Heir of Cinders [FADING EMBERS #1] - ON HOLD

8.1 - A King's Duty

"Are you feeling alright, my King?"

My King. Even after more than a fortnight since his coronation, the sound of those words still brought a discomfort to Aidan's ears. The sense that those words were directed to his father still lingered within his mind, and often he had to remind himself to respond to such an address. He forced himself to turn his head to his left, meeting the umber eyes of his Shield that brimmed with concern. A smile instinctively forced its way onto his face, putting a strain on his facial muscles. Aidan could feel the right corner of his lips twitch uncontrollably.

"I'm fine," he responded, using the kindest tone he could muster. It had become a default response to every question imposed upon him about his well-being. It was much easier that way; he needn't spend much effort into thinking of an answer and people seemed to take it for granted.

At least, most people did. Not Jonathan, apparently. Small crooked grooves formed in the space between the man's eyebrows.

"You need not overexert yourself, Your Grace," he spoke. A timbre of worry had snaked its way into his gentle syllables. "If you are feeling fatigued, we could stop to recuperate."

Was his white lie that obvious? Aidan was aware of the dark shadows that sagged underneath his eyes, contrasting his unusually pallid complexion to the point that Aidan could easily mistake his reflection for a sleep-deprived raccoon. The ungodly amount of responsibilities that came with the crown had overwhelmed him for the past few weeks. By that day, the young king had lost count of the amount of hours of nightly rest that had been robbed from him. He should count himself lucky, he supposed, for still being able to sit upright on his skewbald horse.

"No, that would not be necessary," Aidan answered, firmly but not without kindness. He turned his attention back towards the road in front of him. His silver-blonde hair, hastily tied into a bun at the back of his head, bobbed in rhythm with his horse's gait.

The ensuing silence gave Aidan the time to mull over his thoughts. The awkward atmosphere irked him slightly. He looked backwards to see familiar faces belonging to men clad in light mail decorated with the crest of Althewyn, but none had started a conversation with him throughout the journey. He'd ridden with these men behind him a couple of times as a prince, yet his now-elevated status made all the difference. They seldom entertained him now, instead opting to distance themselves from him out of "respect".

That so-called "respect" only served to wound Aidan more. He found it rather sad that even Sir Brendan Ahlonn, the friendliest knight in his service, had not conversed with him at all during their ride. When Aidan was still a prince and Sir Ahlonn was still serving his father Reghan, the golden-haired man had been good company in the days where his father would ask them to carry out royal duties on his behalf.

Aidan stole a glance towards the two men who were riding side-by-side at his tail. It struck him that they, too, were unfamiliar to him. Prior to his coronation, Aidan had never interacted much with both Jonathan the Hound and Daud Raine. Now, they were supposed to be his "hands"- the people he would entrust his life and his kingdom to. He did not even know them all that well, though he would certainly like to. Alas, duty had been quite oppressive towards him. He seldom received the chance to do the things he would like to do.

Jonathan the Hound was not the first bastard to become one of the king's hands, nor the first hybrid. Even Aidan's own ancestor, the first king of Althewyn, had been a hybrid of thieran and aerhyan parentage. However, Jonathan was possibly the first canid calaian hybrid to ever rise to the side of the king. It was a miracle in and of itself that this hound lord still drew breath to this very day. After all, to Aidan's knowledge, canid calaians had the repulsive custom of smothering the faces of infant hybrids until no air could enter their windpipes.