A grandiose table was set for three in the middle of the large, high ceiling dining hall. The stone walls were plastered with gold and red tapestries and cloths of all shapes and sizes. Gold banners and long bolts of fabric dangled majestically from the chandeliers. The floor, although made from the same crude stone, was polished down to look like marble and was covered by a russet, handwoven rug that was a gift from a strange magic folk from beyond the forests. The designs in the carpet moved as if they were alive. Faeries and men with long ears danced in the woven fabrics as the sweet smell of fresh water and healthy earth wafted through the room. With the table legs firmly planted into the carpet, it amused first-time visitors to see the creatures in the carpet move around the obstacles as though they were aware of their existence. As a nation denied magic, the current owners of the carpet did not have an understanding of how it worked, only that they were certain that the rug had a mind of its own. Seated at the head of the table was none other than Zephèl himself. He was poised yet youthfully relaxed in his posture, as opposed to Geredyn who sat to his right. The old General was as stiff as board, but the prince took that to be his military training. Seated slightly further down to his left was Mathias whom appeared to be slightly disinterested with the situation at hand.

When the servants had finished placing their afternoon feast of freshly killed wild boar and roasted vegetables picked from the indoor palace gardens in front of them, all three men took a moment of silence before eating. It was a customary act to reflect before eating your food and was practiced before every meal. The two lower ranking men waited for their Prince to start eating and Geredyn soon followed suit, and Mathias followed after him. After eating in silence for a few minutes, Zephèl stopped to stare at his father’s advisor. He studied the man as he stiffly forked food into his mouth. His eyes were narrowed with a judging stone gaze which caught the older man off guard. Geredyn’s fork hit his ceramic plate with an awkwardly loud clank and the man immediately rushed to wipe up the splattered food with his napkin.

“I am truly sorry, your highness. You startled me! I guess I am a little tired from this morning’s affairs,” The man’s voice was frantic, and Mathias could easily be seen trying to mask a smirk.

Zephèl shook his head forgivingly and shot a piercing look at Mathias who bowed his head in silent apology.

“At ease, Geredyn. It’s my fault for staring I was just hoping you could give me a report on what we discussed earlier.”

Geredyn quickly turned his attention to Mathias who pretended to not notice and continued to eat his food in silence. He cleared his throat and when Mathias continued to ignore him he conceded, and turned his attention to the young prince. The boy’s dim eyes were wide, but the dark bruises marring his beautiful face betrayed his lack of sleep. His blonde hair, which was usually tied back or neatly thrown over his shoulder and his sleek bangs combed neatly over his forehead was all over the place. His bangs were sticking up and his hair was a shaggy mess reminiscent of a mop or a dog. If the prince’s genetics allowed him to grow facial hair, Geredyn could imagine the boy with morning stubble. If he had to take a guess, it was pretty clear that Zephèl never went to sleep after Mathias put the boy back to bed. Geredyn cleared his throat again, unable to take his eyes off the stray wisps of hair that floated around the Prince’s head in almost an amusing fashion.

“Well, your highness, my men have concluded that the light from this morning did, in fact, originate from the Stone Empire and most likely came from Aeastalth sinners within their own holdings.” He reported, handing the prince a handwritten copy of the findings made by his men. Zephèl started to glance at the papers.

“Can your experts on the Aeastalth tell if the magic is meant to be an act of aggression.”

“Well, your highness, we are currently not in a position to say for sure…” Geredyn’s voice wavered as it trailed off.

“Is it a possibility?” The Prince quickly followed up.

“We are still looking into it, but there may be—“

Zephèl sprung to his feet, slamming his fist on the table, knocking over his glass of watered down wine in the process and spilling some of the food on his plate on to the table.

“By the Two Heroes, answer me clearly, Geredyn! Is this an act of aggression, or not? I can’t risk the lives of my father’s people!” The Prince’s voice was so loud that it echoed throughout most of the first floor of the palace. People stopped what they were doing and stood shocked by the suddenness of the Prince’s outrage.

The two men in the room with him were silent, mouth agape as Mathias dropped his fork with a loud clank that echoed through the now silent room. Mathias had never seen the prince taking charge as he was now, but it pained him to hear their leader refer to his people as his father’s. He averted his gaze back down at his plate and started to eat again, forcing himself not to look at the Prince. Geredyn closed and opened his mouth as words failed to come out the way they should. “Out with it, man!” Zephèl slammed his fist on the table again.

“There is always a chance that it could be, which is why we propose that a small team be sent out to investigate.” Geredyn blurted out as quickly as possible.

As if nothing happened, Zephèl sat back down and started to pick up his glass and redeposit his food onto his plate as a handful of servants rushed in to assist him.

“Very well, Geredyn. I will lead the investigation team. Please notify Commander Lyrian that she will be accompanying me as well as three of her strongest fighters.” He turned to Mathias who was absently rolling a cherry tomato with a fork around his dish, “You will be accompanying us, too, Mathias.”

“Yes, your highness!” The man quickly dropped his fork and saluted his prince.

“Wait, your highness, if I may. You should send someone else in your stead. Your place is in the kingdom,” Geredyn pushed gently, trying not to anger the Prince again.

“No, Geredyn. My orders stand. You may be my father’s Field General but I make the rules for myself. Now, once you are done eating, go inform Commander Lyrian of her orders.”

The older man got to his feet, clicked his heeled uniform boots together and saluted his prince. Zephèl nodded in approval and, after adjusting his red uniform coat of the Kingdom’s guard, sat back down and finished his meal.