Outside the window, the sun was just barely rising. Its light shone a rosy-gold, reflecting off the heavy silver platters on the table and illuminating the room with a faint glow. Resting his elbows on the table, Ari stared at his toast, watching the butter melt slowly into the bread. His mother gave him a pointed glance, one eyebrow arched delicately. His cheeks flushed and he quickly tucked his elbows down by his sides; she gave a small smile and returned to the yellowed documents in her hand, brow slightly furrowed as she read them.

"Mamma?" he ventured, but she didn't look up.

Louder, Ari. How is she supposed to hear you?

"Mamma?"

His mother looked up. "What is it, Ari?"

"I— I wanted to know how the mission in Trstova went." She stared at him and he squirmed a little in his seat, averting his eyes. "If we took the city, how many men were lost..." He trailed off, feeling the weight of her gaze on him.

Her eyes softened a bit. "Skatten min," she said, voice low and gentle, "how many times have I told you?"

"But I need to know. I should know."

"It's not something that concerns you."

"But it will one day—"

"Ari." Her tone became no-nonsense and he stopped speaking immediately. "It will be some years until you're king. There will plenty of time for you to learn about war and fighting, but until then... enjoy being a child. It's not something I ever had."

I'm not a child, he wanted to say, but the look on his mother's face discouraged any argument he might have tried. Why did she have to treat him like he couldn't handle it? He was smart; he knew he could, if she only gave him the chance...

But she was back to reading her reports again, and it was completely silent except for the occasional chirp of birds outside. He pushed his plate away and stood, mumbling a quick "Excuse me" before he left. He couldn't help but feel like a marionette around her, dancing on the strings of her expectations.

It was a bit early to go to lessons, but better that than sit in there. He took the stairs two at a time, feeling the burn in his muscles as he went up two floors and paused at the last step before the landing. Shaking his head, he leaned against the banister. If his mother wanted him to enjoy being a child, he should slide down right now without repercussions. He should raid the kitchens and jump in the mud puddles when it rained in summer. But she'd never let him.

Passing through the hall, he imitated the expressions of the people in the portraits. They always looked so grouchy— when he became king and his portrait was painted, he was going to smile as wide as he could.

Finally, he reached the library. He pulled open the doors and immediately headed for his favorite section. He grabbed a book off the shelf and sat in the nearest chair, flipping open to a random page.

The pine marten's diet includes insects, frogs, birds, smaller mammals, and... What was that word? He placed a finger on it and tried to sound it out.

"Carrion, my king."

Ari almost jumped. Glancing up, he saw a man standing with his hands in his pockets, head canted. What was he doing here? He'd never said so much as a word to Ari beyond simple courtesies, but now...

"Decaying flesh," said Marek Jelen. He lacked his usual half-smile; now there was a strange, almost sad expression. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Mouth slightly open, Ari watched as he brushed past him and made his way out to the hall. No interaction for years, and all he had to say was 'decaying flesh'? Ari rubbed his eyes and stood, letting out a quiet yelp as the book hit the floor.

Herr Hallessen showed up a few minutes later to start lessons. Ari liked Herr Hallessen; he was a very round man, balding and middle-aged, but he was constantly smiling and his belly-deep chuckles always made Ari laugh.

"Why don't we have today's lesson outside, Ari? It's a beautiful day." It had taken Ari at least a few years to convince Herr Hallessen to call him by name, and Hallessen was still a little hesitant in doing so.

"It's winter," said Ari.

"Are you planning on staying inside for a full season?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Good. Let's go."

Herr Hallessen whistled as they walked down to the gardens, and the cheerful tune soon had Ari grinning as well. He knew the garden was one of Herr Hallessen's favorite places, and it wasn't hard to see why: the boughs of the evergreens were weighed down with snow, small crystals hanging from the tips of the pine needles like teardrops. Red berries were brushed with flecks of white, and the pond, although frozen over, was a beautiful blue that rivaled the flags of the castle, which were fluttering in the slight breeze.

Ari swept some snow off of the steps leading down to the pond and sat, stiffening a little at the coldness of the stone.

"Today," said Herr Hallessen, opening one of the tomes he had brought with him, "we'll be focusing on history." Ari groaned and Herr Hallessen gave him a mockingly stern glance. "History makes a king, Ari. If you cannot learn from the past, how are you supposed to shape the future?"

"Ignore the past and do what you think is best?"

"And that," Herr Hallessen said, "is where several kings have failed."

With that, he proceeded to read. Ari tried to pay attention, he really did, but even with Herr Hallessen's dramatic reading voice, the tales of dusty old kings and wars fought with bows and arrows lulled him into a daze. What did it matter how Dagur II took all of south Moravsko if they no longer held it? Who cared about Gulla of Tananvern poisoning her husband if both of them were long dead anyway?

It was only when he felt Herr Hallessen's meaty hand shaking his shoulder that he realized he'd fallen asleep.

"You have a great talent to doze off in a place like this," said Herr Hallessen. "But why don't we put those talents of yours to learning, hmm?"

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, his cheeks reddening.

"Your father wasn't one for history, either." Herr Hallessen chuckled a little. "I remember one time, he faked an illness for a week just to avoid lessons. Oh, your grandfather was livid... he said that just because your father was a prince, didn't mean he couldn't tan his hide. Not," he added, "that your mother would do that to you."

He's not my father. But no matter how much he liked Herr Hallessen, that was something he could never share. It was something he couldn't tell anyone. He hated secrets, but his mother had insisted— demanded— that if he was going to know the truth, he was going to keep it silent.

He'd thought that if he did, she'd start trusting him with more, but she hadn't yet. Maybe one day.

"I don't know," he said, trying to bring his thoughts back to the present. "Have you ever seen Mamma angry?"

"I can't say I have. Her Majesty has always been very polite to me."

Ari grinned a little. "All of your ancient knights and warriors would turn tail at the sight of her."

"Then," said Herr Hallessen, "I'd do well not to anger her."

Patting Ari's shoulder, Herr Hallessen reopened the book and continued reading. This time, Ari kept himself awake and did his best to pay attention.

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

After dinner, Ari craved nothing more than solitude. It wasn't that he didn't love his mother, but any room she was in immediately became stifling, or at least for him. It was almost like having a damper placed on him, muffling all the sparks of liveliness and personality.

He was in his chambers, sitting at his desk with a pen in his hand and a pencil behind his ear, having just finished sketching his room. He began to fill in the shadows with ink, but frowned. Something was wrong with the drawing... the painting above his bed was off-center and the shadows cast by his telescope were lopsided. Drawing with the dying sunset light was hard, even if it was pretty.

Frustrated, Ari was about to crumple up the drawing and start again when he heard voices outside his door. Both were low and male. One was clearly the voice of his guard, but whose was the other?

He got his answer as the door opened. Marek Jelen leaned against the frame, clearly waiting for an invitation in.

"My king," he said.

"You—" Ari stared, eyes wide. "Why are you here?"

"I'd like to speak with you."

"That would be a first." The words were meant to come out cold and level, but instead they were a quiet, almost strangled sound.

Luckily, he either didn't notice or didn't care. "Not by my choice."

"Then why now?"

"Why any time?" He smiled ruefully and scratched the back of his neck. "I couldn't stand the silence any longer."

"You seemed to be fine for years."

"Seemed, Ari. But you are not a parent— you don't know the pain of being separated from your child." Ari opened his mouth to protest, but his father held up a hand. "Please... a chance to explain myself. I will not give you an excuse. I'll give you the truth, and I only ask that you listen."

Something flickered in his father's eyes, and Ari wasn't sure why, but he nodded. What was the harm in hearing him out?

"When you were born, your mother told me two things: your name, and to stay away from you. I could show no more interest in you than the average noble. So I watched you grow up from a distance, watched as you learned to walk, learned to read, became the young man you are now. And it hurt. It still does, knowing that I missed all of that.

"You see, I was only allowed to hold you once. But the second I placed you back into your mother's arms, I knew I wanted you back."

Strangely, Ari felt nothing. He knew he should be shocked, angered, something... but there was only calm, and it reflected in his voice when he said, "What took you so long?"

His father closed his eyes. "It's the greatest regret of my life," he said. "That I waited so long for this."

"I..."

"Listen, Ari. I don't expect you to love me, or even forgive me, but is it possible that we could speak? That I could get to know my son?"

Ari considered. It was all too likely that his father was telling the truth— it sounded like something his mother would do, separate a parent from a child and watch them struggle. He might have been young, but he wasn't blind to what she was, and it was just another reason why he felt the way he did around her. If she could do this to a lover... well, was it not possible that she could do something to a son?

On the other hand, he knew his father by reputation. Everything had a purpose, even the smallest of actions, and this was no small action. What was there to gain? Ari looked into his father's eyes, but what he saw convinced him that this was genuine: his eyes were glossy with unshed tears and his head was slightly bent as if he couldn't bear to look at Ari.

An act? Possibly, but if it was, then it was a good one, and that alone showed that his father cared— enough to love him or manipulate him, he didn't know yet. Ari tilted his head. At the very least, he could ask his father questions that his mother wouldn't answer.

So he nodded and said, "All right."

A small smile appeared on his father's face. "Thank you. I... tomorrow? Can we speak tomorrow?"

Ari nodded again. His father turned to leave, and Ari said, "But the guard— he'll report you to Mamma."

"Don't worry about him."

And with that, his father was gone.

Ari gasped, a flood of emotions hitting him like a punch to the chest. After years, his father had just walked in here and Ari had sat there, as quiet and still as he was at breakfast. Head pounding, he buried his face in his hands and tried to figure out what he had just agreed to.

Hmm... not sure how I feel about this chapter. Feedback?

Skatten min- "my treasure", an affectionate term.

Marek's just involved in everything... he's like that kid in high school who signs up for every single club just to put it on his resumé, but ends up getting a scholarship out of it.