***Cal***

"It's too fucking bright in this country," Nier complains in Zefaric, lazily flicking at the caravan's curtains. "How do these people not go fucking blind?"

Our traveling schedule has gone so awry that we've already managed to lose most of our waking hours to the day. I suppose we would have to convert our nocturnal ways sooner or later, but I had hoped it would take place after we arrived at the Arthronian castle -  off the roads, stone walls shielding us from the worst the sun had to offer.

I'm about to caution Nier to watch his tongue, or to at least do his whining in Arthronian for practice, but it's the first time I've heard him complain since what happened to Zephyr and V'haxiria. Until now he had been brooding in sullen silence, a talker's way of mourning. He's only thirteen, so his brothers' deaths would have an obvious impact on him, but I would be lying if I said it didn't worry me.

Nier glances at me, encouraged by my silence.

"You know, Cal, I believed my family loved me once. Once, long, long ago," he says, covering his face with his hands. He spreads his middle and forefinger apart, letting a single eye peek through the crevice. It's black as a full moon, the most coveted mark of Soranian royalty. "But I was wrong. Oh, what a fool I was. They secretly hated me all along. Wanted me dead. Why else would Grandfather send us to this -" he rips open a curtain, "- godless shithole?"

Outside the sky is an alarmingly vibrant blue and the grass is so green it looks fake. The only insects I've seen so far are butterflies, dragonflies, and ladybugs with a penchant for landing on your head if you sit still enough. In Soran, the evening birdsong is often a clashing chorus of different birds fighting to be heard, but in Arthronia it's as if every species patiently waits their turn to preform a solo piece.

It's a little unnerving, but admitting that will only fuel Nier's slandering tirade. Although I'm relieved he's starting to feel like himself again, I'm concerned that everyone's reminders to play nice in a foreign power's territory have completely flown over his head.

"It's not so bad," I reply in Arthronian.

"Not so bad?" he snorts, again, in Zefaric. He jabs a thumb out the window. "Look at that peasant picking turnips - look! He's smiling. Why is he smiling? He's poor. Poor people have nothing to smile about-" he pauses, craning his neck forward. "Cal. Did you see that?" Nier says, leaning out. "Did a peasant just wave at me? In Soran, I could -"

I grab the back of his collar and yank him back in time for a swerve that would have launched him out the window.

"You aren't in Soran anymore, Nier. Start acting like it."

Although my tone isn't especially sharp, he can always tell when I'm being serious. His thin lips knit into something between a pout and a scowl and he throws himself onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh. Flinging his arm over his eyes, he spends the next couple minutes in stubborn silence.

Although he won't admit it, I can tell that he's excited to finally leave the D'haravat castle for something new. Nier's never been afraid of change, a quality that will make him an excellent king one day. I can't help but smirk, watching him sulk. Right now he's just a boy, really, but I'm always catching glimpses of the man he could become. Given time, I'm sure that Queen Eliza and her daughter will too.

A few more minutes pass in silence, save for the caravan's wheels running over cobblestone and the muffled birdsong outside.

"Cal, are you still nervous about Eliza?" Nier asks, peeking at me from under his forearm.

"Queen Eliza," I remind him.

"Who cares?" he huffs, pushing himself up. A lock of his thick, wavy hair covers one eye, but he doesn't bother brushing it out of the way. "You have more royal blood than she does, what right would the Gypsy Queen-"

"Nier."

"Oh, come on. Everyone knows that the only reason she's sitting on that throne is because of her pretty face. Probably some black magic, too. They're all just too dickless to say it to her face."

"Royal blood or not, she is the queen of one of the most powerful kingdoms in Evecia. And a competent one, too," I reply. "You wouldn't be brave for taunting her. You'd be an idiot."

"Whatever. All I'm saying is that she doesn't have any right to give you shit about anything."

I know he's only trying to look out for me, but I wish he'd be more subtle about it. "Thank you, Nier," I say with a sigh. He doesn't bother replying, just covers his eyes and pretends to nap again.

After a few minutes I tug the curtain aside and glance outside. "We're almost here."

Nier bolts up, scattering a few cushions, and leans out the window again. I go tense, ready to pull him back in case the caravan hits a rut or another swerve.

"It's so... short. And fat," he states, unimpressed. "And we're nowhere close to it."

The royal castle peeking over the horizon is nothing like the one we left behind. D'haravat stands at a hundred and four stories and is burrowed beneath the earth another forty floors, tall and thin, a stone needle puncturing the earth and threading into the sky.

I don't think the Arthronians bothered naming their castle, probably because it's so iconic that "the Arthronian castle" would do just fine. A few years ago I saw a gilded storybook imported from this kingdom. The woven picture of the castle looks exactly like the one standing before us: thick towers topped with elegantly carved crenellations sprouting around the main structure, a gigantic glass dome that could not have possibly been constructed without the use of magic, no matter how Arthronians feel about it.

Nier is in the process of making another snide comment, but stops mid-sentence. When I look over I see the damage the dragon inflicted coming into view as the caravan circles around a wide bend. It's been a full moon cycle since it attacked, but it doesn't look like any efforts have been made for the castle's reconstruction.

"We're about to hit a rock," I say quietly, resting a hand on his forearm.

Nier sits down and I close the curtains. After some time the coachman knocks against the caravan with the butt of his whip, announcing that we've arrived and his job here is done.

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Soranian pronunciation guide

Nier: knee-air

Zephyr: zeh-fear

V'haxiria: Vhax-ee-ree-a

D'haravat: Dah-ha-ra-vhat

All comments and votes are appreciated :)

For critiques: Sooo some new characters, hope you like these guys! Because I do. Anyways, I know there isn't a lot of description of the narrator in this chapter, like appearances or body language, but that's on purpose. You know, to give off the feel that they subconsciously don't find themselves noteworthy of being noted. More of an observer than a doer. Does that make sense? So any predictions as to the narrator's age, gender, relation to the Prince? Curious to see what impression I managed to give off. As always, points for grammatical errors are always appreciated!