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You wish to take Yudrein?”
The emperor wasn’t angry—rather, he looked amused.
“I wonder…” The emperor’s smile widened. “How did he ever manage to convince you?”
Ah. He found out.
The deeper implications of those words leave Ejain nauseous, more than the fact that he was caught. Low rumbles of laughter reverberated in the hall, deceptively dainty. Ejain’s fingers clenched on the ornate chair he was seated on.
“This decision is purely my own, I assure you.”
“I see.” The emperor dips his head, a magnimus gesture. Had Ejain had nothing to lose, he would have bared his claws back. “I am afraid I cannot hand over such a dangerous prisoner to anyone.”
There were exceptions, and everyone knew it. Ejain pursed his lips.
“As intended by this meeting, I would like to put forward some proposals.”
Katchian La Orr, the man that he was, smiled with interest.
Offering money to this man was akin to offering a candle to the sun. Moreover, Yudrein was worth far more than some cold coins, no matter thousands or millions.
“I propose to reduce the tariff for Nelarni magical artifacts.”
Yes, Katchian La Orr would not care about the weapons, but he would care about anything related to the First Emperor—anything about power, really. Internal strife and politics had once put the nation on the brink of collapse, and Nelarn had long refused to take up the matter—each penny was worth far more than it should have. But that was before Ejain ascended the throne, and while many would like to call him a stubborn mule, no one could refute the fact that Nelarn had developed significantly in just a decade of policies.
Stasis, in conclusion, was the root of all strife in politics. The Orr Empire was and has continued to be the biggest example.
Like his empire, Katchian La Orr was predictable because of this stasis.
“As long as Yudrein remains in my custody, I will also be open to negotiations over the mana stone vein in the Great Sarrain forest.”
The murmurs finally died down.
The era of mages had reached its final chapter. The infamous, once infallible Pearl Tower had fallen to ruins of change. Mages were valued more than ever, even more so were valued the stones they refined. Every acre of the vein would fuel the treasuries for at least a century— if the emperor would not squander it as much as he did now. If used properly, save many more lives.
This was a mere fraction of the worth of Yudrein’s painstaking efforts.
“Yudrein Aile…” Katchian hid a smile behind his benign temperament. “King Ejain, surety and safety of the citizens are paramount.”
It takes at least an year of residency in Nelarn to be its citizens—it’s a reform Ejain himself had to add in the lieu of dangerous criminals fleeing to the Great Sarrain forest. The people who were not citizens were not Nelarn’s responsibility—in blunt words, Nelarn was free to send them back to their countries without any procedures if they wished. In yet simpler words, Ejain could send Yudrein back without any warning.
“Emperor, if I may be so bold to suggest this—“ Ejain kept his composure. “—but would a marriage assure you?”
The sole exception to this rule. A person who was married got a temporary citizenship for this one year period. For Yudrein’s case, it would definitely result in a permanent one as well.
“It would, indeed.” Katchian directed a smirk towards Duke Pelleta. “What do you think?”
“…Your highness knows the best.”
Kishiar La Orr did not speak further. The emperor gave an approving nod.
“I find no issues with this proposal. I assume you have a person in mind already?”
“Indeed I do.”
Ejain closed his eyes for a moment and thanked all gods above that the reformation bill on marriage for Awakeners had passed right before he came here.
“Then…I have a related proposal to make, your majesty.”
“Go ahead.”
“I would like to ask Yudrein Aile’s hand in marriage.”
The marriage had no grand affairs. A priest from the Sun God’s Church was sent to him for the following rituals that were to take place after a few months, and Yudrein was immediately shifted into the care of the best physician Ejain had in the royal infirmary.
“Thank you.”
Yudrein had uttered those words roughly as it never should have been—so far from the man Ejain had come to know through the rumours.
“It’s an honour.”
Yudrein nodded, drew a struggling breath and lost consciousness.
That was three days ago.
Three days. They had passed in the blink of an eye—settling the tariff reductions was met with heavy opposition, and Yudrein’s life wasn’t a good enough reason for it.
The life of a common-born was never worth it. Not that it could stop him; he wasn’t called the iron-willed king for nothing. Three days was pretty quick to pass entire reforms, considering that it was the Orr Empire and the Nelarni nobility were really out to milk him of his worth.
Everything had left him with a far too massive headache for him to sleep. Three days—finally, he walked towards the infirmary.
The magic stones were not extinguished for the night since Yudrein was still in a critical condition. A few servants walked past him, carrying thin crates of medicines and bandages.
The infirmary was dimmer than the hallways. The priest from the empire was healing Yudrein’s injured hand, with a bunch of holy artefacts spread around him on the table and the bed.
Yudrein's face was one of discomfort, and the priest steadily hushed words in the imperial language far too quickly for Ejain to understand. Yudrein grunted something back, far too low for Ejain to hear. The soft glow of divine powers filled the air, steadily pouring energy into Yuder’s emancipated wrist.
The moments dragged by. The priest’s dark green hair was disheveled, even more so than what Ejain last saw of him, hands trembling with exertion as they held the artifact to aid in the healing.
To the eye, Yuder looked like a cracked vessel being filled by a small stream of water. The priest was powerful—oh yes, the divine power was plentiful to brighten the little room like it was daytime—but it wasn’t as useful as it should have been.
“That-“ Yudrein gulped after waiting a few moments more. “That is enough.”
The priest gave a nod, patting Yudrein’s arm shakily. After a moment, he even managed a tired whisper.
“Both of you are quite strong. Still, don’t exert yourself too much.”
Both?
Ejain didn’t understand it, but Yudrein definitely did. His eyes widened fractionally.
“She’s alright?”
“How do you know it’s a she?” At Yudrein’s silence, the priest shook his head, better enough to manage a smile. “Nevermind, I won’t be able to understand anyways…yes, she’s alright.”
Ejain dared not to make himself known until the priest started to gather the bandages strewn around. Ejain let a small smile coat his lips, entering the room quietly enough to not startle them.
“Thank you.”
Yudrein, who had closed his eyes by then, opened them once again and stared silently. As an amusing parallel, the priest’s haggard expression wavered even more, but he composed himself quickly and returned the bow with a deeper one.
“I will be back soon.”
Yudrein nodded lightly, and the priest left the room with the bandages.
“Your Majesty.“
Yudrein began to get up to wish him properly, but his tired body seemed to have started its protests the moment Yudrein thought to move.
“No need to get up.” Ejain raised a hand languidly. “You seem to have something to say.”
Uncharacteristically, Yudrein took a moment. “Your Majesty, I am bearing a child.”
That…explained everything.
This was why Yudrein had finally accepted his offer so quickly the second time…he must not have known he was carrying a child when he offered him before. Even so, Ejain knew he had a blank expression on his face for longer than what was expected of him.
Yudrein…really went through all that when he was in such a fragile condition?
“…Is the child fine?”
“Out of danger now.”
“Do you know who the father is?”
Yudrein nodded without hesitation.
“Would the child’s father be an issue?”
“Not to the marriage.” Yudrein shifted his hand to his abdomen, a slight shift in his neutral expression. “The other situation is a little complicated.”
“And that situation is?”
“The child carries imperial blood.”
Huh. That could be an issue. The last scion of the La Orr family was not truly the last member, and it was Yudrein Aile out of all the people who was the one bearing her. Even a child would understand who would feel threatened by this fact.
“You are the only person beside the physician to know, Your Majesty.”
“Not even the duke?”
“Not even him.”
That simplified things. Ejain gave a curt nod.
“It would not be a problem.”
Something shifted in Yudrein’s expression again, this time back to its natural neutrality. For the first time in years, Ejain found himself unable to read someone’s thoughts.
“Your majesty, why did you save me?”
In this world, nothing came for free. Ejain knew this the best. But it probably wasn’t what Yudrein meant.
“There are many reasons. I trust you enough to give one.”
Yudrein did not become angry; rather, his reply was a simple nod.
“I have heard that you had been investigating the cracks.” Ejain continued. “I have done some investigations as well.”
After the Orr empire had pretty much thrown away some parts of the Great Sarrain Forest for Nelarn, for Ejain to handle. Naturally, Ejain had investigations for the groups of illegal Orr migrants occupying the area. No one returned, vanishing as if someone zapped them out of existence. The most probable answer they got were the cracks—the simplest explanation was that a crack opened up at an unfortunate time, pouring monsters on the unsuspecting group.
This ‘unsuspecting’ group was a group of knights who were known for their prowess in Ejain’s forces—their youngest had defeated monsters of countless kinds since she was a child. Such remarkable individuals would not lose so easily, much less disappear altogether.
“I see.”
“I would like to have your insights on this matter, but only when you recover.”
Yudrein opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, his eyes rolled into his head, and his body slacked limp. Healers filtered in through the door the moment Ejain recovered from the shock and signalled them.
The air was heavy with silence. No one dared to move, speak or breathe.
Only when the head healer sighed in relief did they let their breaths, watching while he removed his fingers from the pale skin of Yudrein’s throat.
“There is nothing serious, your majesty. He has simply passed out of exhaustion.”
Ejain exhaled shakily, and walked away without a second thought.
The office of the King has always been a lonely place. It was the place that signed massacres, or fulfilled dreams—all alone.
The loneliest, though, has always been the royal greenhouse. Ejain was never told about the specifics of its origin—no matter how much he pleaded the gardeners there for them. Nevertheless, it was this mysterious greenhouse that was sometimes the loneliest corner of what he had cared to be the world.
Ejain always seeked it out when it was the loneliest corner in that world. The gardeners were on their breaks after pruning the wilting roses and trimming the slightly overgrown bushes. The softly trickling water was deafening in the silence Ejain had long learned to cherish. The grass was damp, pliant when giving way to each drop of water, only to spring back defiantly.
His eyes followed the path of the drop, to the white petals of freshly watered orchids. This plant was his mother’s favourite—an oddity, its petals were fringed like gills of a fish. He reached to wipe the cool water off, the dirt and dew smearing on his fingertips.
A vague memory surfaced in his mind. In this very spot, when this plant came to his hips instead of his knees, he was accompanied by another person whose hand had beckoned him to look closer.
His mother had caressed the flowers, just like this, and whispered a secret he couldn’t quite remember.
The gentle stalks of the flowers gave way, revealing hints of purple. Ejain parted the stalks even more, and the green foliage revealed purple trumpet-like flowers near the boundaries.
“Beautiful, right?”
Ejain turned back to look. His mother’s favoured gardener smiled at him, far too young for a face long dead.
“They’re gentians, your highness.”
Had it been the man Ejain knew, he would have ended the conversation there.
“Sturdy things. They were dying when the merchants brought them here. No one thought they’d survive the hailstorm on the way. But they did anyway.”
Ejain looked back at the flowers wilting slowly in his hands.
“They’re very beautiful.”
When Ejain looked up, he looked up at the ceiling of his chambers, walls shrouded in a dizzying darkness. And like a fool, Ejain missed the wet petals of the flowers.
He slowly got up. Uncaring of his appearance, he left the stifling room barefoot. It was by a cruel twist of fate that his body found itself standing in front of the infirmary.
It was silent. The Hilfen triplets—the best of the head physician’s students— were the ones tending during the early morning hours. One sister was asleep on a table in a corner, another was reading a book while the third was preparing tea. The window was slightly ajar, and the petrichor diffused inside.
Yudrein was awake, and he gazed somewhere outside the palace.
“Good morning.”
Yudrein’s hand moved over his blanketed hips in the blink of an eye. Only when his fingers closed uselessly in thin air did he turn around.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.”
Surprisingly, Yudrein’s eyes weren’t black. They were nearly the hue of the dusky, star-laden sky outside, jutting against the truly dark hair that covered his eyes.
Yet they swallowed light whole. Hollow, in a way it shouldn’t have been.
The Duke of Pelleta came by quicker than Ejain thought he would. Clearly, there were still some lingering feelings from both the sides—not necessarily repulsion. If Ejain had to name it, he’d say it was closer to affections.
Close enough to make the sick Duke (dying, so said the rumours which Ejain was beginning to believe) to make a visit so far away.
“Welcome,” Ejain had greeted plainly, despite it all. “Nelarn is honoured to host you.”
The duke flashed a smile. It was curious to note that the expression was nothing lazy and disgusting as the rumour mill churned it out to be. To be fair, there were things, untrue things, said about Yudrein as well.
Ejain didn’t let any of those thoughts show—he was a king, and a king was just before he was a human or a husband. So the party that received Duke Pelleta was befitting.
“Thank you.” Kishiar smiled. “Congratulations are in order.”
There was something heavy about that expression. Had it been anyone else, that would have been insulting. But Ejain was never able to shake off the feeling that this man knew more than he let on. Or thought more, anyway.
Kishiar la Orr’s cheeks were sunken and pallid. That faraway look in his eyes made him seem ephemeral.
“Yudrein is alright.” Ejain spoke suddenly.
The man looked a little more alive. “I see.”
Ejain watched him inhale, falling in a silence, but never once asking to visit Yudrein. He didn’t look like he knew. Good.
“Consider it a dying man’s wish.” Kishiar stared at the fireplace. “But please take care of him.”
There was something haunted in that gaze, the way he turned towards Ejain with difficulty. There was remorse, but no regret.
“I will.” Ejain answered, because he would.
Ejain could hear the imperial guards shouting above the dungeon—it was a familiar sound, now.
“Yudrein, Nelarn will provide you refuge.”
Yudrein looked up as far as his body allowed him to—rest was held down by countless ropes of monsters; worn, like the cooling embers of a candle burnt too long. Yet, there was this defiance that wasn’t there last time. To hold on. He didn’t give up on life, but had given up on hope. To think that this soul would perish in the hands of an undeserving master was too repulsive.
It wasn’t all that selfless, either. A man of Yuder’s calibre was meant to be treasured—not like a flower, but like a beloved sword.
“I will not be able to visit you thrice. Please think my offer through.”
“…if it does not burden you.”
Ejain doubted his ears, but dared not ask again.
“It does not.” The words were exhaled like a sigh. “I will have a…talk with his majesty.”
Not that it could guarantee anything, but it was worth a try. No matter how much it cost him. In the end, it won’t matter. Their coup was about to succeed in a few months, anyway.