Not long after their sentence was dealt, Etraon found himself in a rather unique state of mind. Training to be a knight was hard work, this much he knew, and yet there was a strange calmness that had settled and he didn’t quite know what to make of it. He wandered the halls with a distant expression on his face, thinking about what he would be going through upon entering the training camps. It could be said that Etraon was already developing a keen insight to the future, as he was already mentally preparing to be among others his age. With his position as Crown Prince, Utarion and Lilith had taken great pains to select his close companions early on to ensure that their son would grow up with certain key characteristics. Aurelius and Lance were an obvious choice, but any further companions were to be left till he was a little older. A consequence of their careful selection resulted in Etraon’s face being one that was not well recognized among the youth. Even among the servants and guards that worked in the castle, Etraon was most noticed by his red-orange hair, a color that he had inherited from his mother.

And there he was again, Etraon noted with some puzzlement as he passed an open doorway to see a noblewoman sitting quite still, her attention drawn to the man across from her. Etraon had seen him several times this week, each time with a different noble. All looked the best that he had ever seen them as they sat, mouths closed, in a regal position as the man painted each of them in turn.

He did not have a name that Etraon knew of, but if he were quite honest about it, Etraon found the painter intriguing in all sorts of ways. His clothes were not of a material that Etraon recognized, and they appeared to be extremely well made, despite the fact there were no fine silk doublets or ornate brass cuffs that might have indicated any sense of the upper class. His tunic was extremely long, bearing slits on either side from the waist down in a fashion that Etraon found strangely practical and wondered why the tailors of the castle had not yet adopted this style into their work. The painter’s black hair was tied back with an ornate silver piece and was long and sleek, which was odd in these parts. The man’s presence was so powerful, however, that even Etraon had to admit that the man was quite capable of wearing his hair in this way. There wasn’t a part of him that one might have mistaken for feminine. His face bore just the slightest hint of a beard and his piercing gray eyes made Etraon uncomfortable. They seemed to see right through him with every glance. Etraon certainly didn’t like the idea of someone that rarely came by the castle poking around his mind, but if the man sensed any hostility from him, his only reply was a disarming smile. Etraon left rather hurriedly at that point.

“Your Highness,” a voice called out as he passed another room. He turned to see Morgan beckoning him toward the door. “Come in, there’s something I wish to share with you.”

Strange, he thought, but he went in anyway. There was a sour odor that permeated Morgan’s workspace but, looking about, Etraon could not see where it might have come from. There was a jar of honey on the counter and Etraon licked his lips at the sight of it. Morgan chuckled, seeing his reaction, and retrieved an earthenware mug from the cupboard. He was given his choice of tea and left to his own devices as to how much honey he wanted on his biscuits. He looked up at her occasionally as he ate, feeling just a little awkward with her watching him.

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” he asked her when he was finished, carefully rising to avoid dropping the crumbs on her clean floor. She smiled at the gesture and Etraon suddenly remembered the days when he would have just ignored the crumbs and received an elaborate scolding for the poor manners that he was exhibiting.

“Do you trust me, your Highness?”

He turned sharply, looking intently at her face in search of any hint as to why she had asked him such an odd question. There was none.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you believe that any advice I give you is, first and foremost, with the intention of keeping you from making the same mistakes that we adults did in years past?”

“Well, if you put it like that-,” he began awkwardly.

“A simple yes or no will suffice, thank you.” The words were polite, but Etraon knew that Morgan would tolerate no beating around the bush from anyone, even him.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she sighed, leaning back on her chair and sipping her tea briefly, “now listen closely. A boy looking for his boots went out to the bridge where he remembered taking them off to go swimming. The water was rough that day and he hoped that it had not washed away his belongings.”

“Why didn’t he get them earlier?”

“Boys don’t always make smart decisions, your Highness.” Had this been a conversation with any other woman, Etraon might have replied with a smart remark about the flightiness of girls and how indecisive they were. This was Morgan and remembering the encounter with the ‘bee-water,’ as Aurelius had called it, Etraon decided to keep his comments to himself. He still had every intention of voicing his opinion of this injustice to Lance at some later date.

“A second boy, who had lost his sandals also happened along the bridge. Seeing the boots, he wondered who they belonged to and looked about in search of their owner. He saw the other boy approaching and grew angry. He waited till the first boy could see what he was doing, and quite deliberately, threw the boots into the river. The first boy didn’t know what to make of the situation and could only watch, dumbfounded, as the other boy ran away.” She glanced over at Etraon who looked rather perplexed. His eyebrows were furrowed in a telltale expression of concentration and thought.

“Why would the second boy throw the boots away?” he asked her. “If he needed new shoes, he would’ve taken the first boy’s boots and run away, wouldn’t he? Why would he wait until the last moment to toss them into the river?”

“That’s the question that seems the most obvious to us all, your Highness. But it’s the question that cannot be answered without understanding the core of it. The root question, if you will. You haven’t realized it yet, but it’s the root question that bears the solution to our problem.” He looked up at her, not understanding. “Go talk to your father,” she suggested. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to explain it to you.”

“Does he know this story?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know the answer?” Etraon pressed.

“He should. It’s his story, after all,” she told him, rising and opening the door. She gestured toward the hallway with one hand. “Now, shoo.”

If the story that Morgan had shared with him had been one that was made-up, fictional, and impersonal, Etraon might have let sleeping dogs lie and given it more thought as he took a bath later in the day. The fact that it was his own father’s story made it all the more intriguing, and he found himself racing down the halls in search of his father’s whereabouts, determined to know the answer.

Why hadn’t Father just picked up his boots when he returned to the castle, Etraon wondered. Father was so careful about doing the right thing at all times that he couldn’t imagine him having a careless moment, even in childhood. He nodded his thanks to the maid who pointed him in the direction of the kitchen.

As if the first question wasn’t puzzling enough, the second confounded him to the point that he truly thought it might drive him mad. What boy would have the nerve to throw the crown prince of Zourik’s boots into the river, he wondered. He turned a corner and ran smack into the broad chest of Derek, who was just coming down the hall. Startled for a moment from the sudden impact, Derek merely laughed as Etraon proceeded to apologize profusely for being absent-minded.

“It’s quite all right, your Highness,” he chuckled, “pay it no mind.” Etraon stared at him for a moment, confused by the formality until he saw the guards who were stationed just down the hall. “Why are you in such a hurry this afternoon?”

“Have you seen Father?”

“His Majesty is resting in the private garden, your Highness,” Derek replied. “The train of nobles that have been in the throne room since morning, those who came to complain and appeal their various problems have all been dealt with, so he took the opportunity to take a break before dinner.” Etraon thanked him and continued on to the gardens.

-----

Author's Note:

If I did this right, you don't know the point that Morgan's trying to get at either. (≖_≖ )

xoxo,

Elfarine