Standing guard, two sentinels of old, stone statue-like stern, clutching each his spear, stand watch over the chamber of the King. Now before them floats Isabella, as light upon her feet as whispers. "Tell my father I have come," she says, and her hand rises as to brush a speck of dust away. "Your highness." One of the guards half turns, calling back through thick closed doors. "Your majesty, the princess craves an audience."
A hoarse cough cleaves the interior air, like gravel rattling along a dry riverbed. "Ah, ha, hum. Let her in," the King says, his voice a tenuous thread which pulls Isabella closer.
The doors open ponderously to reveal a man wrapped in the pallor of exhaustion, as if his frame were weighed down with weights not visible to the eye. "Father," Isabella says, her body sinking as a willow bends to wind and rain. "Ah, hum."
The King coughs again and waves his hand weakly, as if it were made of mist. "No formality, daughter. We're not at court." His voice is soft, like daylight waning. Standing, Isabella goes near to him, laying a gentle hand on his back-the tenderness of silk landing on glass. "How is your health, Father?" she asks, the concern dripping in her voice like morning dew.
He shifts a bit, fixing a tired gaze into her eyes-the reflection of him within them deep and still pools. "Though it does not improve, it is still bearable." His response drifts out, every word a fragile leaf caught in a restless breeze. "I heard about your training. Tell me, how was it?
Isabella sighs heavily, her voice full of disappointment. "It went well till five Frost Lions suddenly attacked us. Fortunately, a young man by the name of Alexandra Drake helped us out." The comfort of the King's hand resting on her head is reassuringly heavy. "There is no shame in seeking help, dear one. Did you at least thank him?" Soft as dusk, his question hangs in the air, their eyes locking.
"Hmm, not quite, but he's in the palace now," Isabella says, an edge of wariness creeping into her voice. "But, Father, I also heard about why the main gate was sealed." Her gaze falls before the inquiring eyes of her father. "That is nothing for you to worry over," he soothes her, patting her hands with a fatherly tenderness. "You know I have two generals by my side." His voice trails off into a silence as deep as a forest in the dead of night. "Alright, if you say so." She gets up and leans forward to hug him. "I won't keep you from your rest anymore. Let's continue this conversation in the family dining room." She smiles warmly before her figure, like the last rays of sun, recedes backward.
As she closes the door, her father calls after her with a voice so fragile and warm: "Don't forget to invite him." A great hacking cough then bursts, scratching through the silence like talons on stone.
His bed creaks when Drake settles onto the edge, his thoughts churning like a storm-tossed sea. Every twist of fate, every encounter since his summoning seems to orbit around her, as planets would do around a sun. "All these threads… lead back to her," he mutters, restlessly rolling. A deep breath, heavy as a rock, escapes him. "I need to stop thinking about her."
He tries to divert his attention by pulling his bag near, spilling its contents in a jumbled pile. "What's in here?" A map, a compass, some change of clothes-things one would normally carry on such a journey-but then he notices a little sack. He loosens its tie to reveal the flash of gold coins. "Gold?" His eyes widen in surprise at the glitter. "Did she give this to me?" He counts, whispering, "500 pieces of gold," when a sharp knock cuts through his musings.
"Who's there?" he calls, hastily shoving his belongings back into the bag. "It's Mun, the sixth palace maid," a voice replies from the other side. "Come in," he allows. The door slides open, and a young woman with dark hair and a crisp white-and-black gown steps inside.
"His Majesty requests your presence at dinner," she says, her voice as still as a quiet lake.
"Lead the way," Drake replies, standing with a nod. She pivots and he follows her through the view of the ornately designed hallways, deeper into the castle.
They stop before a carved wooden door that shines richly in the soft light. "Please, enter," she says, and the door opens with fluidity equal to the grandeur of the room. Drake steps inside, and immediately he's wrapped in the warm cloak of food aroma. The big table stretches before him, filled with steaming dishes, as four maids arrange the last bits and pieces. King Axel and Isabella are already seated at the table, their presence steady anchors in the flow of the evening.
He nears them with a slight inclination of the head. "Greetings, Your Majesty."
The King gestures for him to stand; his hand floats through the air like an autumn leaf. "Please, sit. There is no need for formality. You are the first friend my daughter has ever made, and we owe you a debt for her life." His words trail off into a weak cough. Drake takes a seat in the chair pulled out for him, responding with modesty, "No debt is owed, Your Majesty. It was simply one person helping another."
The King's tired eyes soften. "You are kind. My daughter is fortunate to have taken a friend in you. I am sorry not to have met you sooner." His voice trails off into another hack of coughing, and as he draws his handkerchief out, a dark stain of blood blooms on its white surface.
The room's temperature drops a degree. Drake starts, his curiosity getting the better of him, "If I may be so bold to ask, what is the nature of your illness?"
Hitherto silent, Isabella leaps to her feet: "Can't you see he's ill? Stop badgering him and eat!" - the words cut through the room like a whip, but the King makes a smoothing gesture.
"Isabella, do not worry about it," he says, his head turning to Drake. "The poison is. insidious. I have not been able to channel mana into my heart. I am a seven-circle mage, yet three of my mana circles are shattered, and I can feel the fourth weakening."
Drake's gut tightens as his mind works overtime. These symptoms were just about identical to Lena's. He could feel the weight of a hidden web enwrapping him, thread by thread, each leading to secrets shrouded in shadow.
Axel's voice hauls him back. "Drake, there was something I wanted to give you," he says lightly between claps. A maid steps forward with a glass tray and a silver badge lying upon it.
"Have you heard of the Diamond Mage Academy?" the King asks. Drake shakes his head. "It's an institution that molds young talents into mages. I'd like you to have one of our reserved badges."
The gift feels heavy in Drake's hands, a burden wrapped in gratitude. "Your Majesty, this is too generous," he says, trying to refuse.
But the King waves off his hesitation. "Consider it a father's gratitude for his daughter's life." His voice is firm, yet with a softness to prod Drake into acceptance. With a sigh, Drake rises to bow over the gift. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The meal proceeds wordlessly, the minds of each churning in thick fog. As night falls, they retire into their rooms, though the unsaid tension lingers on, a promise of deeper secrets lurking in the shadowy corners.