A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"What?" Came a surprised voice from deeper in, followed by the furious marching of pounding footsteps. Seeing Lancelot's face contort with irritation upon seeing Oliver confirmed to him his and Verdant's suspicions that he'd planned that letter to make things as inconvenient as he possibly could.

He tore down the corridor, forcing the serving girl to bow and step out of his way. "What are you doing here?" He hissed.

"I have an invitation," Oliver said innocently. "You signed it yourself, didn't you?" Again he held it up in the man's face, but kept a tight grip on it.

Lancelot reached for it with a slow hand, as though he was just trying to pull it closer for a better look, but Oliver snatched it swiftly back before he could.

"Nope," he said with a smile. "You're not getting rid of it."

"Do you merely exist to make my life as inconvenient as possible, you wretch?" Lancelot said, his eyes boring holes into Oliver's skull. "Can you not take the most obvious of hints? You are not wanted here, and yet you come regardless, and you come alone. How insulting is that?"

"I did not intend it to be an insult," Oliver said. "Given how well Princess Asabel now knows me, I do not think she will interpret it as an insult either."

"She doesn't want to see you," Lancelot said firmly. "Whatever you said to her, you crushed her. Have you no shame? To do that to the woman who saved you – and continues to save you. If you had any sense whatsoever, and sort of goodwill in you, you'd march back down those steps and we'd never see you again. Are you not already satisfied – she swears to uphold all previous agreements.

Why force this meeting onto her?"

"Do you truly believe that I'm doing it out of cruelty, Lancelot?" Oliver said. "Do you really think I want to see the Princess suffer? Is that the sort of man that I've made myself out to be?"

"I don't know what you want," Lancelot said, sniffing. "I only know what you've done. My Lady has lost her family Quarter Inheriting as she did. She's alone in everything but name, and then you come, driving another stake through her chest. It's a wonder that she still manages to get up in the morning. You've half broken her, Patrick.

I don't care what your intentions are – you're bad for her."

"You don't even know what happened," Oliver said. "I might have been intending to act in her interests."

"It matters not," Lancelot said. "You shall stay away."

"I intended to," Oliver said lightly. "I intended to, but a wiser man convinced me that wouldn't be for the best."

"Your own position, is it?" Lancelot said, his voice laced with scorn. "Even you realize that distancing yourself from her will bring you threat? Well, congratulations, fool, these are the seeds that you've sown."

"Not my position," Oliver said. "No. I have not come this way to discuss politics."

"You need not. The people will see you arrive at my Lady's chambers once again, and they'll assume your relationship to be repaired. Worry not, though. I shall not allow that to happen. I'll turn you away, and make it clear that we've done so," Lancelot said.

"I'm here to make sure the girl doesn't do anything reckless," Oliver said. "I don't know whether that's a wise course of action, but I do believe it to be better than allowing her to stew alone."

"You speak in riddles. I have no idea what you mean. You act for your own benefit. Don't try to play it off like you're intending to do any different," Lancelot said hotly. "You are so far beneath her that it boils my blood to see you breathe the same air. That she even gave you a chance in the first place, you should be on your knees, cowering with thanks."

"Lancelot," Oliver said, an edge to his voice. "It is not your decision to make. She's aware of this meeting, and I do not doubt she is waiting for it. She would not engage in this pettiness with you. You taint your own lady's name with your machinations. Move out of my way, or I will remove you.

I will not allow you to establish an insult from me to her when there was never any intention to be one."

"You threaten me, on my doorstep?" Lancelot said. "You threaten me, in the presence of my Lady's retainers?"

"I would threaten the Gods themselves if they're doing what you are. Move," Oliver said firmly, his eyes swimming with both purple and golden flecks. Claudia believed in their cause just as firmly as Ingolsol delighted in their conflict.

Lancelot reached a hand towards his sword, testingly. The serving girl behind him had her eyes widen as she recognized the motion, and anticipated what was to follow. She took several hasty steps back.

"Academy law grants me immunity here. I could kill you, and never face even a question about it," Lancelot said.

"A bold assumption, Lancelot," Oliver returned, not even reaching for his blade. He took another step across the threshold of the door, standing right in front of the gallant knight. Lancelot was a good head taller than him, but one would never have guessed seeing the two face off. "You believe you've a chance at killing me?"

Lancelot met his gaze for a good few seconds. Even though he was the one with his hand on the sword, he could sense that he held none of the power. He was so firmly on the backfoot that he couldn't understand it. Looking into Oliver's eyes for as long as he did certainly didn't help. He felt his willpower eroding like a sandcastle battered by the sea.

"Move," Oliver said again, an unfathomable force in his voice. Lancelot was forced to step aside, meekly. He gasped for breath.

"Damn you, Patrick… Damn you. You cruel man. You're nothing like your father at all. He would never have made this mistake that you're about to make. Nor would he have made the ones before that," Lancelot said.