With nowhere else to go and standing orders to bathe, Arthur went to his bedroom. It had no antechamber, unlike his parents' quarters.

Entering it felt surreal. "My boy is gone?" his mother had asked. Seeing his bedroom made it as clear as ever that, yes, her boy was gone in more ways than one.

The wooden sword was in the same place he had left it, on the wall mount. Arthur grabbed it, but the "weapon" created for a six-year-old felt like the toy it was in his fourteen-year-old-body hands. It wasn't just a matter of physiology but also perspective. He couldn't fool himself into seeing it as anything other than a finely crafted wooden stick anymore, much less imagine himself using it to slay dragons.

He put it back on the mount, which he would ask a maid to remove.

Arthur would've gotten rid of it himself if the thing wasn't kept in place by enchantments that he didn't know how to handle. All the magic he had learned—if he could even call it that—was how to push a little mana into places enchanted for that purpose, like the exquisitely drawn round circles beside each door. That gave him the unparalleled ability to switch the room's light crystals on and off.

He kept checking his bedroom. At least his double bed, in the middle of the room, was still as large as he remembered. Maybe larger, despite him growing taller. He blamed Stinson for this change of perspective; he had gotten used to the carriage's tiny bunk bed.

The prince sat down, expecting a warm reminiscence.

It never came.

His bunk bed hadn't been exactly stiff, but it also didn't feel like sitting on clouds like this bed did. He found his bed annoyingly soft.

"I can hear his grumpiness in your every word," his mother had said.

As much as Arthur hated Stinson, there was no denying he had been molded by the grand knight's training through his daughter. The man was very good at it, too; according to a book Arthur had read, he had taken half the time expected for awakeners his age to reach his stats—and that was already assuming they underwent dedicated training.

But that was enough of Stinson; he was back home and would focus on the here and now. Not that his current situation was terrific, of course.

In the here and now, he had just made his mother cry.

His eyes traveled to a framed picture on top of one of his white nightstands. It had been painted on his sixth birthday and showed Arthur with his parents. Such paintings used to be a tradition, though he had broken it by not being here on his seventh birthday.

He grabbed it, looked at his mother, and whispered, "Will you ever forgive me for growing up away from you?"

Arthur was about to wallow in feeling inadequate and guilty, but what he saw in the painting made his mind go in another direction: his mother looked considerably thinner in the picture than today.

He frowned worriedly. He thought about all the diseases she might have until she recalled Graywinter's words: "The hormones are clouding your judgment." That's when it struck him. He would have a baby brother! Or sister!

For all that The Talk with Charlotte had been awkward and made Arthur feel embarrassed and self-conscious, it had been thorough. He even had to answer questions afterward, including one about pregnant women. So he knew they were prone to mood swings due to their hormones.

He smiled widely. He had kept asking for a sibling as a child! He so wanted to be an elder brother!

Yet, his smile faded as he realized how much of a disappointment he kept being for everyone he loved.

He would have a brother or sister! Who knows where they would grow up if the Golden Kingdom lost the war? Or, Fate forbid it, whether they would even be born at all if the kingdom fell? And here he was, wasting his time instead of training!

He had a responsibility. To his father, who had asked for his help with the war. To his mother, who needed tranquility in her pregnancy. To his future sibling, who needed a home. To his future subjects, who were suffering in the war.

Arthur returned the painting to the nightstand and stood up. He needed to keep raising his stats...

...after he obeyed his mother.

It had been almost a month since his last bath already, and even the martial robe's enchantments couldn't completely eliminate the smell. Arthur reeked. A quick bath wouldn't hurt anyone.

He found soap and towels in the bathroom, waiting on a small stall beside the bathing pool's stairs. He took his clothes off, pushed them into the wall's opening, grabbed the soap, stepped in the water, scrubbed everything quickly, and stepped out.

He got a little lost looking for water buckets to rinse the soap off, then recalled the pool was enchanted. Another thing to thank his future subject's taxes for.

He returned to the bedroom with a towel around his waist and planned to put his martial robe back on—it had been magically cleaned and waited on his bed—but found two obstacles.

Tamara and Annie were waiting for him there. They had somehow brought a dressing table into the room, and Tamara held scissors.

"Welcome back, Your Highness," she said with a warm smile as she bowed. She looked exactly like he remembered, blue eyes, golden hair held in a bun, maid clothes, and a scar on her face. "Look at you! You've grown so tall! And you even got muscles, too! They are so cute!"

Cute; Tamara had just called the fruit of his intense labor cute.

Arthur immediately recalled how his arms looked like thin twigs compared to the commander. His relentless drive to improve himself for the best of his people melted under the feelings of self-consciousness, embarrassment, and awkwardness as the old and the teenage maids looked at his exposed upper body and giggled.

----------------------------------------

The following months slipped into a fluid cadence.

Arthur would wake up, train his stats under different tutors, sometimes make pauses to meet his parents, and then sleep. It wasn't any different from the cruiser carriage, except for the lack of dungeons and warmth.

His tutors were as dull as he remembered. Distant, too. Cold.

He missed the warmth Charlotte had brought to his training. The feelings. The care.

She had said he was the son she never had. Arthur hadn't realized how much that meant until he had to deal with his new tutors. It didn't take long for him to recognize he also saw her as a second mother.

He cried himself to sleep every other night at the thought that she might be dead already and he would never see her again.

That isn't to say the people close to him in the palace weren't doing their best to make him feel at home. His father saw him at least once a week, and their talks were informal and enjoyable. His mother cried copiously the second time he saw her and apologized for her previous behavior. To his delight, she also confirmed she was expecting a girl.

Then, she kept bringing him candies, regardless of whether he was in the middle of training. No tutor showed their displeasure when their queen arrived uninvited, sent them away, and occupied the rest of Arthur's day. The prince was happy with the attention and didn't want to sadden her, but eventually had to ask her to do that no more than three times a week and only for a few hours.

She cried again when he said he needed to focus on growing stronger to protect his sister, but at least did as asked.

Tamara kept doing her best to impart wisdom about princely matters to him but became slightly uncomfortable when she realized he was listening. His lack of complaint when doing what she requested of him made her even more uneasy. Ordering the wooden sword removed from his room hadn't helped, either.

Annie was always around and ready to talk or help, but they seemed incapable of understanding each other. It wasn't a matter of stats; she was only level one like him and had let it slip that she had exclusively invested in mana stats because she thought magic was amazing. The issue was that Arthur and her valued entirely different things.

She liked to discuss the latest fashion, servant gossip, a famous bard she was lovestruck with, and the prospectors visiting her father's state for her hand—all of which, she made sure to mention, had more impressive muscles than the prince.

Arthur, on the other hand, enjoyed discussing his training and the war, which was supposedly going slightly poorly, but the kingdom's troops were valiantly resisting.

Annie never had much to say about those topics but listened attentively. However, he stopped bringing them up when he realized she didn't complain or change the subject solely because she was his maid. She was supposed to listen regardless of her interest.

At least her voice was soothing to hear, even though he turned his mind off to the content most of the time. He wished he could ask her to singsong like in the baths, but it felt too childish, so it became but a pleasant memory.

Time passed. Arthur trained. The closer to ten his stats were, the harder it was for them to grow.

He persisted.

----------------------------------------

Four months after Arthur's return to the palace, he smiled when his father arrived at their meeting place in the garden. He stood up, bowed at the king, then waited for the man to sit on the bench he had been at. The prince only sat back down when his sovereign invited him to.

Five grand knights had come with him and surrounded them.

They kept silent for a few moments. Arthur found such moments soothing. Just staying beside his father in the afternoon while watching a random bee fly from flower to flower brought him unique joy.

"The greatest burden a man has to bear is to do his best for their children despite their feelings," the king suddenly said, looking ahead instead of at Arthur.

The prince was confused at first but quickly understood what this was about and shook his head violently. "I'm grateful for the opportunity to train under the strongest knight in the realm, father. It was hard at the beginning, but I got used to it. I'm glad it'll let me help us win the war. For mom and my sister. For you." He blushed a little.

The king smiled, though in an almost sad way.

"I hoped you would understand," he said. "I still do." Arthur opened his mouth to repeat more clearly that he understood—maybe he had messed up somehow—but the king beat him to it. "What do you think of your junior maid?"

"Junior Maid Farloir?" Arthur asked, and the man nodded. "She's fine, I guess? I like her eyes and her voice."

"If you were going to a deserted island for the rest of your life and could only bring five people with you, who would you choose? It can't be your mother or me."

Sometimes his father was in the mood for philosophical questions, so Arthur didn't find the questions weird.

"Charlotte," he said quickly, then blushed as he corrected himself. "I mean, Grand Knight Graham. And it can't be mother or you? Head Maid Lauquenbur, then. Even Junior Maid Farloir, I guess? It's not like I know many people. Not Carl Stinson. Not Grand Knight Stinson, either. Maybe a cook and someone who knows how to fish?"

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The king kept silent for a while. "No Stinsons in your island, is it?"

"I'm grateful for training under him!" Arthur repeated quickly. "We just... Had a personality clash?"

"And you have no friends," his father whispered and sighed. "We really isolated you out of fear of opportunists, didn't we?" The king was clearly talking with himself, so Arthur didn't dare interject. A moment later, he said, "I wish I could let you meet new people, but it would be worse."

"Because of the war?" the prince guessed. There might be spies among new people.

The king rested his back on the seat and looked to the skies. "Yes, because of the war." He paused. "Arthur, I'm so very sorry, son."

The boy was so shocked by those words he didn't know what to say. The king was apologizing?! A king never apologized!

Even one of the grand knights was astonished enough to start turning his head to the king before realizing the blunder and returning to his guard duty.

"You don't have to apologize for anything, father!" Arthur said when he got his breath back.

"No, I do. Among other mistakes, I let my fears and expectations get the best of me in your awakening. You're not a disappointment, son. You never were. You have only ever made me proud and nothing else. Being your father is the greatest honor I ever had."

Was... Was the king's voice trembling a little? Arthur felt utterly lost on what to do.

How does anyone comfort a king? Who would even dare to?

They fell into a long, uncomfortable silence.

The sun had started setting when the king spoke again. "I'll try to find a more suitable... junior maid for you. There are ways to guarantee personality compatibility and check how likely someone is to remain loyal under duress. Farloir never scored high on the tests, but I gave her a chance as a favor to her father. He slapped my face by engaging her to—" He stopped talking and shook his head. "You don't need to worry about it. Farloir won't be attending you anymore. I hope we have time to find someone good enough."

Arthur didn't feel great about Annie's departure, but it wasn't terrible either. He would miss her, but more out of habit than anything.

"Are we short on time?" Arthur asked. "Is the war going that bad?" Finding news on it was hard, but the little he heard from servants never sounded that dreadful.

"Yes, to both questions," the king said and stood up. "But just focus on growing your stats. We can discuss other matters after you reach peak natural growth in all of them."

"I'm almost there, father."

Six stats had already reached ten. Only agility, wisdom, and perception remained, all already at nine. Arthur was confident he would be done within two months.

He would even have told his father that, but the one time he tried, he was rebuked. Stat privacy was an even bigger deal than Stinson had led Arthur to believe.

"Good," the man said and made it as if he would walk away. However, he stopped abruptly, turned, and tightly hugged Arthur.

He even pulled the boy up and held him like some child!

The prince blushed but didn't complain because that was his king. Who would dare object to their king's hug? Maybe, just maybe, it also had something to do with how nice the hug was. Or maybe how safe it made Arthur feel, as childish as it sounded.

"I love you, son," the man whispered. "We both do, your mother and I. If you forget and doubt everything else, please remember and believe this. Please."

"I love you too, father," the boy replied awkwardly.

The king only stopped the hug and left after a few minutes.

The prince shivered when the warmth of his father's embrace was quickly replaced by the evening's chilly breeze.

----------------------------------------

The prince woke up at first light. He was usually alone in his room before calling for the maids, but not this time.

As it had happened twice before, Tamara stood by the door beside an unknown teenage girl in a maid's uniform. Her uniform was almost fully white, evidencing she was an untrained junior maid candidate, like the other girls who had come the past three weeks. Now it was her turn to get tested for a week and a half—Arthur never saw the tests being conducted—and the end results would determine whether she would remain.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Tamara said with a smile. "This is Sophie Brimstone." She lightly pushed the girl's back so she would step ahead and greet the prince.

Arthur was surprised at Sophie's looks—and what they meant.

She had long black hair and skin so white it would look pale on anyone else. Not on her, though. Arthur knew the absolute lack of color should make her look sickly, but it didn't. That was explained by her eyes.

They were crimson red; she was of vampire descent.

Moreover, her eyes glowed a little, like the queen's green eyes. Arthur had learned it happened when at least a one-eighth of someone's bloodline came from a race with shining eyes. They also had to luck out in the gene lottery to have their eyes come from that race.

Being at least one-eighth vampire made Sophie share some weaknesses with her ancestors, like vulnerability to the sun. She wouldn't combust when touched by sunlight, but it would weaken and hurt her. On the other hand, it also gave her some of a vampire's strengths. Hence, the healthy-looking skin, no matter how white it was.

Sophie's uniqueness didn't end there. She was also the youngest of the candidates to date, looking around twelve. Even her personality was clearly much more reserved than the other maids. One had even brazenly flirted with Arthur during their introductions.

The only thing she shared with the others was her level.

| Human — Level 1

"Good morning, Your Highness," the girl barely whispered, shyly looking down and clenching her uniform.

Her voice, though childish, was like silk to the ears. In fact, just hearing it once made Arthur realize in hindsight that Annie's voice, which he had liked so much, actually sounded like someone chewing up screws. He guessed it had to do with Sophie's vampire heritage.

She didn't bow like a servant was supposed to. Arthur pretended not to notice, though by Tamara's pursed lips, the girl would be corrected later.

"Good morning, Sophie," Arthur said as he stood up from the bed. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He greeted her like he would a noble. He placed his left arm behind his back, the tip of his right foot behind his left, made a rotating gesture with his right hand, and bent his knees and back a little.

The timid girl glanced at him from time to time while he spoke. By the end, she was blushing and smiling slightly.

Arthur took that to mean her mind stats matched her youthful looks. Sophie either had awakened a short while ago and hadn't had the time to grow her wisdom naturally, or no one was training her for that. Or both, he guessed. It was unexpected for her to be his new junior maid candidate, but he trusted his father.

The grand knights hadn't trained Arthur in small talk, but Tamara had been broaching the subject, so he knew how to avoid an awkward silence.

"I like your clothes," he said, feeling damn proud of himself for the charismatic remark.

The feeling lasted all of three seconds; that's how long it took for Sophie to widen her eyes, stop smiling, turn to Tamara, hug the head maid, and cry like the world was ending.

"I don't wanna be a maid!" the girl stammered, her voice muffled by Tamara's belly. "Why doesn't papa love me anymore? Why does he want to get rid of me? I was a good girl, I swear! I can be better! I promise! I just want to go back to papa! Please!"

Arthur suddenly felt like he was intruding, even though they were in his room.

"Shhh..." Tamara whispered softly. "Silly girl, didn't I say you can choose to go back after ten days? Don't worry."

"But I want papa now!" Sophie cried. "What if he leaves me like mama did? What if he hates me? I want to tell him I'll be a good girl. Please, let me tell him this. Please. I'll be quick, I promise!"

Arthur politely cleared his throat and excused himself. He was as ignored as he expected to be. Then, he silently went to the bathroom to give them some space. He undressed, pushed his pajamas into the wall's opening, and got in the pool.

The scene in his room had been heartwrenching, maybe because he saw himself in Sophie. He, too, had been forced into becoming a servant. He, too, had taken almost a week to acknowledge squire training was the best for him. Later, even Stinson confirmed it.

Was becoming a junior maid the best for Sophie, though? Would she change her mind? Or were they just making the girl miserable for no reason?

Lord Brimstone was from such a minor House that Arthur didn't even remember where their territory was. Who knows if he liked his daughter? Also, while Arthur trusted his father to do his best for Arthur, the man had shown he could make bad decisions regarding other people's daughters. What if Sophie coming to serve him was another mistake, like trying to prevent Charlotte from marrying the man she loved?

Arthur felt too terrible for the girl and decided to talk to his father about it.

This time, he saw some of Charlotte in his actions. She had also taken pity on him and talked to her father. Not that it had worked, but she had done it because it was right, not because she was sure of her success.

Recalling her made Arthur tear up a little. He had asked his father for updates on Lieutenant Graham, and every night, he was sent a note stating she was missing in action with her father and husband.

But he wouldn't cry. Not again. He was a grown man and had to act like one.

He clenched his jaw and swam in the pool for hours so his maids would have enough time to recompose themselves.

When he left the bathroom, his entire skin was rugged from staying for too long in the water.

----------------------------------------

"No," his father said firmly when Arthur raised the matter of Sophie's employment in their next meeting. "She is staying."

It had been a while since his father had been so firm with Arthur. That wasn't enough for the prince to give up.

"Father, she's three years younger than our House servants are supposed to be. She arrived four days ago and still cries randomly when doing a chore. Even if she's the best match ever for me, how could I force someone to be my maid against their wishes?"

"That's not up for discussion," the king said, even firmer this time.

"But—"

The man looked Arthur straight in the eyes. "Arthur, son. Listen to me. You care about your subjects, and that is a great quality. But do you remember when I said that sometimes a man must do things for their children regardless of the children's opinions on it?"

The prince nodded. "Yes, father."

"Lord Brimstone is doing precisely that. Junior Maid Brimstone is only twelve and was even more shielded from the vicissitudes of life by her father than you ever were. Her mind stats are of an eight-year-old. She has no idea what's best for her."

"But does he?" Arthur insisted.

"He does," the king replied at once. "So do I. I have excellent reasons to insist on testing your junior maid candidates, regardless of their feelings. I can now see that Farloir's betrayal was for the best; it keeps politics out of the way from something I previously thought wasn't so important. Now, I know it is."

The prince opened his mouth to ask if the king might not be wrong again. He didn't. That would be crossing a line—the line of treason. No one questioned a king's wisdom like this.

Well, no one but Stinson, Arthur guessed.

So he closed his mouth and clenched his jaws instead.

His father sighed, and his voice was softer when he continued, "Son, I... I must keep some things from you. But believe me, becoming your junior maid will be good for her." He paused, then widened his eyes a little and smiled slightly. "In fact, now that I put many other things in perspective, I can't think of any better outcome for her. I swear to Fate."

Arthur recalled the last time he had seen someone take a soul vow. It had been Tamara when he was six. A lot of mana had left her body to bind her soul to her words.

The king's vow was something else altogether.

The world exploded in so much mana it oppressed Arthur. The prince felt like he was in the middle of a hurricane of magic energy. He couldn't breathe or move, only stay right there, waiting for the soul vow to take hold.

After an eternity, the mana finally coalesced around the king and entered his body.

Any awakener could make a soul vow to another. If broken, one's soul would get severely hurt. That meant losing many levels and allocated stats, and the shock was often lethal.

Arthur would never let that happen; what if the kingdom lost its king because of him?

"I release you from it," he said as soon as he could breathe again.

The one whom a soul vow was made to could release the vower from it. That's likely what Charlotte had done to her husband. Now, Arthur did it to his father.

He felt no mana stirring but was sure it had worked.

They changed topics after that. Arthur believed his father—as Charlotte had believed his, he guessed. It was enough.

----------------------------------------

Arthur smiled widely when he woke up to find two wooden boxes beside his bed; it was his eighth birthday.

He quickly unwrapped the gifts. The packaging was small, and the small child inside him felt disappointed, but he knew better. He should know better, at least. He tried.

One box revealed a beautiful mythril chain with a locket. It looked nondescript on the outside, but opening it revealed exquisite elven-patterned borders and two picture sockets. Instead of paintings, the sockets were filled with glowing runes.

It was a Locket of Everlasting Memories.

Those sockets would take big paintings and turn them small to fit. The locket would then preserve the artwork and let him see it in its original size with a little application of mana. Even better, it used one of the latest developments in enchantments to show the image as a Fate window instead of pushing the painting out, further preserving it.

He beamed at the fancy gift and put it around his neck. He could guess what would fill at least one of the sockets by the end of the day.

The other package contained a sealed Royal Decree. Arthur laughed a little. He had talked in passing to his mother that he always wondered how it felt to open such a thing.

The black and golden metal case was beautifully crafted and easy to open. Arthur pulled it and laughed again, self-deprecatingly this time, as he realized he felt nothing special in doing that. It was just a scroll case.

Inside, he found an official-looking scroll with simple words:

"Breakfast is served. -Mother"

After a change of clothes and a long walk, Arthur entered his mother's dining room.

Like the rest of her quarters, it had a mirrored ceiling—which Arthur made an effort not to think of. The small square table could only fit a dozen people. A bountiful breakfast awaited. So did his father and mother, who were already sitting.

The king and queen wore their "picture suits," as Arthur had taken to call them. The king's robe was black with a few white details, and the queen's white with a few black details. Both also had a little golden here and there. The crown prince wasn't supposed to wear anything specifically, but he had come dressed well.

He was wearing the formal blue suit he had worn for his awakening. Or rather, the new version that fit his considerably larger seventeen-year-old-looking body and didn't itch.

"Come, son," his father said when Arthur entered the room. "Sit. Breakfast, then painting. We'll have to be quick."

The queen rolled her eyes. She was a little chubby, and her belly was huge. She was only a month or so away from giving birth. "What your father meant to say is: happy birthday! Join us in a short but joyous celebration."

"Yes, sure, that," the king said while plastering jam on a slice of bread. "Always eat when you have the time and the food is good, Arthur. Not needing to eat is not a reason to abdicate this great pleasure of life. Just like being pregnant is no reason to—"

Something moved under the table, and the king just shut up.

Arthur, smiling a little embarrassed, sat down and enjoyed the rest of the morning.

As stated, the breakfast was short. The traditional birthday picture was painted by a scholar awakener who had the skills to make it incredibly lifelike and only took a few hours to complete.

Arthur was in the center, his pregnant mother to his left and his father to his right. His mother had gone out of the script to interweave her fingers with Arthur's instead of softly placing it on his shoulder. His father had taken the opportunity to put his hand on Arthur's left shoulder instead of the right. He even pulled the prince a little into a kind of half-hug.

The prince himself would be forever gladdened for also breaking formality and having his happy smile registered. He showed his teeth while his parents' lips were slightly curved up.

He would only understand why both his father's and mother's eyes were slightly teared a long time in the future.