The Witch's Cursed Daughter

58. The Chancellor

As the pair sat down on opposite chesterfields to converse, Julian began with a grave timbre, "I am aware that tomorrow there is to be a meeting about the perilous state of the front against Rohnelle."

"Yes, Your Highness. The ongoing stalemate between the kingdoms is eating away at military funds and the morale of the soldiers. The first prince must be suffering a ceaseless nightmare with all the paperwork and organising he must do for this forsaken war," the Chancellor admitted while polishing his glasses with the edge of his un-tucked shirt.

"Indeed," Julian agreed, habitually watching the Chancellor as he smudged the freshly-cleaned glasses with his thumb while he thought. "Well, I would like you to propose that I be sent to the front."

"What?" The Chancellor's glasses fell to the floor in response to Julian's words, meeting the ground with a crack. Hurriedly, the pair stared at them, relieved to find they weren't broken.

Julian explained, "You are aware of my sword abilities; the king, on the other hand, is not. He will see this as your attempt to try and make me into a hero to the people, although he will conclude that I am destined to die without a talent for the blade."

"Your Highness, while I am fully aware of your capabilities, as you said, sending you to the front is an unequivocally a bad idea," the Chancellor disagreed, deserting his spectacles in an attempt to focus entirely on comprehending the prince.

"I understand your hesitance, Chancellor. However, you must know that I wouldn't ask for this without reason," Julian reassured.

"That's the part that worries me," the old man stated, using his thumb and finger to press against his temples. For a while, neither one spoke; the various tones of the ticking clocks did not allow silence to settle between them. A deep grumble emanated from the Chancellor as he considered what Julian's plan could be.

"Your Highness, you are still only eleven years old, but not a soul would believe that based on your speech, demeanour, and mental strength. I fear that whatever you have planned will take a larger toll than you realise."

"You have always been a great friend to me, Lucienne," Julian smiled meekly. "Please, do as I ask."

The Chancellor rose from his seat and padded across to one of his clocks sitting on a curving bookshelf. Removing a brass key from his trouser pocket, he rewound the hands by half a minute. Sighing loudly, he spoke without turning around, "This will not be a quick visit to the North. If you survive, it could take years before you return."

"I know," was the reply. Still avoiding the direction of the second prince, the Chancellor made his way back to his desk, puffing as he sat down, his stomach greeting his thighs. Picking up his quill, he paused, watching the shadow of the muntin bars on the window form a cross against the pale feather.

Sending his eyes to the edge of his desk, the Chancellor could scarcely make out the pommel of his sword, shining dulling above a stack of papers. The last time his blade had been swung was the day Julian had become a Blade Master. Julian had overtaken his teacher and emerged more powerful than anyone the Chancellor had fought in war. Blade Masters are rare; Julian's abilities would make him a target, especially at such an age. Conflicted by his rationality and love for the prince, the Chancellor groaned inaudibly.

"Alright, Julian," the old man said, his words catching on the back of his throat as he reluctantly articulated them.

An uncanny sense of relief came over Julian as he watched his mentor acknowledge his request. With this agreement, the deal between the princes would continue on schedule; however, Julian felt as though he had taken advantage of Lucienne. A loud call broke his thoughts as the Chancellor's clear eye bore into his, "Shouldn't you be packing?"

"You're right," Julian stuttered in response. Lifting himself from the stained chesterfield, the second prince rapidly approached the exit.

"Write to me often," the Chancellor's voice was soft as Julian's hand met with the door handle.

Grinning, Julian left the room without answering. As he returned the same way he had come, the reverberating cry of his boots meeting the floor sounded a little less hollow as he marched; each step closer to Evianna.