The cavalry, outfitted with their regimentals with stripes of crimson and royal blue, stood in attention. With all the gleaming swords pointed at his neck, it is expected of Nicholas to experience a bout of extreme fright like a ninny, except he didn do any of it. He was oddly calm under several quizzical gazes, none of it in a positive manner.
The young Knight, McKenna, who enthusiastically nicked his neck, reluctantly lowered his longsword, waiting for further orders, others following the same. Had anyone examine Nicholas closer, they would notice that he is not calm but glazed. His wide eyes so blank you might mistaken him empty with his soul currently departing to the heavens.
In all actuality, Nicholas was arranging his thoughts staunchly. For the life of him, he is a commoner and commoners like him had a nonexistent chance of meeting the King in their lifetime. They would see the King through portraits and paintings, never in the flesh. This is why Nicholas was staring at the senile old man in wonder, and fear dogging after it.
He was insolent with the King and offending the said Royal would guarantee years of working in a prisoner mine or a swift death. Neither of the choices were appealing to him so he stared at the King, and stared some more. This might be the last.