Dark Prince Rising

Thirteen

A loud knock sounded on Aelon's door, waking him from his fitful slumber. He blinked his eyes and sat up, the memories of the night before crashing into his mind.

He stood up, tossing the blankets to the floor. He'd taken Nalia to her bedchamber and come back here. She'd wanted him to stay, by he knew how that would appear to the Palace in the morning. The walls had eyes here, and the servants talked.

The knock sounded once more, louder this time. "My lord," a voice called from the other side of the wood. " High King Baryn requires your assistance immediately. You must dress and come at once."

What could this be about? Had the kingdom of Lythores finally declared independence from the Five Kingdoms? Would they start a war to keep the fertile plains on the other side of the mountain range?

Aelon threw open the door. He was already dressed; he had dressed the night before. Master Galan, a small, shriveled old man with white dandelion fluff for hair, stood on the other side of the door. He looked up at Aelon and blinked his watery blue eyes slowly. "My, that was fast. Come with me, young lord."

"What is this about?" Aelon walked with the elderly Master to the door of his commons at an agonizingly slow pace. "Has Lythores seceded?"

"What?" Master Galan shook his head, his chin wobbling. "No, my lord. This is a more... personal matter."

"Is it Nalia?" He paled as he remembered the events of the night before. She wouldn't have told her father, would she? What would happen if she had? They weren't supposed to make physical contact outside of public balls and dances until they were married. 

"No, my lord. It's your father's ward." He lifted his wrinkled hand and gestured vaguely. "The girl who commands the air. Lord Seyveril's daughter. Oh, what is her name..."

This time, Aelon stopped dead in his tracks. "Cira?"

Master Galan snapped his fingers. "Yes! Cira. That's her name." 

Aelon didn't ask anything more as they walked, trying to wrap his mind around what Master Galan had said. What had she done now? Cira had always been a bit unpredictable. She did whatever she felt like doing, rarely considering the consequences her actions would have on herself and those who cared about her. And if... if she had felt what he had felt last night... 

No. She hadn't felt anything. She didn't love him. She couldn't love him.

When they came within sight of the High King's cabinet room, Aelon had to fight himself to stay by the elderly man's side and keep from bolting in and demanding answers. 

The cabinet room was expertly crafted, one of the only rooms that had never been remodeled. The wooden panels that lined the walls were intricately carved with images of horses and men and gods and goddesses, telling of the history of the land. 

The High King was seated at the head of the meeting table. Aelon saw his father's face among those seated around him. There were six other men, all from the King's council. "You may sit, Aelon," King Baryn said when Aelon came in. "Thank you for fetching him, Master Galan."

Aelon sat slowly, searching the faces of the Masters around the table. Questions were racing madly through his mind, but it wasn't courteous to speak without being addressed first. And Aelon Aelon was nothing if not polite.

"I want you to answer honestly, my boy," the King said. His voice was hard, but his dark eyes were soft. "We need to know the truth of this matter before we can act."

Aelon nodded silently, his eyes darting between the men around him. He'd known them all since he was a boy, but now they were staring at him with the hard gazes of strangers. Only his father and the King showed sympathy, but a few Masters refused to even meet his gaze. What was happening?