Ilodyer turned his head to face the Elven King, and his night-black eyes meeting with his gaze: "I don't understand."
"...Then you don't need to understand." The Elven King's deep voice was close to his ear, and his soft lips gently touching his slightly cool lips, a tender kiss that as light as a feather.
Once again, Ilodyer stared blankly at the Elven King, but this time, he seemed to be the only one who lost in thought.
Ilodyer wasn't foolish; he was only ten when his father died. Surviving without relying on others wasn't easy. Understanding someone else motives from their actions was something Ilodyer had already learned.
"What do I mean to you?" The Elven King's words were a bit abrupt, but both of them could understood.
Ilodyer turned his head, still holding his knees, and his voice muffled: "Father... the one who raised me."
"And?"
"...Isn't that enough?"
