A prophecy was given to the Realm of Valeera, but only one kingdom took heed to it and set forth a law that would divide the people into two groups. The Fair and the Strange. One group possessed a promise from the gods while the other is doomed for...
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Eron's skin itched as if a hundred ants were crawling beneath his armor. He recalled his orders given by the pesky king while they sailed up the Ardanian River.
"Summon the Royal Scribery to my study. Summon Joelis. He returned to Greenshiin for the ceremony. Knowing him, he's probably already on his way here. Double the watch on every wall and border in the kingdom. And inform me of any discrepancies. I doubt we'll get any sleep tonight, but I do hope we receive relief and answers to this situation."
He only listened and responded with the normal "Yes, Your Majesty" as he fought the urge and temptation to rip off his ceremonial armor. He did not feel like doing his royal duties. His skin flared like it was on fire, sweat coated his face, and at times, he leaned against something from sudden dizzy spells. Though not surprised, the bastard didn't even notice his distress.
He recalled those small moments in time when Dimitri treated him with kindness and respect. How he'd take him under his wing for a few hours to relieve him from King Thadd and Joelis' torture. Then the brotherly love shifted to scorn over the years, and now meetings were the only time they conversed.
Once they deboarded, the pathetic king dismissed him rather than allow him to join him in the infirmary. Despite his physical distress, he wanted to hear what Grisonce and the High Priest had to say. He wanted to see the Purple Thief to check on her well-being. The ache in his body wouldn't allow him the chance to process why he cared about her now after he was the main one seeking for her death.
"Are you alright?" The king's Knight Escort, Ser Garret, stared at him with narrowed eyes, fighting his pure concern.
Eron realized he was still standing outside the infirmary, staring at the door the king had disappeared into. "I'm fine," he growled.
"You look sick."
Eron shifted his feet and swallowed hard. His mouth and throat had dried up, and a burnt taste lingered on his tongue as if the soft flesh was indeed burning.
"Thank you for your concern, but I am fine," he said. "Keep your escorts close to the king for the remainder of the night. Give me a report of any occurrences."
"What about Prince Grisonce?"
"What about him?" He recalled how the annoying prince retained enough bravery to run towards the purple inflamed pillar. For a minute, in his distress and shock, a sense of admiration for the boy showered him.
"He needs an escort..." Ser Garret lilted.
"He should've already had two," Eron said. "Seek them or not. I don't give a damn."
He stormed away before his anger boiled higher in his soul for the pathetic boy who didn't deserve the title of prince.
As he crossed the royal grounds, wanting to pull out his hair in frustration, he was immediately greeted by two boys of the concerning carriers coming in from the Runes, and the north, the south, the east, and the west sides of the royal grounds. Even his assigned squire joined their walk. He cursed and forced himself to listen as they addressed concerns and questions from chief knights and officials.
