Outside the window, the sun had just barely risen. 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 the whitefish on his plate, poking away a lingonberry that lay too close. 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 war report in her hand, brow slightly furrowed as she read them.

She draped her arm across his shoulders, and he resisted the urge to duck out from under it. Whenever he sat next to her, she had the tendency to take his hand in hers or run her fingers through his hair, which he always tried to avoid since kings weren't supposed to be cuddled. Usually, he just chose to sit across from her, but today was different.

"Mamma?" he ventured, looking up at her.

When she turned the page, the bracelets on her left forearm jangled, and she let out a low hum. You have to speak louder, Ari told himself. He was tempted to simply lean closer and read the words on the edge of the page, but if she caught him at it, it'd be the end of this venture of his.

"Mamma?"

Without looking up, she said, "What is it?"

"I was wondering if you had time to talk about something..."

She set her papers down and turned in her seat to face him, taking one of his hands in hers. "Always, skatten min."

Her thumb ran over the backs of his knuckles and he let himself relax. Maybe she would listen this time, and maybe, he hoped, she would accept what he had to say. He knew not to expect too much, but perhaps this time...

Reaching into one of the pockets of his uniform, Ari drew out the paper he had torn from his journal before breakfast. He laid it on the table in front of them and smoothed the creases, looking up at his mother with a tentative smile.

He traced a line of ink with one finger. "I was thinking that if this is the border with Moravsko, and Sázasek is here, then the soldiers who just took Žihovec could come around from the south and some of the soldiers near the border could—"

"Ari." His mother was no longer smiling. Her lips flattened into a thin line and the weight of her gaze rested heavily on him until he ducked his head, eyes focused on the marble floor between his shoes. "What is this?"

"A map," he mumbled, clasping his hands together tightly. "I drew it—"

"Before or after you eavesdropped on the last council meeting?" She held up a finger when he opened his mouth to speak. "You know the reason why I didn't tell you about Sázasek, and I am tired of repeating myself."

He stared at the dark skeins twisting through the otherwise pale marble. "I'm trying to help," he whispered. "Mamma, I... I have to be ready."

She sighed. "Look at me."

Hesitantly, he raised his head. His mother reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, hands gentle. Her hands were always gentle, but Ari knew that her words still had teeth, and he couldn't help but draw away from her touch.

"I want you to give this up," his mother said. "War is not the business of children. There will be plenty of time for you to learn, but for now, enjoy being a child. It's not something I ever had."

"But—"

"No. I won't tell you again."

Neither her tone nor her expression brooked any argument, and Ari almost nodded out of reflex before cutting himself off in a jerky, abortive movement. He would become king in full in only five years; why should he bow? Certainly his need for preparedness circumvented his mother's desire to keep him sheltered. But judging by the look she gave him, she disagreed, and the longer he watched her, the louder his heartbeat sounded in his ears. And something else was there too, a tightness to his chest, a fire, a clarity— Ari knew frustration well, but this was foreign to him, seeming to come from a place as distant as the cold moon and as close as his most secret thoughts.

With a quick glance, he noted the way his mother's hands were clenched, forcing creases into the paper. Gentle, he told himself, mouth going dry. She won't... His pulse hammered against the side of his throat like a battering ram and that feeling faded away to nothing, replaced by shallow breaths and the press of his nails into his palms.

"E-Excuse me," he said, standing and pushing his chair in.

Halfway to the doors, he heard his name and turned around. One eyebrow arched, his mother said, "Well?"

Ari looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry, Mamma."

When he heard nothing further, he shoved the doors open and left, shoes squeaking in his hurry to escape. His guards followed at a loose distance, but he ignored them, running a hand through his hair. 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 to be there than sitting across from his mother still. He shuddered. Whatever that feeling was, wherever it came from, it was strange... but not, as he'd begun to realize, unpleasant. It wasn't the first time he'd felt it, but the rush...

He shook his head. The most important thing was to ensure that his mother did not find out; otherwise, he'd be confined to bedrest for a week. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't confide in anyone else either. Although he liked his tutor, he knew perfectly well that Herr Hallessen was, in the end, his mother's man, and among the rest of court, he didn't know many people particularly well. Of those he did, he trusted none of them.

He took the stairs a couple at a time, feeling the burn in his muscles as he went up two floors and paused at the last step before the landing. Tilting 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, because what he knew— what they both knew— was that he was beyond that. At no age was it acceptable for a king to act like a child, but at his, it was no longer something that would be discarded with maturity. It was more like a growing vine, strangling the kingdom until removed.

Finally, he reached the library. Alabaster domes stretched over his head and light shone through the wide, curved windows, tinging the floors a brilliant white-gold. The text on the spine of every book glowed, each one seeming to beckon him forward, beg him to leaf through pages of times long forgotten and stars far beyond his reach. He looked longingly to the right, where writings on every animal in Riken could be found, but he didn't have the time to choose one... not that he ever just chose one.

Sighing, he headed left instead, settling himself at a table in front of a small alcove. Within minutes, Herr Hallessen appeared with a thick tome in hand, placing it on the table and resting his fingers lightly on the cover.

"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 his tutor was still a little hesitant in doing so. Still, he certainly enjoyed his company— the man always had a smile and a book, and although he was a few years and a considerable amount of weight past some of the activities that Ari pursued, he was always willing to try.

Although... "It's winter," Ari said.

"Are you planning on staying inside for the rest of the season?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Good. Let's go." With that, Herr Hallessen steered him back outside of the library. 

So... between the mother of all writer's blocks, prep for AP and IB tests, and my inability to write eleven-year-old boys, it's been a long time. Hopefully Chapter 4 will come easier-- I think it will, but the May schedule is just the tiniest bit insane.

Above is a picture of the library (it's actually in Portugal, I think, but I'm using it anyway). Beyond that... no culture/language stuff for this part of the chapter, unless you want to know that Ž sounds like "zh". And Czech c sounds like "ts". So Žihovec = "Zhihovets".