"A contract? Like a merchant?" Amelia called over from the table behind, horrified. Even though Verdant had been speaking softly, she'd heard every word.
"Amelia!" Pauline cried in horror. The round-faced girl was clutching her head with one hand, and grabbing at Amelia with the other, as she shrank down upon the bench, seeming as though she wished to hide under the table.
"Indeed. Some nobles need more than oaths to assure them of a subject's loyalty," Verdant said. He'd quickly caught onto Amelia's personality, and did not push the issue any further than it needed to go, pointedly ignoring her outburst with an aura of distinct disapproval.
Oliver gave a sigh of relief as he finished his pie. It was incredibly good. Every single day, this world of magnificent food. The chiefs were veritable artists by his estimation. Every meal was something he looked forward to, and never had they once disappointed him.
It felt so much better to have a stomach full of food. He'd missed out on a proper breakfast, and a full meal the previous evening. Now was his attempt to restore that equilibrium. The pie did an awfully good job at that. With its warm weight in its stomach, he felt considerably more relaxed than he had on his way in.
"So, Verdant," Oliver began, off the back of that pleasant wave of food-filled bliss, as he pushed his empty plate out of the way, and pulled his cake towards him, "do you want to be my retainer?"
He felt Blackthorn stiffen more than he saw it. It was an actual jerk of a motion, like a horse kicking. He doubted that any of the nobles near them had heard what he'd asked, but they'd certainly noticed Blackthorn's incredulous reaction, for they were looking over in their direction.
Similarly, Amelia and Pauline were both looking horrified.
Verdant, for his part – despite being the one to whom the question was posed – managed to remain far more calm than the rest. He merely raised an eyebrow. He didn't appear offended. Oliver was pleased for that, at least. But from the reactions of the others, it was clear that he'd made quite a profound social blunder.
"Typically," Verdant said, "it is members of the Serving Class that one takes on as retainers. Those that have noble retainers… Well, there's the King, then there are Lords… And then there are nobles of particularly high standing, who match Lord's in power, but not in title, they might be able to receive a noble's official loyalty, in the name of a retainership…"
"Ohh...?" Somehow, the taste of the cake was considerably bitter. It was less a blunder and more a social suicide attempt, from how Verdant was making it sound. Any request that first brought to mind the King was likely a request too far above his station. No one disputed what Verdant said. In fact, they were nodding along with it.
Oliver wished he hadn't asked, but Verdant, mercilessly, continued to explain.
"The dynamics of the noble houses, Oliver, are dependent on power, after all. The Patrick house, as it is now, I can confidently say it has the least power in the whole Kingdom. Why, might you ask, is that the case? Despite your prestigious history with your Father, and despite your current wardship to Lord Blackwell, the Patrick house has no physical assets.
None but you, Oliver, in the whole Kingdom, bear the Patrick name. The estates of your family no longer exist. The King burned them down years ago," Verdant said.
"I get it, I get it," Oliver said, having the grace to grow embarrassed as Verdant laid it all out for him. "I understand now, so you don't have to keep going."
But Verdant continued, irrespective of Oliver's protests. Despite the embarrassment of it, Oliver knew these were things that he would eventually need to learn… He just wished he wasn't being told them off the back of a ridiculous offer that he'd made.
"Usually, if a noble were to swear retainership – which in itself is a rare circumstance, done for life, like a marriage – then it would be to a house of higher power than his own. For instance, Lady Blackthorn's house – a very wealthy house, with considerable political influence, bordering on that of a Lord – would be an appropriate house for you, as a Patrick, to swear your loyalty to.
My house – the Idris house – is middling in terms of noble families. Our influence in both politics and economics is moderate. I cannot think of what my father would say if I were to pledge my loyalty to a house that in all ways but name was effectively destroyed years ago. I imagine he would disown me all over again," Verdant said.
"That bad, huh?" Oliver grimaced, as he munched through his cake. He was pretty sure he could see the faint traces of a smile on Blackthorn's small mouth, though she hid it well. Apparently, she enjoyed seeing him get lectured.
"That said, I accept."
There was a loud clatter, as a plate slid to the floor.
Blackthorn's cup slipped from her grasp, and spilt out over the table, whilst Amelia's cry of dismay from behind them rang out.
"WHAAAAAAAT!?" She shouted.
Both Oliver and Verdant calmly turned to look at her. She was the one who had dropped the plate. It was empty – lucky for her. She'd been half stood up at the time, about to return it. Pauline's eyes were round with shock. It took her a few seconds to note the many gazes that were being sent their way, and many filled with disapproval amongst them.
Oliver heard some of the nobles nearest them tut, as they regarded the two Serving Class girls. During it all, the tiny bit of liquid that Blackthorn had managed to spill on the table went largely unnoticed, apart from Oliver, Verdant and a pair of girls dining to the next of Blackthorn who hurried to mop it up for her.
He noticed their speed, and wondered if it was because of the Blackthorn rank amongst nobility, as Verdant had just described. Whilst all the others had descended into their shock, Oliver and Verdant calmly finished the rest of their food.