Beside the Queen, Ajab immediately noticed the King's usual seat was empty — pleasant news indeed.
Things were better this way; at least he'd be spared another barrage of tutoring on "proper" usage of the family technique. The King should've been proud enough of the handling he could actually execute. Why strain any further? Energy, after all, was meant to be conserved — if one understood him.
With everything now in place, he reminded himself why he was here. A choice he wanted— a detail not to be overlooked. His eyes regained their usual glint, and an excited smile tugged at his lips as he strode calmly toward the center of the training grounds.
From her seated, regal perch, the Queen thought he looked like a fluffy cloud — soft, light, a tiny figure gliding across a vast sky. And watching him so, she felt herself pulled into the quiet sea of her memories.
Others might never understand it, but her child was her entire world. Watching him walk so grandly reminded her of his birth five years ago — though to her heart, it felt like only days had passed.
For someone who could solve most problems with a clean swing of her sword — be it cleaving obstacles or heads — the arrival of that tiny child had changed her in ways she still couldn't articulate. Not even the King's love had shifted her so deeply.
But her son's birth brought a challenge no blade could carve through.
At first, he'd been assumed dead…
When he was born, he hadn't cried — not a single sound — and was nearly declared dead. Only after the royal midwife slapped him silly did he finally release a frail wail. She remembered cringing with every blow; had she not trusted that midwife dearly, she might have torn her apart right there. But fear restrained her — because her child simply wouldn't cry.
He scarcely ate and lay silent most days. She kept hoping age would bring strength, that perhaps he was simply a calm child. But moon after moon, his frailty never improved — if anything, it worsened. A prince who, at a year old, could only nibble at food and weakly wriggle his arms was a reality no kingdom could accept. Even she — mother, warrior, wielder of great bloodlines — found herself facing a problem she couldn't break apart or cut through.
She spent her days humbled, cradling him before the sacred stone in the palace temple, pleading endlessly to the goddess. Yet nothing changed. Her son remained barely alive. No physician could help. Even the High Priestess was left powerless.
To face a situation where her blades meant nothing — that was something she had never experienced. With her own bloodline powerful and the King's even stronger, a child this weak should have been impossible. Yet despite all that strength in his veins, his life only dimmed further.
But everything changed that night at the sacred stone. She had gone there again, her frail two-year-old curled in her arms, tears clouding her sight. As she wept and begged, the stone suddenly trembled — violently — splitting clean in two. And for the first time, her child screamed with a full, healthy voice, as if born anew.
Her joy was boundless… though by morning, news came of the High Priestess's death.
And now look at him — walking with a grandeur that almost felt like repayment for all the days he couldn't walk at all, she mused.
Seeing the Prince approach the center of the training grounds, Lord Halh quietly stepped aside, leaving the space for those meant to use it.
Standing with his mind cleared and sweat soaking his clothes, Elmah refused to concern himself with anything around him — especially the presence of the one man who never wished him well: his father, Duke Ecnes.