Prince Raizel walked through the grand corridors toward the throne hall, his small frame barely steady under the weight of his emotions. Beside him, Eric kept a protective pace, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword—not out of necessity, but for reassurance. The young prince clutched the sapphire necklace, his mother's most cherished possession, the chain tangled in his trembling fingers.
"Eric," Raizel murmured, his voice uncertain. "Can I ask you something?"
Eric glanced down, his chest tightening at the sight of the boy's tear-filled eyes. "Of course, Prince Raizel. Anything."
Raizel hesitated, his grip on the necklace tightening. "Is my mother... she's not going to make it, is she?" His words were barely above a whisper.
Eric's throat went dry. The weight of the question crushed him. "Young prince," he said gently, kneeling beside him, "you don't have to call me 'sir.' Just Eric will do." He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the grief gnawed at him.
Raizel looked up at him, searching his face for any trace of hope.
Eric exhaled slowly. He could not lie. The boy deserved the truth, no matter how much it hurt. "No, she won't. I'm so sorry."
Raizel's lips quivered, but he nodded, the weight of the truth settling over him like a storm cloud. Without another word, he turned toward the throne hall, blinking back tears, the necklace swinging gently in his grip.
Eric followed closely, grief etched into every line of his face. He vowed silently—if he could not shield the boy from loss, then he would protect him from everything else.
Sir James stood firm at the threshold of the throne hall, his polished armor gleaming beneath the golden torchlight. His eyes flickered toward Eric before settling on the young prince.
"Prince Raizel of Rosemary and Sir Eric—any armor, any blade, must stay out," Sir James declared, his voice firm.
Raizel said nothing. He merely looked up at the knight before shifting his gaze forward. Eric, however, met Sir James's stare, his expression unreadable. "I should have known you'd be at the door," he said evenly, though the hatred in his eyes burned like embers in the dark.
Sir James smirked. "It is my duty to guard the king. As a First Shield, my orders come from His Majesty—not from your father, Lord Edric, who saw fit to hide you away in the palace of Tyrmandis. The great home of the royal family… yet you were nothing more than a servant to the young prince, kept away from true battle, from true service."
Eric remained silent, his jaw tightening.
Before any further words could be exchanged, Raizel stepped forward. His voice, though young, carried a quiet strength. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Sir James, but I do not think Eric is weak. He is kind. He is honest. And that is what I know of him. One day, he will do great things."
Sir James's smirk faded slightly, but he said nothing as he stepped aside.
"Go inside, my prince," Eric murmured. "We have kept your father waiting long enough."
The great throne hall was a chamber of history, the weight of centuries pressing down on its stone walls. Towering banners lined the grand columns, each bearing the sigil of the Ten Pillars of Aronis—the great houses that had shaped the kingdom's destiny.
The crimson dragons of House Vermillion loomed over the hall, a symbol of the greatest military force in the realm. Beside it hung the deep blue crest of House Sapphire, masters of trade and wealth. The silver emblem of House Silver, the kingdom's finest smiths, gleamed in the firelight, and the bold sigil of House Starkhan, whose warriors had defended the realm for generations, stood unyielding.
The proud insignia of House Coronis, the emerald standard of House Evergreen, and the golden sun of House Soldragon each spoke of power and legacy. The pristine white of House Alabaster, the ancient crest of House Berrwyn, and the storm-marked banner of House Sciron completed the ten.
These banners were more than cloth and thread. They were the foundation of Aronis—the houses that had sworn loyalty to the crown under King Rozan I, the Unifier.
And at the heart of the hall stood the Oathbound Throne.
A seat of pure gold, its shape woven into twisting vines of roses, a reminder of the house that had bound the realm as one.
Raizel hesitated before stepping forward. His father, King Roden II, rose from the throne, his dark cloak billowing behind him. His eyes, sharp as a blade, fixed upon his son.
"Do you know, my boy, why this throne is important?" the king's voice was steady, cold. "Why you are important?"
Raizel swallowed. "Because one day, I will sit on it."
King Roden nodded. "And do you know its name?"
Raizel lifted his chin. "The Oathbound Throne."
The king's lips curved into a small, approving smile. "And why is it called that?"
Raizel straightened. "Because after King Rozan I united the kingdom, he made all ten houses swear their allegiance to him upon this throne. It is the foundation of Aronis. Without it, the realm would fall into ruin."
King Roden's smile faded. He took a slow step forward, his towering form casting a long shadow over his son. "Yes. And that is why I have made my decision."
Raizel's fingers curled at his sides. "Decision?"
"You and your brother will be sent to Castle Rosemary."
The boy's eyes widened. "No."
King Roden's gaze darkened. "You refuse?"
"I won't go."
For a moment, the throne hall was deathly silent. Then—
CRACK.
Pain exploded across Raizel's face as the force of the slap sent him stumbling. Before he could recover, a powerful fist struck his cheek, knocking him to the cold stone floor.
Eric's hand went to his sword—only to remember it had been left outside. His body tensed as he took a step forward, but Sir James moved to block his path, a warning glint in his eye.
Raizel did not cry. He refused to cry. Instead, he pressed his hand to his bruised face and slowly lifted his head, staring up at his father with defiant eyes.
King Roden towered over him, his expression a mask of pure authority. "I am your father. Your king. And you will go."