PeaceMaker

Grayson reluctantly got off the desk and looked at Boris, who hadn't once looked up to acknowledge his presence. "I heard that our new partner is related to you?"

"If you know then why ask?" Boris replied by picking up his pen and making a few markings on the document. Then he silently read over it and handed it to Grayson, "give this to your niece. It's a list of some of the major blacksmiths in the kingdom, but she's going to have to have to meet personally with Adia in order to get a majority of them and get some connections."

Grayson took the papers from Boris and looked at the paper, scanning the names on the list and unrolling another part of the paper as the list kept going, "this isn't even the completed list?"

"Our kingdom isn't just made of useless commoners you know," Boris sighed.

Grayson felt another rush of anger come over him but pushed it away as he placed the paper on the table. The fact that in just a month a scrap could waltz in the castle and try to overthrow all the rules and levels above him was amusing and unnerving. He didn't know if he should be on guard or be amused at the fact everyone would just step aside and let him walk past them to stand beside the king or even take the throne. He couldn't let that happen… especially after all he has worked for.

"Do you have something to say?" Boris asked, finally looking up from the papers and locking eyes with Grayson though it was only for a moment, "You've been standing here for much longer than needed."

Grayson walked over to a wall on which half of it was used completely as a shelf of multiple books, shoved in so tightly together, the book Grayson tried to pull out didn't even budge the first time. "I'm just wondering how a low person like you crawled your way into the castle walls and snuck your way to the future king, without someone pinning you down and returning you to your place. It's scary really."

"If you came here to pick a fight, please leave. I have no time for that," Boris sighed, picking up another document and starting to write in it.

"Pick a fight?" Grayson grinned, "what do you think I am? 5? I am almost double your age and yet you dare to raise your mouth to be and sputter words that demean me."

"You are? I couldn't tell since you always tried to find something wrong with me and picking fights as a five-year-old would," Boris replied, placing down the document and looking at Grayson straight in the eye, "And since when did age matter? To me, it seems like positions were all that mattered… well, that is until I took a position higher than yours."

"Don't say it that way," Grayson smiled, "it makes me sound power-hungry."

"Then please mention what you came here for before I start making more assumptions," Boris replied playing with a pen on the table, "I'm wasting enough time waiting right now."

"That ignorance is the reason why you will be killed," Grayson sighed.

"Don't see any of that coming anytime soon," Boris sighed, "is that it?" He turned back to his papers.

"If you made some alliances maybe you could save your tail when someone places you in hot water?" Grayson shrugged, "I'm sure you've gotten a few suggestions/requests."

Boris stopped reading momentarily before continuing, "I am loyal to one, and that is his majesty. The only alliance I need in my life is with his royal highness."

Grayson opened the book in his hand and flipped through it, its dusty pages dirtying his fingers. A few words taught his eyes, enemy and savior and he stared at them, each of the words on opposite sides of the book. The enemy on the left and savior on the left. Even in textbook words, a savior saves, and the enemy ruins, Grayson thought to himself.

"Alliances will be needed. You said so yourself, a kingdom is not run by the king himself, if the people wanted," Grayson slammed the book shut, grabbing Boris' attention as dust specks burst into the air, floating on the openness of the air and then drifting to the floor where they shall gather again, "they would bring the king bowing as their feet."

Boris flinched at his words, the coldness of Grayson's dark eyes finally piercing through Boris' iron walls.. What was that supposed to mean? Boris thought.