The night after Queen Valerie's engagement, I tossed and turned. Although my brother's couch once overflowed with stuffing, after years of only one occupant sitting in the same place, the middle cushion sagged.
Once I did drift off to sleep, my dreams did not help the matter. The bright orb that once appeared in my dream long ago visited me again. This time I could not deny that at times I could see a hint of a face shining in the bursts of light.
The slightest whisper of rather feminine lips occasionally wisped into view. At other times a pair of eyes blinked into focus. There was something familiar yet completely foreign about the features. Maybe if I could see the entire picture, I could better understand its familiarity.
My subconscious must not have had enough of the day's activities. Since it assigned a feminine face to the light, the orb must be in need of something stunning to wear to tomorrow's festivities.
The orb tried on gown after gown asking my opinion of each. I do not know how an orb keeps up a frock without arms or form at all for that matter, but that is the way with dreams sometimes.
I sat admiring each gown inwardly being uninterested in any of the voluminous party dresses. The responses from my companion came in a higher pitched lilt of a buzz.
If these were indeed responses to my less than enthusiastic accolades, they seemed mistimed. Perchance orbs know what I am to say before I do.
The darker orb from the first dream remained absent from this imagining until the final moments of my dream.
The bright orb finally tired of dressing itself and I followed the being into a new room. The darker orb rested in a grand armchair, shorter than a throne but almost as ornate.
The two orbs exchanged what I assumed were words in their own language before the dark one arose from its seat and exploded in anger. The force of such emotion shook me to my core.
I startled awake, sitting upright in my makeshift bed. My brother too shot upright from what seemed like deep sleep.
"What was that?" My brother sputtered in an accusatory tone.
"What do you mean?" I responded trying to catch my breath.
"You scream bloody murder about a stag and ask me what I mean? Go back to sleep!" Benate said as he threw a spare pillow toward my face.
Dazed, my reflexes failed to dodge the projectile and it hit me squarely in the nose. I guess my dream must've affected me more than I realized.
I do not know how the anger of the dark orb in my dream and the idea of the clan Stag were connected, but somehow no doubt in my mind existed about the connection.
I laid back for a moment, staring at the dark ceiling. I harbored no such anger against the clan of Stag. Maybe a lesser version toward a specific member of the clan of Wolves, and definitely against a branch of the Falcon clan.
Jacobson, albeit naive and young, could turn into a fine Swordsman. Sir John would soon have even more responsibility and titles depending on what the court deemed fit to bestow upon him.
I searched my thoughts, but not a hint of jealousy or malice could be found about either of the two most prominent members of the clan appeared in the depths of my heart.
I sat upright again. If that emotion, that hatred, was so strong as to wake me up and upon reflection was not of my own heart's creation, something was wrong. Surely this had to be a premonition of some sort. Maybe even magical.
I stood and began to dress. If something were to happen, then surely it would be at the ball. Sir John and his clan would be out in hoards and droves. Maybe I could check and recheck security measures for the palace before I would be called in to my babysitting duty.
Day break could not be for another few hours. As if on cue, the cacophony that rang the hour in the clock shop began its symphony echoing through the floorboards. It confirmed my suspicions.
Even so, I was undeterred. If I had to burn every candle in the palace to a nub, I would check every inch of the grounds.
While lacing my second boot, I reevaluated myself. If it were only a dream, I would be seen as a fool or a lunatic. I plopped down on the couch again. Even the best man can struggle with pride.
I stood again. The value of my fellow countrymen far outweighs the risk of damaging my own pride. Before I could sit and ponder on it again, I walked out the door to go straight to the palace.
The next few hours passed in a blur. Between the darkness of the castle grounds and my poor sleep, half the time I felt dead on my feet. Thoroughly and methodically I patrolled the entirety of the grounds and most of the major corridors.
Finding nothing, the fear of my dream meaning something sinister slowly faded. After about my twelfth uncontrolled yawn in about a half hour, I set my focus back toward Benate's couch. I hoped to squeeze in a quick nap before my official duties began.
No such luck. I turned the corner and ran into Queen Valerie.
"Your Majesty! Do forgive me!" I began apologizing profusely. I had never run directly into royalty before.
"Nothing to forgive, Lord Holden. It is just as much my fault as yours." Queen Valerie graciously pointed out.
I gave a slight bow at the waist, hoping to sneak away.
"You're certainly up early." The queen looked down at a few papers in her hand. "In fact my morning report says that you have been inspecting the castle since the early hours before daybreak. Anything I should know about?"