The attendant waiting beyond the study chamber bowed low as Rowan emerged. Without a word, the man fell into step beside him, guiding him through the long marble halls.
Rowan's old room was quiet when he entered. It took only minutes to gather what little belonged to him. Soon after, they stepped outside once more, the attendant leading him deeper into the palace grounds until they stopped before a grand set of doors carved with the crest of Nirathal.
The residence that awaited him was larger than anything he had ever called his own. Sprawling chambers, tall windows spilling sunlight across polished stone, and a vast inner garden alive with quiet fountains and trimmed hedges. Servants lined the hall in perfect formation, bowing as he entered.
Rowan stiffened at the sight, though his face betrayed nothing. He had expected a bedchamber, perhaps two. Not this. The air here felt heavier, filled with quiet expectation.
But when he was shown the training hall, his composure cracked. The wide space gleamed with racks of spears, blades, and bows. Polished armor stood on display along the walls, while wooden dummies and targets filled the floor. Rowan's eyes widened despite himself, the fire in his chest sparking to life. He wanted to train now.
Yet he held himself back. The King had told him the Queen wished to meet him soon, and until she summoned him, he could only wait. Instead, Rowan drifted toward the library. Shelves upon shelves rose around him, heavy with books. He had never truly read before. Vexlaar had denied him such things, and his mother had been too ill to guide him. His knowledge of this world was scattered, incomplete. Here, at last, he could learn for himself.
The first book he picked up was titled The World of Elarion.
According to its pages, the planet itself was called Elarion, but the only known continent was their own, Nexus. Nexus held three great empires: Vareth, Calgareth, and Zeharad. Beyond them were six human kingdoms: Nirathal, Tradespire, Valdros, Thundral, Orven, and Elandor. One elven kingdom, Elwenwald, watched over the ancient forests, while the dwarves of Dhur Karak ruled the mountains. To the north, the beastkin of Dregrath carved their own path.
And at the very center of the continent lay the Crownlands.
Neither empire nor kingdom, they called themselves nothing more than the Crownlands. Rowan lingered on those pages, his eyes tracing every word. He had been fascinated by them ever since he first heard their name in the Vexlaar court, and later from Lady Velria, who spoke of how they maintained branches in every nation, each connected by teleportation portals that only they knew how to operate.
Even though the text never mentioned it outright, it was clear the Crownlands held more influence than any empire. They acted as neutral peacekeepers, never taking sides, never showing ambition, yet no ruler dared challenge them.
They also housed the greatest magic academy in all of Elarion. Even the empires sent their heirs there to study. Anyone could attempt to enter, noble or common, prodigy or late-bloomer, but only those who passed the Academy's grueling entrance trials were accepted.
What surprised Rowan most was that there was no mention of any religion or church in the world at all.
Just then, a knock came at the library door. The Queen had summoned him.
As Rowan followed the attendant through the palace halls, he found himself unsettled. Since arriving in Nirathal, everything had felt almost too smooth. His uncle, the King, had welcomed him warmly. He was treated as a prince rather than an outcast. It was so different from Vareth that sometimes he wondered if it was all some fragile dream.
But what of the Queen? His steps slowed for a moment as doubt crept in. What if she was not like the King? What if she was cruel, or cold? The thoughts lingered even as he was led through the palace until they reached a beautiful garden, where the Queen sat alone, a cup of wine in her hand.
The gardens of the royal quarters were quiet that afternoon, the air warm with the scent of lilacs and the faint trickle of water from a marble fountain. Rowan followed the attendant through a shaded archway, his footsteps muffled by soft gravel. Ahead, beneath a flowering trellis, the Queen sat alone at a small table, a crystal cup resting in her hand.
She looked up as he approached, and a faint smile touched her lips. "Rowan," she said gently, rising to greet him. Instead of formality, she stepped forward and placed her hands on his shoulders, steady and reassuring. "I am glad to finally see you properly."
Rowan bowed his head slightly, uncertain how to respond.
"Sit with me," she urged, motioning to the chair opposite her.
They sat, the silence between them softened by the rustle of leaves overhead. For a time, she simply studied his face, her expression calm, though tinged with something wistful.
"Your mother," the Queen began at last, her voice even but thoughtful, "was my dearest friend. Before duty and crowns, before all of this, she was by my side. I trusted her more than anyone."
Her gaze drifted to the fountain, the rippling water stirring old memories. "I loved Hector first, but it was Elira who gave me the courage to show it. She arranged for us to meet often, subtle moments, never forced, but enough to let us truly know each other. Without her, I doubt Hector would have ever looked beyond the burdens of his title long enough to notice me. She was, in truth, a great reason our marriage ever came to be."
Rowan listened quietly, his hands resting in his lap. The calm conviction in the Queen's tone made her words feel heavier than tears would have.
She turned her gaze back to him, and her voice softened. "I cannot replace what you lost, Rowan. No one can. But know this, while you are here, I will do my best to treat you as I would my own son. Not out of duty, but because it is what she would have wanted… and because I would want it as well."
Rowan's throat tightened, though he managed a nod. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said softly. The Queen's smile grew warmer. "When it is only us, you need not call me that. To you, I will simply be Aunt Selianne."
For the first time since he had entered the garden, Rowan allowed himself a small smile in return. The air between them eased, not burdened by politics or loss, but touched with something quieter, family.
When Rowan returned to his quarters, he changed quickly and went straight to the training hall. The conversation had left his chest lighter, but it also sharpened his determination. He gripped his practice blade and pushed himself through drills, sweat dampening his shirt as he repeated each motion again and again. He wanted to reach the rank of Adept as soon as possible.
Nearly an hour had passed when the door creaked open. A servant entered, bowing lightly. "Young master, Prince Aelric has come to visit you."
Before Rowan could respond, a boy of his own age stepped into the hall. His hair was black, eyes bright with easy confidence, and a smile played naturally across his face.
"Oh, you were training," Aelric said with a laugh. "Haha, nice to meet you! Sorry for barging in, I was just too excited to see you."
Rowan blinked, caught off guard by the prince's casual tone. He lowered his sword, studying him for a moment before replying, a little awkwardly, "Oh… nice to meet you too, Prince Aelric."
The silence that followed stretched, threatening to turn the air stiff. Aelric, quick to sense it, clapped his hands together. "Let's fight!" he said with a grin. "I'm also a knight trainee."
Rowan hesitated, uncertain if sparring with a prince was proper.
Sensing his reluctance, Aelric waved it off with a laugh. "Come on, it'll just be a friendly match. I won't hurt you. My teacher always says the fastest way to truly know someone is to cross blades. You can spend a whole day talking and still learn less than you would in a single spar. So… let's test it."
Rowan's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. Truthfully, his heart stirred with excitement. He had never sparred with a person before, only fought beasts.
He said, "Alright then."