Ari sat ensconced in the small, winged armchair that he'd moved in front of the window, the warm glow of the rising sun shining onto the sketchbook in his lap. The pencil tip left faint flecks of grey on the page as he shaded in the mountains in the distance, beyond the grey-blue expanse of Kaltvannbukta. Drawing in this sort of light was always difficult, but he enjoyed the challenge of it even if he wasn't very good at it yet. Using his finger, he smudged the pencil markings until the mountains were a smoky gunpowder color all the way through.

The wood floor creaked behind him, and he shot bolt upright in his chair, pencil rolling off his sketchbook and falling to the floor with a short patter. Everything blurred to a single point and his grip on the arms of the chair strengthened until he could feel the wood frame underneath. His mother had impressed upon him for years what to do if he even thought he was in danger, but everything she'd said faded out of his mind and left only blank space behind.

"Ari."

That voice— familiar. All the tension drained from his body and he slumped back into his chair. Making no move to retrieve the pencil, he said, "You... you, how did you get in here?"

His father came around to face him, figure tenebrous and almost hazy at the edges from the sun's light filtering in behind him. "I used the passages." He gestured back to the right toward the bookshelf, whose two halves swung out silently to act as doors.

Ari's mouth dropped open. "But... how?"

His mother had told him that if, for any reason, he ever felt as if he were vulnerable, to escape through those tunnels and find safety. But how safe was it now? How many people besides his father knew where they were and where they led?

While Ari sat motionless, still shocked at his father's blasé divulgence that he knew the passages well enough to sneak into his room, his father pulled over another chair beside his and settled down, folding his hands in his lap.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. But I must ask, what would you have done if I were a person of ill intentions?"

"What?" He just crept in here, and now he wants to know how I would have reacted if he'd been a killer? "Well, run, I guess."

"An adult can run much faster than you can."

"Call for my guards?"

His father chuckled. "Ari, it doesn't take much to bribe a guard, and even in the case that they refuse the money, it wouldn't be difficult to kill them if there were numbers enough to overwhelm whatever physical skill they have."

"Then what?"

"Guilt," he said simply. "Oh, guilt is one of the most potent weapons you can use against someone."

Ari wondered how many times his father had used that particular weapon. "But then, won't they know I'm...?"

"Not necessarily. Feeling guilt during the attempted murder of a boy, even a sudden surge of it... well, even if they recognize what you are, I'd rather you hit them hard with it and get away. Your life is more important than your crown. But if you'd like, I can teach you subtlety."

He perked up a little. "Is that why you're here?"

His father shook his head. "Not today, I haven't the time. There's a council meeting soon. I simply came to tell you that this is a safer way to speak, now that I've discovered how— since Pevnost Dukovníka, it's been a safe habit to always look for a way out, and my search has led me here."

Ari tilted his head at that. He didn't know why exactly his father had fled his homeland, only the circumstances under which he'd left, but the man had spent years creating a life here as he had there; what situation would force him to give it all up? And if he left, would he ever come back to talk to me?

His thoughts were interrupted when his father continued: "You can also go to my chambers via these passages," he said, fingers tightening slightly in his lap, "although I do recommend against it. No one would think it odd if I weren't in my chambers, but your disappearance would spark an investigation."

A sudden idea hit him and Ari leaned forward. "Next time we speak, can you tell me what happened in the meeting?"

He would have to ensure that it was the truth somehow, but the potential insight into what his mother kept from him was well worth it.

"I could, yes. Or you could find out for yourself."

"Mamma would never let me."

"It isn't about what she allows you to do, Ari. You are king. If you wanted, you could march straight into the council room before the meeting and sit down."

Ari narrowed his eyes. "Does that actually work?"

"I've done it myself, when I was a young boy desperate to hear the war reports. My commander told me that I wasn't yet old enough, but I refused to take that for an answer and sat with the older soldiers. It took a little time, but I convinced them that I was there with the commander's approval." His father smiled at the memory, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "And when he walked in, seeing all of them at ease with me sitting in their midst, he did not contradict it."

"What happened afterward?"

"Oh, he lectured me, naturally, but there was nothing he could do. He had no place to reprimand a holy warrior."

"But Mamma..." Surely she would not stop at a lecture alone. He shuddered; even the idea of her reaction was not something he wanted to face.

"She will not punish you."

He stared at his father incredulously. "It's Mamma."

"Precisely. She is the queen to everyone else, but she is a mother to you— it might seem as if she's made of iron, but believe me, the one person she is soft for is you. Angry though she may be, she could never bring herself to do anything to you."

The last time they had argued, she had ended up only demanding an apology from him. That had been for asking questions about Aleksander, and he could still remember the way the blood had drained from his face during the falsely cordial interrogation she'd put him under. Whatever her reaction now, it would be in response to something that she would consider far worse: actively disobeying her to sit in on a meeting.

"I don't know about that," he whispered, looking down at the floorboards.

His father stilled and his features pinched together. "Has she...?"

"No. No, no, of course not." And I hope she won't.

He sighed. "Good."

"But I still don't want to make her angry."

"And that's your choice, Ari. But recognize the situation for what it is: you can be afraid of backlash now, or of gross inefficacy later." He stood, straightening his suit jacket and adjusting his tie. "I must leave, but I look forward to seeing you there, should you decide to come."

His father hovered for a moment, as if there were something else he wanted to say, but he turned away and returned to the passageway, the heels of his shoes clicking against the stone. He paused in the center of the doorway and looked back.

"It's an excellent drawing, by the way."

"T-Thank you."

His father smiled, and with that, he left.

Once the man was well out of sight, Ari glanced around the room. There was a loose thread hanging from one of the curtains, so he grabbed his hunting knife, a never-used gift from one of the rare occasions his 'uncle' visited, and sliced through it. Replacing the knife, he took the thread and crouched down at the front of the passage. Some of the bricks of the wall were loose with age, and he pushed a couple of the lower ones aside to place each end of the thread in the gaps before pushing them back.

He stepped back out of the passage and shut the bookshelf-doors. The idea of anyone, even his father, being able to sneak in without him hearing or knowing it was not one that appealed to him. That done, he sat back in his chair and focused his gaze on the city outside the window. His father was right about choices, and the one that Ari made today would affect the people below, possibly for years. If he held back now, let his mother cow him into submission as she had every time he'd even broached the subject, what would be the price that his people paid?

He had to know the state of the war, had to know how his nation was faring, had to know when the nobles were lying and when they were genuine— and there was no way to achieve that without being present himself.

I have to go. Ari took a deep breath. Anger or not, I have to go.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ari's palms had begun sweating before he even reached the council room. Once he entered, he knew there would be no going back. When he rested his hand on the door handle, hesitating, the metal cool against his fingers, he asked himself yet again if he really intended to do this.

Go on. Open the door. You can do it.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he twisted the handle and stepped inside. No one was there, a small mercy, but he still walked as if the floor would shatter beneath him. At the carved wooden chair nearest to the window, he stopped, letting his hand trail absentmindedly over the engraved pattern of leaves and flowers in the splat.

Most of his attention, however, was focused on the dark-marbled, annular table in front of him. Here was the place where decisions for his country were made, the place where he would soon be sitting and passing judgment on the nobles' proposals, provided that he had the courage to stand strong in this one moment. When he sat down, the table's edge was on level with his heart— it was clear that he would not have the imposing presence of his mother or the subtle, knowing air of his father; few if any nobles would do more than humor what they saw as a child playing king.

Yet, he told himself. They'll come to respect you soon enough.

He was young, but he was not a fool, and they would learn it quickly. Leaning back so that his fair hair brushed the ornate designs of the chair, he waited. Waited, waited, tapping his forearm on the table so that the metal button on the underside of his uniform sleeve made a slight sound as it hit the marble.

He felt relieved and afraid in equal measure as the door finally opened and his mother stepped inside. Her eyes dipped from him to the chair he sat in, and a frown settled into the lines of her face. It was, after all, her chair, something Ari had been fully aware of when he'd chosen it. He was not the consummate politician that these nobles were, but he understood what a statement was and how to make one.

Maybe, he considered, watching her expression, he'd gone a little too far. No, no, stay strong.

"Ari," she said, voice too calm for his liking, "the meeting starts soon. You have to leave."

He lifted his chin. "No. I'm going to stay and listen."

"I've told you before and I have no interest in telling you again: you are not yet old enough to be here."

"I'm going to have to learn someday."

"But 'someday' is not today. Please, skatten min," she added, "I don't want to argue with you."

Stay strong. "Mamma, I need to be here. You— you can tell them whatever you'd like, that you think it's time for me to become involved, but I'm not leaving. I want to be a better king. I want to learn—"

"No." His mother turned away, facing the front of the room. "This is not the sort of information a child should hear."

"I'm not a child, I'm a king—"

"You're both. And since you're my child, I have decided that I don't want you exposed to this. You are not prepared, so give it some time."

Ari stared at the back of his mother's neck. It had always been the same message— more time, more time, more time— and he was tired of it. For years, she had refused to let him do so much as listen, let alone participate. Like his father had hinted at, Ari knew that if he backed away now, he'd be showing his mother that he would always bow to her will in the end. For his own sake as well as his country's, that couldn't be the option he chose.

"I'm staying," he said. "You can't make me leave."

She whirled around, eyes narrowed. "I can have your guards drag you out of here, and I will if I have to."

Ari's mouth went dry and he grasped the fabric of his trousers, bunching the material between his fingers. The way she was looking at him now, like an enemy soldier prepared for the kill... Without a doubt in his mind, he knew that she would do it, that she would have him hauled away before he could blink if he didn't leave now.

Once again, he wondered if this was truly worth it, a council meeting for her rage. He could go; they would spend the next few mornings in awkward, tense silence before apologizing and putting the incident behind them. If he insisted on staying, he would only make whatever this was between them all the worse. That silence would stretch even longer; if apologies came at all, they would be forced and only offered grudgingly. And the choice was his. Whichever outcome came to be would be his fault.

Isn't she just as much at fault as I am? He'd started this, yes, but she had threatened him, and he remembered the last threat she had made: how she had told Aleksander that they would hear his screams across the border. She's treating me the same way she does a killer? Ari was tempted to leave then and there, let this go before she could do anything to him, but behind that panicked thought was heated blood and tensed muscles.

"Well?" His mother raised an eyebrow. "I'm waiting, Ari."

"Keep waiting."

The second it came out of his mouth, his eyes widened and he braced himself as if for a physical blow. Regardless, nothing in him regretted it, not even as he took in her expression.

She stilled, and a hush settled between them for a full minute before she spoke. "Apologize. Now. And then leave this room before I do something I regret."

"No." He folded his arms. When she opened her mouth again, presumably to call for his guards, he said, "If you call them in here, they will have to take me kicking and screaming, and then everyone will know that we're arguing."

His mother gripped her forearms, nails leaving deeper indentations in her skin than her metal bracelets. "You would use this... this quarrel against me?"

Quietly, he said, "You would use my own guards against me."

"I am trying to keep you safe! I am—" She broke off, glaring at him. "Fine. Fine, Ari. You can stay, but not a word out of you. Not in this meeting, and not when you can't cope with this later, do you understand?"

It was, perhaps, not entirely what he wanted, but the compromise would have to do for the moment. If he pressed the issue any further, she might just follow through with her threat, regardless of the image it presented. As it was, he would already have to deal with the complications that the current situation created.

He nodded.

"Just this once," she said, eyes stony. "We will not make a habit of this."

She took a place in the chair next to him, and he had to resist the urge to move his own chair away. There was something between them now, stronger and more palpable than any link he could have created, and he'd never been so eager to be surrounded by self-indulgent nobles in his life. Despite their discord, both Ari and his mother knew how to play the game, and so while his mother rearranged her features into her usual cool smile, Ari kept his face blank and neutral.

What am I getting myself into?

Long time, no update. I know. Life's the slightest bit insane at the moment; I get home anywhere from 5:00 to 6:00, and then do homework for the next couple hours. So in essence, I'm mentally drained, and therefore I apologize for the quality (or lack of) in this chapter and its second half.

Only one foreign thingy in this part, hm? Welp, next part makes up for that.

Kaltvannbukta (kahlt-fahn-BOOHK-tuh): Coldwater Bay, the body of water next to the city.

Actually, I'll make up for that foreign stuff now, because I learned something cool. See, I thought accents in Czech were like accents in Spanish, there to show that this is where you place emphasis. Nope. They actually elongate the letter. So "toulavá" has an accent over the last 'a', making that a sound like a double: "tow-lah-VAA".

Also, as I've said, this is part one of the chapter, and part two is up as well.