6: gold goblets and a visit

                                    

                                          
The glided surfaces of passing carriages. 
Months' worth of bread the breastplates of mere foot soldiers at the palace could be exchanged for. 
And the silent, swan-like movements of aristocrat ladies. 
The world of the upper class had seemed nothing but that of a fairy tale- and Thalia now seemed to be in it- albeit, a slightly alcoholic one. 
"We cannot ask for your forgiveness enough, Your Majesty! 
"The tears we shed when you were taken away by the barbarians of the West...
"and it was not only because of the humiliation of our prince being taken away, and not only because of the constant threats we faced from the West and the East... 
"You know, Your Majesty, how we have sons and daughters your age. 
"Forgive my impudence- but you were not only my monarch's son, but a son figure of many of us in the palace." 
Lines of officials had come up to the throne, accompanied by their servants who groaned under the weight of the gifts. 
Boxes and boxes of silk, rare jewelry, exquisite paintings and sculptures, for both Lucien and Thalia. 
As the gifts were whisked away into the palace by the palace servants as indifferently as dust would be swept from a carpet, one by one officials started to take their places near the throne. 
If the world of the upperclass was one of fairy tale, the most pristine fairy tale of them all would be the royal palace. 
Dazed and in awe, Thalia took in the tear-stricken apologies and thanks from the officials who welcomed Lucien back to Aesna. 
"It's not that they're rich because they're kind. They're kind because they're rich." 
Letellia had once snakily remarked, when years ago, young Thalia had delightedly returned home with a penny from a passing aristocrat lady. "What are you, a beggar?" 
No one in this place seemed to wear a frown. 
There was an absolute abundance of forgiveness and  friendship, an absurd abundance of them. 
Was this how heaven would look like?
"Ah, I know your sincere hearts, officials." Nodding, clasping the officials' hands, Lucien spoke. 
With more wine in him, the Shaharkian accent grew thicker. 
"And that is why I could survive in that place."
It was exceedingly moving and marvelous to watch, but the growls in her stomach would soon be audible even through the music. 
As quietly and stealthily as possible, Thalia reached for the spongy manila cake on a silver plate.  
Promptly, the woman- Qilla, who'd greeted Lucien in tears- came up and served the food, with a goblet of wine. 
"Oh- um- thank you," muttered Thalia, swiftly slipping the food into her mouth as Lucien, rolling up his sleeves, filled the officials' cups with more wine. 
"If I may introduce myself to you, Your Majesty."
With a gentle, upward sloping mouth and warm, kindly eyes, Qilla was a round and unmistakably sprightly woman. 
A few moments later, Thalia realized she was being addressed. 
Your Majesty. 
What a bizarre dream this was.