Tipping the Scale

Chapter 14: Silver Poppies (Part 2)

"Goodbye, My King."

Although upset, Valerian didn't waste time and rushed out of the meeting room. If his father got his wish, then the resistance was in grave danger. He wasn't sure if he believed the Priest when he had stated that making more stones wouldn't take long, but he wasn't willing to risk it. He wouldn't allow Lidea to be caught unaware again. Not if he could prevent it.

Walking through the royal wing, he found his way to a deserted hallway. Once it had housed his father's closest assistants. Those specialized in helping him manage the castle and who had quickly become the King's closest aids after the death of his mother. That was until he had fired them all. Another irrational decision he had made soon after Syrion's death.

After making sure he wasn't followed, he entered the office that had belonged to the old treasurer. When he had still been here, the room had felt claustrophobic. The dark oak bookcases lining the walls had been filled to the brim with papers, journals, and the eventual nick knack. A gift from his wife or children, more often than not. Now there was nothing but dust.

Valerian moved to the desk that stood solemnly in the middle, and from one of its drawers, he retrieved a piece of vellum, a quiver, and some old dry ink. To his irritation, he remembered thinking last time that he would have to replace it soon. Obviously, something he had not done.

Deciding it would do for now, he spat into the ink, using the quiver to swirl it around until the tip was decently covered with the black substance. Writing with it was far from pleasant as he felt the pen scratch instead of glide over the precious paper. His normally swirling calligraphy looked more like the letter practice from a child, but the message remained the same.

Signing it with his initials, he folded it neatly before placing it in a box within the desk's cabinet.

Putting everything away, he just stood there for a moment, staring at the now-empty desk. He wasn't sure how often his contact within the resistance came by, but he suspected they held an eye on it at least once a week.

What if they don't?

Valerian considered if he should send a second letter more directly. It was risky but he had done it before. The very first time he had tried to reach them, desperate for someone to save Lidea, he had given the letter to some unsavory types within the Northern Slumps, promising them a handsome payment if the resistance would contact him after. He had held his word, so in theory, he could ask them again. If it wasn't for the neighborhood being gone now.

As he thought over his predicament, he became vaguely aware of voices. Rushing to the door he stopped himself from walking out. He would rather not try and explain why their Prince was lurking through these abandoned hallways. That raised the question, why would anyone be here? The royal wing was off-limits for those who didn't work in it, and that scarce amount of servants and maids had enough work to do that they didn't bother with the unused parts of it.

Intrigued, he listened carefully as the voices grew louder and he heard a distinctly feminine giggle.

"... Stop it! What if anyone sees!"

"Who will see? The spiders? I didn't think that would bother you so much, considering last time.."

The man's words suddenly sounded muffled as if his mouth had been covered, while the woman shrieked half laughing.

"Shut your mouth! You are far too brazen, what if a servant is new and walks the wrong hallway..?"

A couple of secret lovers seemed to be his answer. Listening to their banter, he felt a pang of longing. Unlike most of his peers in age, he hadn't had any dalliances. His excuse had long been that as a Prince, he had an image to protect. In reality, he had never felt feelings of the sort for anyone else. Perhaps it was a good thing, as he wouldn't find it hard to stay loyal to whoever he would be wed to, but it didn't help him from feeling non-broken.