The Crown Prince's Most Disrespectful Attendant

Ch7: Trouble In Broad Daylight

Redvale had changed overnight.

Albert noticed it the moment he stepped outside. The roads had been swept cleaner than usual, decorative ribbons hung from posts near the market square, and guards in imperial colors stood at corners where, yesterday, only bored chickens had authority. Even the townspeople moved differently. Excited. Curious. Nosy.

The worst kind of energetic.

Albert adjusted the basket hanging from his arm and squinted toward the town gate. More banners fluttered there now, rich dark cloth embroidered with the golden lion of the empire. Wagons rolled in and out carrying crates, polished equipment, tents, and enough food to feed half the county.

He felt a headache forming. "Why are they here?" he muttered.

Mr. Jo, arranging fruit nearby, answered without being asked. "Hunting festival."

Albert looked over.

Mr. Jo grinned, pleased to possess information. "The royal family rotates locations every year. This time they chose the lands around Redvale."

"Why?"

"Rich people enjoy deciding things."

"That explains nothing."

"It explains enough."

Albert groaned softly. The annual imperial hunt was famous across the kingdom, nobles dressed in silk chasing terrified animals through forests while pretending it built character. There would be feasts, crowds, drunk aristocrats, temporary laws, and servants running everywhere.

A plague with better tailoring.

Mr. Jo eyed the basket in Albert's hand. "Where are you going?"

"Forest edge."

"Today?" Mr. Jo laughed. "Half the area's crawling with guards."

"I need roseberries."

Mr. Jo's grin widened. "For who?"

Albert sighed. "For money."

"Ah," Mr. Jo said solemnly. "The purest reason."

---

The farther Albert walked from town, the louder the world became. Horns sounded in the distance, dogs barked, men shouted instructions no one intended to follow, hooves thundered over open ground. Fields that had been peaceful two days ago now held tents, colorful canopies, tethered horses, and nobles dressed like decorative birds.

Albert kept to the edges, basket tucked under one arm, moving past servants carrying trays, guards trying to look important, and ladies who complained about dust while standing on dirt. One nobleman pointed at Albert's boots and whispered to a companion as if seeing poverty for the first time.

Albert smiled pleasantly. "I can hear you."

The man nearly swallowed his own pride. Albert walked on.

The roseberry patches grew best near the low meadow beyond the western tree line. If luck favored him, he could gather enough quickly and escape before someone of status asked a stupid question.

Luck, however, had a complicated relationship with him.

---

The meadow opened wide beneath the noon sun. Tall grasses swayed in silver-green waves, wildflowers dotted the earth in scattered colors, and beyond them stood a line of trees whispering in the breeze. For a brief moment, peace returned.

Albert exhaled. "There you are."

Clusters of roseberries grew low along the edge of the field, bright red against dark leaves. Perfect. He crouched and began picking them carefully, dropping each into the basket with practiced hands. One handful, then another. Birdsong drifted overhead, and the wind cooled his face.

This was what life should be. Simple work. Quiet air. No nobles. No shouting. No flags.

No—

A hunting horn blared somewhere nearby. Albert flinched so hard he dropped three berries.

"May your trumpet crack."

He resumed picking. The sound of galloping hooves rolled across the field, closer, fast. Albert froze, then slowly stood.

A rider burst over the rise like a scene desperate to be dramatic. White horse, dark polished tack, royal hunting attire fitted in deep blue and silver, cloak streaming behind. The rider handled the horse with practiced ease, guiding it through the grass in a smooth powerful arc before drawing it sharply to a stop only yards away. The animal reared slightly, then settled, snorting.

Albert stared. The rider looked down. Brown hair stirred in the wind, blue eyes sharp as polished steel, annoyingly handsome in the way expensive people often were.

Albert's face slowly emptied of joy.

"No."

The rider's lips curved. "Yes."

Albert pointed accusingly. "You."

"Me."

For several long seconds they simply looked at one another. Then Albert glanced around the empty meadow.

"Did I die?"

The rider laughed, low and amused. Same voice. Same arrogant tone. Same idiot. Only now wrapped in silk and mounted on a horse worth more than Albert's house.

Albert closed his eyes. "This is punishment for surviving."

---

The horse pawed at the earth. The rider dismounted in one fluid motion, boots landing softly in the grass. Up close, he seemed taller than Albert remembered, or perhaps outrage distorted perspective. He walked forward with easy confidence, stopping a few steps away.

Albert instinctively moved his basket behind him.

The man noticed. "Still suspicious."

"You owe me shelves."

"You stole my coin pouch."

"You damaged my property."

"You manhandled me."

"You hid in my storeroom."

"You threw me into the street."

"You landed badly by choice."

The man stared, then laughed again, richer this time, as if genuinely entertained. Albert disliked how good the sound was.

He pointed a berry-stained finger. "Why are you here?"

"Hunting."

"There are forests elsewhere."

"True."

"Go to them."

The rider glanced at the basket. "Roseberries?"

Albert snatched it farther back. "Private matter."

"For the merchant?"

"For none of your business."

A pause. Then the man stepped closer. Albert did not retreat.

The blue-eyed stranger studied him openly, with a strange interest that seemed older than the moment itself. "You truly don't recognize me," he said.

Albert frowned. "Should I?"

Most people, when standing before wealth and power, showed nerves. Albert showed irritation. The rider seemed to enjoy that far too much.

He folded his gloves slowly, gaze never leaving Albert. Around them, distant riders crossed the hills, horns sounding again, somewhere a dog barking itself hoarse. But here in the meadow, the air had gone oddly still.

Albert narrowed his eyes. "Listen carefully," he said. "If you've come to demand your money back, I spent it on repairs."

"I know."

"If you've come to threaten me, I'm busy."

"I can see that."

"If you've come to flirt, your timing is offensive."

The rider blinked once, then smiled wider. "That possibility had not yet occurred to me."

Albert regretted speaking. He crouched again and resumed picking berries.

Conversation over.

The rider watched him in disbelief. "You're turning your back on me?"

"I'm harvesting."

"Do you know how many people would kneel for the chance to speak with me?"

Albert plucked another berry. "Then go find one of them."

The man was silent. Then he began laughing once more, quieter this time, almost delighted.

Albert muttered under his breath. "This one's broken."

---

The rider crouched across from him, expensive clothes meeting grass without complaint. Their eyes met level now, close enough for Albert to see the sharp intelligence behind the amusement, close enough to notice this was not merely some spoiled fool.

There was danger there. Controlled. Hidden under charm.

Albert filed that away. Then ignored it.

The rider rested one forearm on his knee. "At the shop," he said softly, "you asked who I was."

"I remember not caring."

"You should."

Albert dropped another berry into the basket. "I continue not to."

The rider's smile thinned into something sharper. Then he straightened to full height, wind tugging at his cloak, sunlight catching the crest worked in silver on his chest.

Royal. Clear. Impossible to mistake.

He looked down at Albert with bright blue eyes and said, almost lazily, "We meet again."

Albert stared up at him. Then looked left. Then right. Then back.

"Do we?"