Ari gave the books one last glance before resigning himself to the cold; his tutor's idea of a beautiful day was very different from his. Herr Hallessen whistled as they walked down to the gardens, and the cheerful tune soon had Ari grinning as well.

He knew the gardens were among 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 because of the thin layer of ice on stone.

"Today," said Herr Hallessen, opening the book 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."

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 west Moravsko if they no longer held it? Who cared about Gulla of Tananvern poisoning her husband if both of them were long dead anyway?

His eyelids felt heavy and his head drooped until his chin rested against the polished buttons of his uniform. Somewhere within him, surfacing like some primeval monster from the depths, that feeling rose, a weight settling around his heart. If it was hard to open his eyes before, it was as if they were stuck shut with rabbit-skin glue now, and if sleep was only a tempting prospect only a few minutes ago, it was inevitable in this moment. The scarce thoughts he had ran sluggishly, but all asked one question: Again?

And then a hand was resting on his should, shaking him awake, forcing that monster back into the dark. Ari's eyes flew open and he saw Herr Hallessen run that same hand through his dark hair, a small smile on his face.

"You have a great talent to fall asleep in a place like this," he said. "But why don't we put those talents of yours to learning, hmm? You're making me doze off."

Ari nodded, not trusting himself to speak. This feeling had been coming more and more frequently, but twice in a day... Again. It happened again.

"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 be beaten like any child in the country."

Pushing his thoughts aside, Ari leaned forward. He was always torn between keen interest in whatever his tutor had to say about his father and complete dismissal. He would never meet his father, never truly know him, so what did the stories of his childhood matter? But he couldn't help being curious.

"Still," said Herr Hallessen, "he grew to be a good man. Brave. Gentle. Pious." With that last word, he sighed a little. Ari's mother had prohibited him from teaching the Church's lesson, and clearly he felt that Ari's education was lacking without.

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.

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

Over the next few days, Ari's life passed just as it had for years: each day just slid away like a dew drop from a leaf in the early morning. The only difference came from the odd flashes of feeling that came at random in the form of gritted teeth, drooping eyelids, and the occasional exuberant shout. Until the evening of one of his mother's most important council meetings.

He had been told in no uncertain terms that if he was caught eavesdropping, he would be banned from the library for a full month. The slight chance of gleaning some information weighed against losing books for even a week... he had conceded that staying in his chambers for the evening was probably for the best.

And so he sat in his armchair, trying to sketch the inkwell and journals on his desk by candlelight. The small flame kept guttering and flickering, shifting the shadows around until Ari grew frustrated with it, ready to just snuff it out and go to sleep.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day, he thought. Standing, he placed his sketchbook next to the journals and set his pencils on top of it before picking up the candleholder. Maybe he'd be able to gather even a little bit of information from his mother tomorrow, maybe he could convince Herr Hallessen to teach about the stars rather than the ages past, maybe— Maybe.

Perched now on the edge of his bed, he sighed and set the candleholder down on the nearby table. He'd forgotten his book on the desk. Reading before bed always made him relaxed in a way that drawing did not, so he got up again and headed over. But halfway there, his slipper-clad foot caught on a loose wood plank, one that he usually took care to avoid but couldn't quite see in the darkness.

With a small yelp, Ari lurched forward, hands out in order to brace himself. He landed with a thump, palms stinging on impact and shin thudding hard against the wood. Pain flashed across the surface of his nerves and through the core of him before settling, right in the center of his chest. He opened his mouth to give another cry, but someone else's voice was there: outside his door, his guard let out a muttered "Au!"

And suddenly, he had a horrible suspicion of what that feeling was. Numbly, he crawled toward the door and pressed his ear against it.

"...all right?" asked the other guard.

"Of course. It's just my shin..."

"The same thing happened with Tormodssen last week, right along the bone."

"Yes, we all heard him complain about it for hours," grumbled the first guard. "But this isn't like that."

Ari shoved away from the door, breathing hard. He had done that. It had been his pain that his guard had felt. Which meant... which meant...

No, he told himself, no. This wasn't something Rikensk people could do. It wasn't something that he should be able to do. But here he was, listening to the proof of it, learning the truth of the issue that had plagued him for weeks, and there was only one thing it could mean.

His mother couldn't do this, and his father had been a trueborn king— iron baubles, and more importantly, a small crowd, were always present at the birth of royals to ensure that the child was not a bytting. But Ari had known his mother all his life, and although there was plenty she kept from him, he knew that this was different. There was only one possibility left.

His father was not his father after all. 

Au! is basically the Norwegian version of "Ow!".

A bytting is a changeling, and Scandinavian folklore says that you should put iron, silver, or steel over a child's cradle to keep the child from being stolen. And people watching royal women give birth was a thing-- Marie Antoinette actually faced risk of being trampled due to the number of people, as well as risk from the heat from all the bodies. They reduced the number of people who could watch after that incident, but still. Also, even with the mother watched, you'd still get people who cried "Changeling"... typically to discredit that heir, especially if that heir is a Catholic son, England. (Happy, happy days for James the "Old Pretender").

The above picture is of a faerie replacing a human child with a weak faerie one, a changeling.

Not really happy with this chapter, so please nitpick me.