The smile that bloomed on his face did so without warning. Someone was using him to play a joke. Well, no one who didn't know him would think the smile malicious. But he saw as clearly as anyone what was happening. In the old days it would have been unthinkable, being rude to a princess. Yet Nevis had taken the polite wording of the note. He had no other. And in any case it was apparent that no one had told Ithacles precisely what was happening here. Not as pretty? He supposed, as the stray thought distracted him from the lack of manners he prepared himself to display, that it was a good thing. The last thing he needed was a homosexual prince chasing his skirt.
Rudely, Ulbarich cleared his throat. He looked into her face when he did so. Yes, a bit of fun.
He was a soldier. Not a toy to use to snub anyone.
His fingers found the parchment tucked into his belt. With a fourish of his hand and a snap of the parchment it unfolded. There were creases in the ink, of course. Ulbarich was fairly certain that this was the first time he'd kept one of the things for more than a week. A slap of his hand, loud, on the surface of the table. Still the smile never wavered. Still the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes told the tale. One finger stabbed into the center of the paper as a sword. And with every inch of his face smiling so politely, Ulbarich slid it through the thin layer of dust atop the hard wood. Every movement was made with exaggerated care.
He was still smiling when he resumed standing at attention. This time with his hands at his sides.
The note read simply:
I cannot speak. But even if I could, I would not want to speak to you, you dog-faced son of a bitch. Fold this before you return it, or you'd better reach for that steel.