Snakes in Green Grass

LEVI SMILED FAINTLY UPON SIGHTING Lancelot’s form shrouded in the tree’s shade. An amused glint flashed in his eyes for a moment.

“Not really,” he replied blandly. “You know how much I dislike tasks such as this one, Lancelot.”

Lancelot raised a doubtful brow. “Were you planning on burying him alive? A man bearing blood almost as noble as yours?”

“Of course not,” Levi lied smoothly, his expression unchanging. “Such a heinous act would be an affront to everything we believe in. Fact remains that Earl Gilbert needs not to be aware of my lacking resolve in this matter.”

Hearing this, Lancelot’s stance softened slightly. The viscount silently contemplated for a moment before sighing.

“Nobles are very valuable individuals, my liege. Sometimes, so much so that they are worth their weight in gold. But this value is easily diminished with a few scars or the loss of an appendage. It would be best to handle him with due caution.”

Levi waved him off with a dismissive gesture. “This is all just superficial. With proper care, he would be mostly back to normal in a week. A bit cowardly than normal, true. But, I guess that should not be a problem. On that note, please instruct some of the guards to monitor the earl. He is to remain in that pit till next noon tomorrow."

"And he agreed to all your demands?" Lancelot asked, mildly surprised.

“Yes.” Levi nodded, walking away with the viscount in tow.

“Well, that was unexpected. Especially, given what you are asking of him.”

“There is always a limit to how much one person can bear,” Levi shrugged. “He just reached his, that’s all. So, why are you here?”

“The detained merchants have begun acting up again, they are still persistent in demanding their release.” Lancelot sighed, exasperated.

Levi frowned, his footsteps slowly coming to a halt.

“Didn’t I tell you to negotiate a tax exemption in this region in exchange for their good behaviour? A little patience wouldn’t kill them would it.”

“No, but apparently, it is damaging their businesses,” Lancelot replied. “You must pacify them, my Lord, or in future, they might begin to avoid trading in Greenfields or Redwater. That is a possibility I assume you would want to avoid. Especially, given the rising trend of the castle’s expenses.”

Levi exhaled deeply as he smothered a frown.

“Lead the way.”

{COS}

The Strega Valleys,

Far North Of Greenfields, Souville province

Near the Quilton-Algrim Border.

. . .

Sir Drake watched, calmly observing as the yeomen and servants busied themselves with the arrangement of their temporary campsite.

He stood seemingly unaware of the low clapping sounds, deep grunts and various other coitus related sounds echoing from within the tent behind him. Faint fatigued moans intermittently rang out for several minutes, all before ending in a euphoric grunt.

Moments later, a servant girl looking rather worse for wear exited the tent. Her brown hair dishevelled and clothing rumpled as she tiredly walked out. The maid’s face held a deep blush and was beaded with respiration while her body carried a faint musky scent, tale-tale signs of what just transpired inside.

When she finally noticed him, though unnoticeable under the dim light of the campfire, the blush on her tanned face deepened. Drake observed silently as she bowed her head, mumbling a greeting as she hurriedly scuttled away out of sight.

The knight was quick to dismiss the woman that amounted to nothing but one of his new lord’s many toys. His attention was focused instead on the presence remaining inside the tent.

Mentally counting the seconds it might take for his lord to regain some sort of decency, Drake calmly cleared his throat before calling out.

"Lord Sean, may I come in?" he asked, his voice subtly rumbling with deep bass.

"Oh... Drake, is that you?" asked a fatigued voice from within.

“Yes, Lord Sean. It is I.”

”Well, come in.”

Drake compiled. Upon entering the tent, his nose was assaulted by a thick musky scent lingering in the air. The knight’s expression twisted for a moment as he perceived the somewhat repulsive scent. Then with practised ease, his expression snapped back into a neutral expression.

“Pardon my unsightliness,” Sean said, seemingly noticing Drake’s rapidly morphing expression.

"I am intruding, My lord. It is I who should apologise,” Drake replied, his gaze rising to meet that of the handsome, bare-chested blond laying on his side across from him. “I have completed the task which you entrusted to me earlier."

"So, how was it?" lord Sean asked without much change in expression.

"Your suspicions were correct, my liege,” Drake reported, moving to sit crossed-legged on the floor. “Barons Blumun and Ralph seem to be conspiring with each other against you. I believe an attempt would be made upon your life tonight."

The traitorous lord smiled, seemingly unperturbed. Then he spoke, yawning.

“I am the only one left now, I guess. No one else can challenge their authority but me. It’s only proper I continue leading since I was the one who proposed and led the insurrection in the first place, but those old bastards have been advocating otherwise ever since we crossed the border. It makes sense they choose to conspire against me since even some of their men seem averse to the idea of me stepping down.

“That aside, how about the preparations I asked you to make?"

"It has been settled, my lord,” Drake replied.

“Good. Now, we wait.”

…

Drake walked out of the tent, his expression one of contemplation as he left.

He paused a few metres away, he glanced back at the lord’s tent. A hint of bloodlust and maliciousness glinted in the depths of his amber eyes.

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