Eat, Slay, Love: A LitRPG/GameLit Adventure (The Good Guys Book 10)

by Eric Ugland

  “Can you use a sword?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would suggest a sword with a sheathe that matches your pants. You mentioned a knot.”

  I nodded, while pulling swords out of the unfillable knapsack.

  “What form of knot?” the book asked. “I do not believe ties are appropriate neck decoration in Glaton at present.”

  “A peace knot.”

  The book tutted at me.

  “Did you just tut at me?” I asked, pausing in my search.

  “You are the lord of this realm,” the book said in what I took to be bookerly disgust. “You are responsible for the safety of your guests. Wearing a peace knot to your own event would be tantamount to telling your guests you do not intend to raise your blade in their defense. You might consider not wearing a weapon as well, as some could take that as meaning you do not believe in your own defenses.”

  “Or that I think someone is there to kill me.”

  “I suppose there is that issue. But then you must decide if you will leave the—”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Shall I continue?” the book asked.

  “No,” I said, shoving the swords back into the bag quickly before moving over to the door.

  I opened it up, ignoring the dirty look from the book.

  A young man stood there in Northwoods blue.

  He gave his head a slight bow, and then held out a small envelope.

  “You are called to dinner, your grace,” the boy said.

  “I will be right there,” I said.

  The boy nodded and walked away.

  I opened the envelope.

  You are called to dinner, Duke Coggeshall

  What a pointless note.

  I was about to walk out of the room when a nightmare flashed in front of my eyes: a fancy dinner at an extremely posh hotel in Brussels. A celebratory dinner with my friend Normand. There were a terrifying number of knives, spoons, forks, bowls, cups, waiters, and other things. I remembered being confused all night, and also being the butt of many many jokes. Not from Normand, of course, but from some of the other muckety-mucks who were coat-tailing Normand.

  “Small book form,” I snapped, and I grabbed the etiquette book.

  “How small, your grace?” the book asked.

  I looked over at the fire, then at the book in my hand.

  “Pocket,” I said.

  The pages ruffled, and the book was small enough I could slip it into my inside jacket pocket.

  “It is lovely in here,” the book said, its voice muffled. “My compliments to the tailor.”

  I looked longingly at the fire one more time, then hurried along to dinner.

  40

  The upper-level cantina had transformed, mostly, into a beautiful dining room befitting of nobles. The large tables were draped in perfectly white linens and set with china, silver, and dramatic floral centerpieces. In one corner, a small string ensemble played delicate music that practically floated on the air, just loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to endanger a conversation.

  It wasn’t exactly crowded — there weren’t enough nobles in Coggeshall for that — but there more guests than I’d expected. Most came from the Osterstadt escape. I recognized several people, and I was about to do my polite wave, but as soon as I stepped through the door, the music cut out, and a voice boomed from right next to me.

  “Montana Coggeshall, Imperial Duke of Coggeshall,” the man roared. “Prince of Eonneque. Fürst of Vreijuirag. Ducal heir of Old Lattimoore. Count of Duhamel. Count of Helgand. Count of Dunnismeer. Count of Whitelock. Count of Michelgrove. Count of Daroonga. Count of Braewood. Count of Kingshills. Count of Wolveshire. Hero of Osterstadt.”

  The list of titles was not exactly short, and having to stand there for the whole damn thing was remarkably awkward. Because what are you supposed to do? Smile? Nod? Exclaim joy at each title? And none of them, except for the last, was anything even moderately exciting. Or something I felt like I’d earned.

  Bah, something to get rid of.

  “So many titles,” a soft voice muttered from my jacket pocket.

  “Not now,” I whispered back.

  “Your grace?” the announcer guy asked, confused.

  “Nothing,” I said with a plastered on smile.

  He gave me a perfunctory bow and then gestured for me to continue into the cantina since I was most definitely blocking the entrance.

  As I walked along, I heard the man announce the next person, the count of something or other, his wife, lady of something or other, and their daughter, heir to something or other.

  “You should memorize these names, your grace,” said the most annoying book in the world. “The announcements are partially to let you know the titles in the room, but also that you need not be ignorant of someone’s name. Or place.”

  “I’m starting to think your place is in the kindling pile,” I snapped.

  A few eyes shot my way. I just gave them a big smile.

  I got big smiles in return, clearly masking their thoughts that I was absolutely mad.

  Thankfully, I didn’t need to navigate the place completely on my own, because as I wandered between the tables, muttering to myself, and or a book, a friendly face moved to intercept me.

  “Hero of Osterstadt,” Alexander Czubakowski said, giving me a stately bow. “It is an honor to see you again, your grace.”

  “Come on, bub,” I said. “You know me. You don’t need to do that.”

  He gave me a wry smile. “My men find it amusing that a duke saved them. I find it somewhat embarrassing that I attempted to persuade a duke to join the Legion.”

  “Dukes can join legions, right?”

  “As far as I understand,” he said, “dukes can do whatever they please. Whether that be joining a legion or something else.”

  “I’m just trying to get through this dinner.”

  “Hopefully it goes a little smoother than the last dinner we shared.”

  “You mean you don’t want to see me jump through those windows and get into a fight on the walls?”

  “It would certainly make this the most exciting dinner like this I’ve attended.”

  “Have you been to many of these?”

  “More’n I would like. Course, never met a soldier yet willing to turn down free food.”

  “Truth,” I said.

  The captain’s wife wandered over, one eyebrow arched.

  “If I find you two are talking about the Legion,” she started, dropping into a curtsy as she got closer to me.

  “Not yet, my dear,” Captain Czubakowski replied.

  “You do remember he is lord of this realm.”

  “I do.”

  “And he likely has no desire to play in the mud with your soldiers.”

  “Actually,” I started.

  “Your grace,” she snapped, “I would ask you kindly to refrain from encouraging my husband.”

  “I will do my utmost,” I replied with a bow of my head, but sneaking a wink in there.

  “You, husband of mine,” she said, grabbing her husband by the arm, “will come with me.”

  “We do need to talk legion at some point, your grace,” Czubakowski said.

  “We do,” I agreed.

  I watched his wife pull him over to a table and push him into his seat. That’s when I noticed each plate had a little nameplate on it, written in glorious, curling calligraphy. When the fuck had they had the time to do all this?

  Moving quickly, I made it to the window. I wanted to put my back to something. Or just stare at the window and ignore the room. I was not a social butterfly, and I was already starting to feel uncomfortable.

  “You spoke to those individuals like they were your equals,” my jacket appeared to say. “Were they?”

  “No,” I hissed.

  “Ah, then—”

  I slapped my chest, and the book grunted.

  “What was that?” the book said.

  “Bird hit me
,” I replied.

  “A bird—”

  “Quiet. Someone’s coming.”

  I wish I’d been lying. Instead, someone was coming my way. A young woman I recognized, but couldn’t quite place.

  “Your grace,” she said, dropping into a deep curtsy, and then holding there.

  From across the room, I caught sight of Eliza waving at me, and then mouthing something at me.

  I glanced at the girl, then back at Eliza, and squinted, trying to make out what she was saying. Or trying to say.

  Omlette?

  Was I—

  “Lady Paulet,” I said.

  She rose and looked at me straight in the eyes.

  “Your grace,” she repeated, “I wish to thank you for saving my life. You are the reason my house continues, and we owe everything to you. I would ask if you would consider accepting my house as a direct vassal of your own.”

  “Uh—” I started, a little unsure of how to proceed. “I am honored you would request such a thing of me, uh, and my house. Might I have time to think on this?”

  She nodded, “Of course, your grace.”

  “Great, uh. Let me, oh, look at the time! I have a thing.”

  I walked away quickly.

  “I am at a loss for words,” my book said.

  “You don’t need to comment on every exchange, book,” I snapped.

  “Oh but—”

  “Look, a bird,” I said, and hit my chest again.

  The book grunted.

  “What is with these--“

  “Hush,” I said as I got closer to Eliza.

  Eliza gave me one of her amazing smiles, and I felt a certain warmth rising around my face. I wished I had thought to visit the dwarven beard doctor to get my beard back, because what I had growing at present was not going to do that much to hide my blush.

  “Your grace,” she said, dropping into a curtsy, “you honor us with your presence.”

  “The honor is all mine,” I said. “That was Lady Paulet, right?”

  “It was.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Did she offer to swear vassalage to you?”

  “She did. How did you know?”

  She nodded, smiled, and took a sip of something from a crystal flute. “I imagine that will not be the only vassal you gain in the coming days.”

  “I didn’t accept,” I said. “is that going to, I mean, I don’t know the etiquette.”

  My breast pocket harrumphed.

  “Did your jacket—” Eliza said, frowning and peering at my chest.

  “New jacket, bit stiff,” I said, feeling a little bad for saying anything bad about what was a genuinely impressive garment.

  “You wear it well, your grace.”

  ‘Thank you,” I said. “You look beautiful, as always.”

  She smiled and looked at her dress as if for the first time.

  It did look nice. It was Northwoods blue, showed off her figure nicely, and yet wasn’t overly risque. It was very nice.

  “I am no expert in the ins and outs of vassalage,” she said, “but I would imagine it is a sign of intelligence to listen to an offer and consider it. Besides, it appears Lady Paulet is much happier now.”

  She gestured slightly with her crystal flute, and I followed her gaze across the room. Paulet was now laughing with a group of girls her own age.

  “I was also a little worried she was somehow asking me to marry her?” I said.

  Eliza grinned. “Were she a little older, or a little bolder,” Eliza said, “she very well might have. But since her house is largely wiped out, I doubt she would be willing to join House Coggeshall just yet, as that would likely mean the end of her own line.”

  “Got it.”

  “You are doing fine, your grace,” she whispered. “Just relax and enjoy the evening.”

  She winked and glided off.

  I gritted my teeth. I’d been hoping to use Eliza as my lifeboat. Now, I was back to the damn party. I looked around and saw a lot of people looking at me with intense interest, as if they were all hoping to have time to talk with me.

  What a nightmare.

  “Do you need help finding your seat, your grace?” a pleasant voice asked.

  Over to my right was another Northwoods. Lady Marguerite stood there with a big smile on her pretty face, but it didn’t have the same effect on me. Her choice of ensemble was substantially more daring than her cousin, and while I admired her courage, it seemed a bit much.

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Lady Marguerite.”

  She smiled, linked my arm in hers, and guided me through the dining room.

  I noticed she shot a look to a gaggle of other young women in the room. I kept my eye-rolling to myself.

  41

  As soon as I sat down, the rest of the Northwoods arrived, coming in one after another. I felt lucky to have a seat while we had to listen to all their titles. Which were much shorter than my own. And not that I noticed, but no one else had an honorific. No other Heroes of Insert-City-Name-Here.

  Maguerite sat to my left, with her father, Baron Northwoods, next to her and her mother next to him. Duke Ginsburg was to my right, with Fuckface McTraitor Northwoods to his right. Then Lord Northwoods, then Willam Northwoods and a couple whose names I should have remembered but didn’t because I wasn’t listening.

  The nightmare of spoons, forks, and knives lay in front of me. And plates. Plates on top of plates. Layers of flatware.

  Young men and women in Northwoods colors came out with rolling carts and delivered food to us.

  We ate.

  People talked.

  I listened, trying to follow along with Maguerite in terms of which fork to use when. I figured that it wasn’t odd for me to be a slightly slower eater, and just did everything after the person next to me did it.

  Besides, it didn’t really seem like anyone was that interested in me once the food was happening. Though Fuckface McTraitor spent more than a little time glancing darkly in my direction. I filed that away for later.

  The conversation mostly revolved around speculation about the throne, most notably on Valamir’s reluctance to even appear like he wanted it. Otherwise, potential candidates were brought up, and their merits debated, with quite a bit of time spent on the Emperor’s niece. Roundabout niece. I didn’t exactly understand the Glaton lineage, but it appeared everyone else did, so I just smiled and nodded like a good little boy. I really wanted a pencil to draw everything out.

  Instead, I pretended to drop a fork, and while picking it up, and keeping away the valet who was desperate to pick it up for me, I whispered to my book.

  “Memorize everything that is said,” I whispered.

  “I am an etiquette book!” the book countered.

  “Do it,” I hissed.

  The book said nothing, and I reappeared with my fork, which was promptly snatched away and replaced before I could say a thing.

  “The girl is very much too young,” Ginsburg said. “And she has unhealthy appetites. Dangerous ones.”

  “She’s just lively,” Willam replied. “I think she could be very interesting.”

  “She will destroy the Empire. She has no training. No fundamentals. Her parents just pressure her to keep the throne in the Glaton line because her uncle is...”

  “Is what?” Lord Northwoods asked.

  “Given what we have seen of him, he must be compromised in some capacity. He is a natural to assume the throne — why does he dawdle and not declare?”

  “Valamir is a master of strategy,” Baron Northwoods said. “He must have played this game out a thousand times in his head. He is making the other imposters duke it out until there is only one weak candidate left. Then he will swoop in and take the throne.”

  Ginsburg shook his head slowly. “I mean no disrespect. I know the Northwoods family and the Glaton family are long friends and close allies, but I cannot fathom what he gains by waiting. We all lose. What is your view on the matter, Duke Coggeshall?”


  I took a breath, and tried to think of a way to say what I wanted to say without curse words and rough insults.

  “I, well,” I started, then stopped.

  “I believe the duke has had a strange go of things with Prince Valamir,” Eliza said. “His father had a relationship with the Emperor, and there were, I do not quite know how to phrase what happened.”

  “My father was murdered on the orders of Valamir,” I said.

  The table went still.

  “Though Valamir says that was not what he ordered, and there was a miscommunication,” I continued. “And then we were attacked by someone who claimed to be working for Valamir. I think Lord Northwoods is familiar with that event.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Northwoods said, taking a drink and pointedly not looking at his son.

  “Again, Valamir claimed to know nothing of this, that he was not involved. And, to be honest, that could very well be true. I don’t want anyone to think I’m accusing him of doing, well, whatever it was he may have done. What happened happened, and clearly it’s something that should be investigated at some point just so we know why there were foreign mercenaries coming over here and mucking about. But I can’t say that I’m a huge fan of Valamir, given my experiences with him thus far.”

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Ginsburg said. “Have you considered how you might be using your votes?”

  “Carefully,” I replied.

  He laughed. “Diplomatic and secretive. I like it.”

  “You?”

  “I cannot in good conscience support the Glaton girl. Not yet, at any rate. But the other two front-runners are less than compelling candidates. I am still hopeful Prince Valamir declares. Or someone else enters the race.”

  “Can you just not vote?” I asked.

  “Why would I do something as foolish as that?”

  “Curiosity.”

  “My family fought for these votes. We have gained the right to use them from centuries of Imperial support. We have a voice in the senate; we will use it.”

  “Well said,” Lord Northwoods said.

  There were some harrumphs of agreement from the other Northwoods men and women.

  “Have you seen many monsters out here?” Maguerite asked suddenly, her face lighting up at the prospect of moving the conversation away from boring politics.