Claimed by Callista

Chapter ✺ 22

That Night

I had secured my father's trust, fluttering my eyes, keeping my gaze down, answering mostly in the positive, and only asking questions that showed my awe of his territory as he took me through courtyard to throne room to kitchen to guest rooms.

Of course, he didn't show me outside the Bolstrom Castle, but learning this space was a good start. He even started to teach me the other language they used, and I showed my willingness in learning in repeating the words he spoke to me.

In all his ramblings of his victories and achievements and how much he was revered, I found out one very particular piece of information that changed everything.

The King of Bolstrom was the King of War Magic.

Yet the impressive part was my father had no magical powers. He was the collector of magics. He had a library of every kind. He was learning all about it – and he had secured a small kingdom with his curiosities.

His own command of the High Priests had raised the Bolstrom castle on the rock it was laid upon, into the air – showcasing his control with his floating castle.

And at the end of our long walk, which ends in a drawing room near his own chambers – the royal quarters, he stands by a large bookcase, pride in his eyes, as he looks me over and discusses grabbing me a better garb.

A bunch of maids run off to fetch me proper attire.

The rest of the king's guards wonder back out of the drawing room at a single nod from my father, and I see he trusts me entirely now not to attempt to claw his eyes out on a whim.

I wait by a fire, keeping quiet as he considers me now after showing such obedience all day.

"You've been good..." he uses the words I remember as a child... I know what's coming next, "What do you want? If you could have anything in the world? I'll make it happen."

He asks it exactly as I remember, with love – or what I always thought was love.

"May I see him?" I ask, keeping my eyes down.

"...your Magus... you sense he is alive..." he knows exactly whom I refer to, and I already feel his hesitation, "Yehseeka, he isn't in a state you'd appreciate, he's in transition – an extraction and... well, you wouldn't understand the process..." he rambles a bit too much, "Is this truly what you want? Will it make you smile?"

I nod.

"Hmm... then I'll take you," my father answers in the affirmative, after I was sure he would deny my request.

I try not to react too harshly with victory.

I am saved from scrutiny anyway, by the returning maidservants.

They are bringing in a large long dress, so much material, of a type I've never seen before. It's red, with silver trimmings, and it's very shiny and thin. But I'll admit... it's beautiful.

"Will it restrict my right arm?" I ask, worried, "I can not move it, I don't want pressure on the blood flow," I add.

"This was made to accommodate your arm," my father murmurs, already humoured by his own ability to be a few steps ahead.

"Thank you, father," I keep my eye on the dress, as the maidservants usher me out of the drawing room, into another private space for me to be dressed.

I let them have at me, I don't complain as they help me out of my shift, into the royal red garb.

At least they're gentle, even if they don't exactly speak a single word to me, their eyes often anywhere but on my face.

When I'm ready, I walk back to the drawing room and my father, who is waiting in the same spot.