'I couldn't rein in my emotions, what a shame. This is partly Ervhen's fault...but he hasn't aggravated me this strongly before. What changed?" Troan frowned in thought.
'If this had happened on the field of battle..."
He shook his head to get rid of the dangerous and mortifying thought and took the uniform out before the mirror.
The body before it was lean, muscular, and of a light complexion. A few light scars marked his body here and there, but nothing too charming.
His short wild hair sat upon a brooding expression. He had a straight nose and a sharp jawline.
Troan silently scrutinized his features for a fleeting moment, then his gaze shifted to the uniform in his hands, proceeding to put it on with practiced ease.
Not as that of an experienced lover, but as one used to the rapidly changing situations of a forward military encampment prone to attack.
In the north, how quickly one could transition between normal wear and combat gear could mean the difference between life and death. Whether it be yours or the next man's.
After drawing the belt tight and adjusting the epaulet he clacked his boot against the floor and nodded.
Feeling something was amiss he went back to the wardrobe and found a ceremonial sword. However, at the sight of the flimsy, ornate sword Troan's stomach churned, and his lips pulled up a bit in disgust.
Looking to the side he let out a relieved breath when he found a black walking cane with a silver cube-shaped head.
Taking the cane he noticed that it was quite sturdy, and then he twirled it around between his fingers, trying to get used to its weight.
He smiled.
'It has a nice feel and weight, such excellent craftsmanship!" Troan mused in delight.
He went before the mirror again and allowed himself a small pose.
'I guess this attire is for the King's burial ceremony. It is well made, but I should put it away now. The burial would likely occur in some days' time, during the annual ceremony of the Northern star."
Troan mused as the door opened and a maid walked in carrying a bowl of water and a folded cloth on a tray.
He froze and locked his gaze on the intruder.
At first glance, it appeared to be one of the liveried servants working at the castle. But—it wasn't human.
Troan looked surprised.
His gaze moved from the cat-like ears on its head to the long, green, and white tail peeking from behind her.
Troan's world slowed down, and his heart began beating rapidly.
'Dratz!" He cursed inwardly, fearing the worst.
With dilated eyes, he stared at her transfixed, even as she stared back seemingly startled to see him.
'A Nirian? In my chambers? No, Nirians were banished from Nauvausian soil. A Nirian found on these lands, most especially the royal capital is just asking to die. Or it could be the other way around. Nirians were an absurdly dangerous race. A slaughter could occur, and innocents would die."
Troan scrutinized the maid before him.
'Nirians tended to look more animal than human. Fur-covered skin protruded noses for some, claws long enough to eviscerate a full-grown man. All the while maintaining a humanoid form.
'But this one seemed different. It looked like a human girl with long green hair. Its skin, light in complexion appeared soft and smooth, lips plush with normal teeth hidden behind them, and furless legs. Aside from the cat ears and tail, she looked like a human being in comparison."
After having those thoughts he concluded.
'This must be a demihuman then. It's been so long since I saw one. Ever since the late King Vitrus officially removed the blockade on the great sea channel Abbey about a decade ago. It was said that numerous demihumans, amongst other races, flooded into Luen, for the most part heading to the neighboring kingdoms as they feared the Seasults.
'However, there were rumors that they sympathized with Nirians. It didn't help that the last time I saw a demihuman she decapitated my sentinel who jumped in to save me.
'I have to be cautious. As much as I try to ignore it. I am currently weak and in no state to face an assassin."
These thoughts flashed through his mind in a few moments.
Finally shaking off her shock, a delighted smile bloomed on the maid's face.
"Lord Seventh, you're awake!" She exclaimed as her tail waged about.
At her heartfelt words, Troan felt a wave of calm wash over him. But this only upped his alertness.
Troan fixed a stern gaze on her.
"Declare your name and intentions!" He commanded in a measured tone.
Startled at this sudden change in his demeanor, her ears fell and she seemed nervous—if not timorous.
"R-right. I... U-um." She stammered, looking downward. The tray on her hands trembled.
Taking another glance at Troan she gulped.
Troan raised a suspicious brow at this.
'Afraid? If you have nothing to hide, then you should have nothing to fear!"
Troan thought, unaware of how frightful of an aura he emitted at that moment. However, that was a subconscious, defensive measure as a result of his weakened state.
"Princess Lurin calls me B-beastie. I am her l-lady-in-waiting."
Troy blinked back in shock as if he had been slapped.
He wondered whether it was because his sister's lady-in-waiting was a demihuman, or that his mother hadn't informed him that she had appointed a lady-in-waiting for Lurin.
He frowned as he reflected on the letters.
'Yes. Lurin did write a letter of appreciation for a pet I sent her, one she called Beastie. Then, years later, she wrote that Mother allowed Beastie to be her lady-in-waiting, exulting Beastie for being hardworking, loyal and cute. It was confusing."
He shook his head at the memory.
'Lurin always had her—way of things, so I brushed it off as Lurin being Lurin. Not to mention, the period I received that letter was a sensitive one. We had just been attacked, and I was, for the most part, busy at the medical tents.
'Being drained both physically and emotionally as I had to watch men I knew die. In the end that letter got buried amongst the parchments and manuscripts on my shelf."
Troan sighed.
'A demihuman as a lady-in-waiting during these politically explosive times is too risky. This won't do. Lurin can be quite stubborn sometimes, but still, I will have to speak to her about this. Mother too."
He glanced at Beastie.
She gazed up at him with a mix of caution, curiosity, and something akin to anticipation.
Troan looked away.
'If Lurin's lady-in-waiting is here then she is also here. When I arrived yesterday, she was still at the Imperial Academy of Zanseth.
'I'm sure news of the king's passing must have made her return to the castle. But she couldn't have come by train, as it takes no less than two days to get here by rail. That means she made use of a Navar gate. That is preferable, it is instant and safer. Though, I do wonder when exactly she arrived."
He turned his gaze back to her, and she attempted a small smile.
Troan cleared his throat.
"...Lady Beastie." He began. "I do hope Lurin's journey here went without mishap."
Her smile grew.
"Yes, Lord seventh. There was no incident. The train staff were professional and security was goo—"
"Wait!" Troan seemed perplexed. "Train, you said?"
Beastie noticed the change in his expression and looked worried.
"...Yes, Milord. It was uneventful."
Troan had a bad feeling, as his frown grew deeper.
"When did you both arrive?" He shook his head. "No, more importantly, when is the king's burial?"
As soon as he asked this, Beastie realized what was wrong and she froze up, unable to speak.
Seeing her like that, a thought hit him like a hammer to the head, and he staggered, feeling lightheaded.
"My lord!" Beastie hurriedly placed the tray aside and went to assist him.
But she was intercepted by a sharp pointed ice needle that had just grown from Troan's index finger, directed at her throat.
"Don't you dare come any closer!"
He commanded, using his cane as a gap stick between them.
Troan was still on guard against her, as all he had was her claim at being Lurin's lady-in-waiting.
He had yet to validate this.
Beastie recoiled, hurt visible in her green eyes.
Placing one supporting hand against the dresser, Troan took in a deep breath.
"How long have I been lying on that bed?"
He inquired, not looking at her.
Beastie blinked nervously, her eyes searched his face as if wondering what she was allowed to say.
"Tell me!" He yelled and Beastie flinched.
Then as if all the energy left him, he sighed and requested almost pleadingly.
"Please, just tell me everything."
She gulped, looked down and said.
"T-today would be the seventeenth day since you fell unconscious. Seven days ago was the annual ceremony of the Northern Star. Your fa—the king was put to rest on that day."
After saying this, she peered up at him to find Troan's expression darkened.
"So I missed it. I missed father's burial." He remarked, his words ladened with regret.
His clenched fist trembled, and he turned his furious gaze toward Beastie.
She took a cautious step back.
"Um, M-my lord?"
At once, Troan stood up fully and marched towards her, cane in hand.
Beastie blinked repeatedly in disbelief, her expression morphing into terror.
"My lord! Please have merc—"