Four sharp knocks.

That was the short rhythmic sound that woke Hyrian from his slumber. He looked to the window, lying comfortably on his back, and saw the soft blue hue of the early morning sky. A calmness filled his breast as he exhaled heavily through his nose and closed his eyes.

He was not in Plythor.

He was not in the mountains.

He was home.

“Come in, Baelar.”

Hyrian spoke, sitting up in his bed and scratching at the trimmed brown beard that clung to his jawline. A single white sheet clothed his naked body from the waist down, which he wrapped around him to maintain his dignity. His bare chest, covered in the many scars of war he had earned over the years, was normally something he'd cover up. Only three people in the world, including himself, knew of the mess of scars that littered his torso. Baelar was the second.

The door opened slowly and revealed the old weathered face of a silver-haired man in muted brown robes. He rubbed his wrinkled hands as he entered, letting the door shut behind him as he smiled warmly and made his way over to the Grand Commander.

“Your breakfast is still being prepared, but will be waiting for you in your dining chamber once you have dressed.”, he reported with a small bow.

“And a good morning to you too, old man.”

Hyrian spoke with a sarcastic chuckle, a toothy smile forming on his face. Baelar paused, then gave a mischievous grin in return.

“My apologies, my lord, but if I recall correctly was it not you who spent a good hour explaining to me how much you longed for people to speak more directly with one another?”

“Perhaps, Baelar. But the effectiveness of using my own words against me depends entirely on how much wine I had to drink before I first uttered them.” Hyrian laughed with a shake of his head. Baelar rolled his soft blue eyes, a youthful method of expression from such an older man, before moving to retrieve Hyrian’s underclothes from the nearby dresser.

Baelar was Hyrian’s personal attendant, though that had not always been the case. In Hyrian’s youth Baelar served as both tutor and, as Baelar himself would describe, glorified babysitter for Hyrian and his two brothers. When the boys grew up, Baelar was allowed to choose who he would attend to for the rest of his life. Hyrian was never quite sure why Baelar chose him over his elder brothers, but he was grateful to have him.

Hyrian moved to stand, holding out an arm for Baelar to transfer his clothing over to while holding the wrapped sheet in place. He towered above the hunched old man, as he did most men, his sculpted frame dwarfing the frail elder.

“I shall see you shortly.”

Baelar bowed slightly and then left to give Hyrian privacy. Hyrian smiled and nodded, watching the old man leave before he began the long task of dressing.

Grand Commanders of the Aldrian Kingdom were required by law to at all times be armored, even off the battlefield. Of course, there were some slight liberties taken. Hyrian did not dress in his actual combat gear but rather a beautifully sculpted suit of armor cast in Silveriron and dipped in a pot of molten wyvern tears, giving it a brilliant golden color. Carved into the golden surface of the arm pieces were the traditional images of the Wolfadder, and upon his breast the symbol of the Church of Light: A black circle, burned into the metal, framing an immaculate diamond shape as gold as the rest of the armor.

Along his back fell a thick crimson cape which, in addition to being completely inefficient for the battlefield, flowed with a gentle flutter from the back of the neckline. The armor gave Hyrian a striking look, especially among all the other nobles in the court wearing the latest fashions of the time and coated in perfumes and makeup.

Hyrian could not help but find amusement in the fact that he, a prince of Aldrian, looked the least like a noble among them all. He cropped his hair short while most noble men grew their hair out long like glorious manes, brushing them furiously each morning to maintain a gentle smoothness and shine. His hair was as rough and wild as could be, falling wherever it pleased around his ears. His face bore no makeup, and the only perfume he wore was made with sharp spices rather than flowers or berries. On top of it all, he defiantly wore a beard, refusing to shave his face clean as was expected of young noble bachelors.

He was a soldier first and a noble second. Always had been.

With now heavy steps, Hyrian made his way across the smooth stone floors of his home’s upper floors and down the ornate steps, making his way to the dining chamber. By now the sun had risen high enough to brighten the blueness of the sky as already he began to hear the sounds of the city outside waking up to the new day.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He took a seat at the large table while Baelar brought him his usual meal: some toasted bread, buttered thinly with a single fruit on the side for sweetening the mouth afterwards. Hyrian did not drink morning tonics or teas, so a pitcher of water was left with an empty glass for him to wash it all down with.

“The city has really come alive for your brother’s coronation.”, Baelar chatted idly as he poured Hyrian a glass of water. Hyrian shrugged as he finished off the first piece toast in his mouth.

“Well it's to be expected, isn’t it? I’ll bet many are keen to get on with things after the last few weeks.”

The whole capital had been eerily quiet in the time Hyrian had been home from the front. This was of course due to the mandatory fortnight of mourning following the death of his father, King Darvarian. Hyrian paused a moment, realizing he once again had thought dismissively about the passing of his father. It made him pause and feel an odd sort of guilt which he quickly pushed down as Baelar responded.

“I suppose. Though I believe the mourning was genuine. King Darvarian was a popular king after all. Your father certainly knew how to keep the people content.” The old man chuckled.

“Others might be blind to it, Baelar, but I am not. I see your very specific wording there.”

Hyrian spoke with a bemused smile and Baelar smirked a cheeky youthful smirk in response.

“Ah. I have been caught once more by my sharp pupil.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender.

“But tell me, Hryian: Am I wrong?”

Hyrian could say nothing to that. Instead, he took another bite out of his toast and looked out of the window. People were beginning to flood the streets as they prepared for the festivities about to take place. Carriages rattled along the cobbled streets as the well-dressed nobles of the castle district walked and talked in loud happy voices. But these were the nobles. They were not the people. The people were not allowed here. The people had just spent two weeks unable to make a living as they huddled in their small homes, forced to mourn a man they had never met.

“Not content.”, Hyrian finally spoke, looking up to meet Baelar’s eyes. “Placated.”

Baelar raised a brow at that.

“Placated? Hmm… I suppose… yes… yes, I think you are correct there. I suppose content is too strong a word.”

Hyrian nodded as he took a sip of water.

“It is all a king can really manage these days. But once the war with Plythor is done there will be a lot less anxiety and more of a reason to be ‘content’. The good news will certainly help my brother in his early days on the throne. In the end it would seem our father could not have chosen a more perfect time to pass on.”

Baelar scoffed at that.

“No offence to you sir, but the crown prince will need far more than that to earn my confidence in his new position.”

Hyrian smiled at that. No one but Baelar would ever dare to speak so plainly and honestly with him like that. It was an attribute Hyrian valued, mostly because Baelar’s views and opinions often ended up being right more times than not.

“Come now, Rodavan is going to do fine. He’s been preparing for this for years.”

Baelar scoffed again and made a face Hyrian knew all too well. It was the same look Baelar gave slugs in the spring while tending to the garden.

“Perhaps. But I will not lie, I would feel more confident if it was the former crown prince taking the throne rather than…”

He stopped himself, aware now that what he was saying was bordering on treasonous. Hyrian would never report him of course, but Baelar could not allow himself to grow lax in his restraint. Something he often found himself struggling in showing whenever the topic fell upon the late crown prince Francerian.

“I know Baelar. But still… we must march on, right?”

Hyrian smiled and Baelar let out a low and heavy sigh.

“Since when have things gotten to the point you are the one calming me down, hmm?”

Baelar gave a weak and tired smile with a warmness in his gaze. Hyrian knew what that look meant and smiled back, happy to have helped.

“Since you started losing your mind, old man.”

“Ha! Well, I hope you remember those words once age finds you, Commander.”

Hyrian groaned at that.

“Oh don’t even start with that ‘Commander’ nonsense, old man. I don’t need it from you of all people.”

“And once more we find the prince oh so conveniently wishing to disband all social etiquette when it annoys him. What a wise commander the Kingdom has been blessed with!”

He held his hands to the heavens, tilting his head back as he began an exaggerated prayer.

“Oh thank you Divines for blessing our kingdom with a commander too sharp for this feeble old mind to ever hope to compete against!”

“Oh hush! The Divine Ones needn’t be disturbed by your senile ramblings!”

Hyrian laughed and stood to his feet as Baelar lowered his hands with a bemused chuckle.

“As you command, my prince.”

He bowed so low he looked as if he might fall over and Hyrian found himself rolling his eyes.

“Careful, we wouldn’t want you straining your back now old man.”

Hyrian laughed and gave his back a pat just hard enough to make Baelar stumble a bit before righting himself with a chuckle.

“You jest but that is a fair point. This body is not as durable as it once was you know.”

“Oh I do know. I hear you groan enough around the house.”

Hyrian smirked and pushed his chair in as Baelar cleared the former breakfast from the table.

“I will not deny it. Now, enough stalling. Go to your place, Grand Commander.”

Baelar shooed his charge away which caused Hyrian to chuckle and wave his hand as he turned to leave.

“I’m going! I’m going! No need to nag me like a merchant’s wife.”

This brought a chuckle to the older man who watched the prince leave with a sigh.

“Take care, Hyrian...”