The Witch's Cursed Daughter

57. Step One

Julian walked through Warrick Palace; the sparse yet elaborate decorations against the walls on the way to the east wing made him chuckle. The statues and ornaments passed en route, created from precious metals or sculpted from rare gems, were sprinkled about to satisfy the nobles who worked there. Addend Wing is an area on the West side of the humungous palace dedicated to affairs of state and politics and offices for those involved in both. The large hall-like corridor was lined with yellowed doors, left to age with use, each one with a silver nameplate engraved with the room's occupant.

Eventually, Julian paused before the final door at the end of the hall, positioned in the centre with the Grandmaster's unused office in line to the left and the Counsellor's permanently in-use office on the right. Raising his fist to knock on the door, Julian wondered how to convince this man, who had been more of a father figure to him than the King, to send him to the frontlines.

Lucienne Ad Henos was one of the few to have earned his noble title in the palace. Joining the army as a young, peasant-born teenager, he quickly rose through the ranks with his fine sense of justice and strategy. Upon receiving the Emerald Bow, the most distinguished medal that the crown can bestow, after his contributions in a battle against a matured dragon, Lucienne was gifted the title Marquess Ad Henos and the Henos territory, which had long been vacant. The Marquess retired from the military to work within the palace, grateful for the King's generosity. He worked as an aide for the previous Chancellor before inheriting the position upon his death.

Chancellor Henos had watched over Julian as best he could in the absence of his mother, Sharlo Yastoff. Having assisted with her induction into the palace, the Chancellor had fallen for her beauty and fiery disposition. Lucienne had spent days in Lupine Palace, attending to the concubine; as someone who had also risen from life among common people, the King had thought that the Chancellor could convince Sharlo of the wonders of her new life. Even with young Voster at her side and a baby in her arms, Lucienne was irrevocably in love with her and he taught Sharlo and the children whenever he had a moment to spare. After her passing, he was inconsolable, yet he never blamed the young Mage or his magic. His blame fell on the royal family. Unable to forgive the King for his cruelty towards the second prince, Lucienne had continued to spend many hours teaching the boy politics, etiquette, and swordsmanship.

Blowing softly through his pursed lips, Julian brought his fist to meet the door; the resounding knock being swiftly answered with a gruff, 'Enter.'

As Julian did so, he smiled. The large office had not changed in layout since the first day he had visited; two blue-stained chesterfield sofas, created by multiple ink incidents, with an accompanying coffee table and an out-of-place, delicately painted tea-set. Lines of over-weighted bookshelves, piles of documents, spare shirts hanging in one corner, numerous clocks sitting and standing in different locations, and a dark wooded desk rested beside the window at the far end of the room. "Good day, Chancellor,' Julian called.

Since Julian's entrance, the Chancellor had not looked over to greet his visitor. A pair of crystal coloured irises peered over the top of spectacles perched on the end of a short nose upon hearing Julian's voice. Creases formed deeply around his eyes and lips as he rose, abandoning his paperwork.

"Your Highness," he beamed, holding out his arms as he stepped around the table. "How are your wounds? Your confinement has only just ended. What brings you all the way here?"

Moving to meet the old man, Julian met him in a familiar embrace, "I am completely healed, thanks to the endless talents of my Mage. I came hoping for your assistance."

"Name it, and I shall do my best," the Chancellor replied. His rough voice was welcoming and kind, much like his appearance. He was man of undeterminable age, yet much older than the King. His white hair was neatly groomed, and his face was weathered by years beneath the sun, yet not hidden behind any additional facial hair. His many freckles tickled his cheeks, and a fresh blush coloured his face as he smiled joyfully in Julian's presence. The only aspect that did not resemble his past on the battlefield was his girth; as a man resigned to a desk and left to find comfort in sweet treats, he had ballooned in more places than just his middle.