The Lavender Throne

V: From the Grave

Amithelia Kiatonan

Today

Nali, Etrar

Sinhat was moving quickly through the palace, his robe snapping behind him, his shoes clicking on the floor. Arms full Ami scrambled after her father, confusion swirling in her brain.

"Dad!" she cried out, rushing to catch up to him, "There's no way right? Like this has to be some poser."

Sinhat did not share the same skepticism, "This is not a time for games Ami."

Ami huffed, both from their quick pace and exasperation, "Dad, how could it possibly be though?"

"We will find out when we find out Ami. A leader shouldn't make assumptions before they see a scene."

Ami rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. Finally, Sinhat came at a slow pace, stopping in front of a holding room, where guards stood in front of the door. Upon seeing the king, they moved away, one opening the door.

On the other side of the room, behind a thick pane of glass, sat a young boy. His skin was pale, paler than anyone in the palace, but flushed pink with sunburn. His hair was disheveled, blond, and sticking up all over the place. His clothes were rumpled, brushed with dirt, evidence of travel (and a lack of access to a shower). A large sack was discarded to the side, packaged food spilling out the top. His shoes and bag and clothes all glimmered brightly, clearly made by Etarian hands. He was writing, head deep in a journal, bound of leather.

He looked every bit of a teenage boy, freshly gone from home.

"So you're the boy looking for me," Sinhat said, voice filling the space.

The boy did not startle, just raised his head, looking Sinhat right in the eye. He stood, laying down his journal, pages open, before bowing slightly at Sinhat, then Ami. He was tall, slightly taller than Ami, reaching up in height towards her father.

"Indeed your majesty," he said.

Ami glanced downwards at the journal, only for her heart to stutter to a stop.

The words were in Crecanian.

Her head snapped upwards to the boy, standing tall, every bit of royalty bleeding out of his stance. Sinhat glanced at his daughter, curious of her reaction.

"Dad, he's writing in Crecanian."

Sinhat's eyes narrowed at that, focusing on the boy. "State your name, title, and why you are here."

If possible, the boy stood taller, lines taught in the stance of a practiced soldier. "Your majesty, King Sinhat of Etrar, and Crown Princess Amithelia, I present myself as Inan Batellia, rightful heir to the Crecanian throne. I've come to you for aid, and help."

"At ease Inan."

The boy relaxed, staring at her father, eyes glancing towards Ami.

Sinhat turned towards the guards, "Let Inan out of here, we have a lot to talk about."

"Just like that father?" Ami hissed, grabbing his hand.

Sinhat glanced at his daughter, age and weariness present in his face, "He's not lying Ami. And I know that face, I saw him once in person long ago."

"Still Papa, you can't!"

The glass door slid open with a slight squeak, Inan trudging forward with the presence of a king.

"Inan, could you lower the collar on the back of your shirt?"

Inan's eyes widened before a small smile slipped onto his lips. He turned, pulling slightly at the back of his shirt.