“His Grace is indisposed,” Horace, an elderly man who served as Duir’s chief personal attendant barked as I approached Duir’s chambers. The two guards at the doors stiffened.
“By god, Horace, surely he will see me. Announce me and if he turns me away, I will lap cream in the kitchen like a cat!” I snapped. He doesn’t yet wear the crown and already the tides are turning I thought nastily as Horace glared at me, unmoving. Before I could take up a second tact, a familiar voice boomed from behind the door.
“For the love of my father, who is it now? The baker or the pie maker?”
I could tell by Duir’s tone that he’d probably been bothered by every minutiae from the kitchen up in preparation for his coronation.
Before Horace could stop me, I yelled. “Only the tailor, Your Grace. Pray may I be
