained personally who were recruited for the fifty man escort.
Isaac bid his brother farewell, at the gate, haven returned from his journey across the kingdom, a new red haired dark skinned Phoenix Blade at his side.
The turd lord smirked, watching them until the gates closed on the capital.