Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

Jordan screwed the towel into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder without bothering to check if there was anybody there to catch it. I'm a Prince, dammit. Princes don't care. They don't have to.
    He glanced unobtrusively round the courtyard, getting the
    feel of the place. There were far more torches and lanterns than he'd have thought necessary, but the courtyard was still a cheerless place, even with all the light. There were too many shadows, and the black stone gave the courtyard a brooding, claustrophobic atmosphere. The cobbled yard seemed to swallow up every sound, producing an eerie, dreamlike hush. This isn't home, Gawaine had said. It's just a place where I happen to be living. A door opened to Jordan's right, and he looked round quickly as a middle-aged, plainly clad man entered the courtyard, flanked by two armed guards. Jordan's hand started to move towards his swordbelt, and he stopped it with an effort. He couldn't afford to be seen looking worried. He held his head arrogantly high, and waited for them to come to him.
    The new arrival was slightly below average height, with a solid stocky frame and heavily muscled arms.
    At first glance his face seemed open and even amiable, but the green eyes were wary and watchful, and did nothing to mirror his professionally vague smile. His hair was a vivid red, brushed back from a sharp widow's peak, and Jordan realised with something like shock that this obviously hard, competent man dyed his hair. He made a mental note to remember that; it might be important to understanding the man.
    He came to a halt just before Jordan, and bowed formally. The two guards nodded stiffly.
    'Welcome home, your highness,' said the man graciously. 'I trust you had an enjoyable day's hunting.'
    'Bloody awful,' said Jordan shortly. 'Didn't see a damn thing worth chasing.' Who the hell is this?
    Somebody better give me a due quickly, before I say the wrong thing.
    'How are things at Court, Brion?' said Roderik, moving forward to stand beside Jordan. 'Anything important happened since we left this morning?'
    'Not so far, my lord. Now, if your highness will permit, I would like to accompany you to your chambers. There are Security matters I need to discuss with you in private.'
    Brion. Brion de grange, Head of Castle Security. He's one of
    us.
    Jordan nodded quickly to DeGrange. He'd never been any
    good at recognising people from a description. 'Of course,' he said curtly. 'Will you accompany us, Roderik?'
    'As you wish, Sire.'
    'With your permission, I will leave you now, Sire,' said Argent, bowing formally. 'I have business matters that must be attended to.'
    'And I've got work to do,' said Gawaine. 'With your permission, highness ..."
    'Yes, yes,' said Jordan testily, waving his hand at them in dismissal. He glared at DeGrange. 'Well, get a move on. I've got better things to do than stand around all day in a draughty courtyard.'
    DeGrange bowed deeply, and led the way into the Castle interior. Jordan wondered if he'd imagined the glint of anger he'd seen in the man's eyes just before he bowed. The two guards fell in on either side of Jordan as he left the courtyard. He did his best to pretend they weren't there. He hated to admit it, but with Gawaine gone he felt decidedly more vulnerable.
    DeGrange led him through a series of wide passageways and interesting corridors, filled with bustling people who immediately stopped what they were doing to fall back and bow deeply as Jordan approached. At first, Jordan found this rather pleasant and not a little gratifying, but it soon became boring, and finally irritating. The endless bowing was getting on his nerves. It was like walking through an endless supply of head-waiters. He enjoyed the adulation he received as an actor because he felt he earned it by his art, but these people were bowing to him because they had to, not because they felt he was worthy of it. Jordan decided he didn't care for that at all. Receiving acclaim you hadn't earned was like drinking wine with no alcohol in it. It didn't thrill. Finally he just ignored them all and didn't acknowledge anybody. He kept an eye out for ghosts and monsters and other traces of the Unreal, but so far Castle Midnight seemed much like all the other castles he'd visited: dark, crowded and draughty.
    The corridors became steadily narrower as they made their
    way deeper into the Castle, and Jordan began to find the endless black stone walls both depressing and disturbing. It never seemed