* IRA EMERSON ELYSIAN *

Elliot's amalgamation was in two days.

Meaning if I had to knight the Ezèrian anytime soon, I would have to have it done by the two days as after the amalgamation, things would be even more busier than now. Two kingdoms were about to unite — two well-maintained kingdoms were about to be afflicted in two days and no one would have the time to bat an eye at me then. Father would be too busy forcing princess Vivianne transfer her powers to Elliot and wouldn't really have the time to consent for the Ezèrian's knighthood, along with the arrangements as well.

Whatever I do, I do it today.

And so, here I was, standing in front of my father as I told him I was in great need of a knight.

"A knight?" He frowned deeply, looking at me with incredulity.

"Yes, father. I think it is time I get myself a knight for my own safety as I journey quite a lot. A well skilled knight can definitely keep me safe while I embark on my long, tedious expeditions," I said, keeping my face neutral.

Father was quiet, awfully quiet, meaning he was dubious. "You, of all people in Elysia shouldn't be in need of a knight. You're the strongest swordsman that Elysia has ever had. Who could possibly be more stronger than that?"

"I'm afraid my sword may not able to keep me safe from all sorts of dangers, father." I said, solemnly. To be honest, I was ready for this conversation — while coming here, I replayed this exact conversation again and again in my head because I knew what father would say next, what his next expression would be — I spent way too much time with him to not know how this conversation was going to go.

But it was more hard in reality because no matter how many times I practiced this in my head, father was unpredictable.

As much as I knew him, he also knew me -- even better, actually.

"You're not lying to me, are you, Emerson?" and he'd caught me, and I would never be able to find out how he did so.

Maybe I said the wrong thing, maybe I did say the right thing but it sounded too forced, practiced and fabricated and false, maybe I spent too much time thinking before speaking, maybe I spent too much time thinking after speaking, maybe he saw me holding the fabric of my coat a bit too firmly, maybe he noticed I answered every question with right precision and timing, maybe he—

Stop it.

I made sure to not change my facial expression. Keeping my face neutral always helped me negotiate with father — it was something Elliot was never able to do — which was why father always had an emotional effect on him, because he knew what Ember would say next. I made sure to learn that from him.

"I swore by the gods ruling the empty skies that I will always speak the truth to you," I reminded him of the false oath that I'd taken at the raw age of eleven before devoting myself to serving him completely.

"And do you believe in the gods, Emerson?" He asked me, slightly tilting his head.

I don't. I never believed in them, hence, my false oath to you.

"With all my heart, I do," I said, looking at him eye to eye, his cold, distant earthly eyes looking at me calculatingly, searching for any lies lying beneath them, searching for any farce lurking in there but I had sworn by the gods so many times in my life before my father and his devotees obsessed with the gods, that sometimes, even I found myself believing in them time to time.

Maybe if I did believe in the gods, I wouldn't have lied to father today and I wouldn't have lied the other day when he asked about Elliot's infiltration to the princess' chambers and managing to succeed in negotiating with her.

Father nodded, just a slight nod. "Do you really think you need a knight? Can it not wait until Elliot's amalgamation? I do not want another nuisance when there's already so much going on other than his amalgamation," he shook his head, sighing.

I frowned. "What else has been going on?"

"Ezekiel wants to be discarded from his title. Wants to be freed from the chains of responsibilities wrapped around him, he says," he explained while my frown remained, my thoughts now swirling with Ezekiel. Ezekiel never wanted the throne, it was obvious since he was a child, but I never expected him to rebel against it.

There were times in his childhood when I saw him spending more time in the council room than in his own chambers, when I saw him having dinner with the aristocrats rather than with his own family, when I saw him spending more time with the general and his masters than father, there were times when I saw him begging father to let him skip his lessons today because he was too tired and I remembered how father had rejected his request with a flick of his hand.

Ezekiel never wanted to be a king — but father did, his position as the firstborn did, the kingdom did and the subjects did.

"What did you tell him?" I asked father.

"Told him that wasn't possible and he had no choice here,"

"And what did he say to that?" I asked, knowing very well he didn't give in to father.

"Said no in my face. Said he could never rule and it should be Elliot instead,"

"Elliot?" I nearly laughed. "An Ezèrian?"

"I would rather have the stable boy rule the kingdom than him," was father's immediate remark. He was upset about what happened and it was a bad idea to bring my matter right now but it was now or never.

"I will try to talk to him, knock some sense into him," I said, trying to change the conversation and get it back to me.

"He's got that woman's stubbornness -- all of you do. But try," I nodded, my eyes instinctively reaching at his throat whenever he spoke of my birth mother, the crescent shaped locket still there, dangling slightly above his chest. I had asked about this locket — when I was eleven — when I'd began to solely devote my life to father, but I didn't get much of an answer from him.

"Father," he was writing something in a scroll while I sat beside him, carefully observing his neat handwriting and noting how he'd stroke all the letters in circular way, almost gently, albeit our letters were sharp and rectangular. He continued writing, and let out a small hum as an answer.

"Why do you always wear that? What is that?" I asked him, pointing at the crescent locket as it shone upon the sun's gleam seeping from the windows. He stopped writing for a while, not looking at me and I feared I'd said the wrong thing and he'd yell at me now.

He didn't. He only caressed the locket slightly and went back to writing. "I apologise—" I was cut off by him.

"It's a remnant," was his curt reply and that was it.

I never knew what he meant by that, never got to know who it belonged to or what its purpose was. He never spoke of the locket and neither did I.

I waited for father to speak. "And as for the knight," he gave me a cold look, his eyebrows raised and it was one of those moments when I felt like I was actually talking to a king rather than my own father because of his change of demeanour and the way he no longer had his guard down and the way he was ready for anything right now. "I will consent as long as you can fulfil a condition,"

He waited for me to speak now. "I'm prepared for anything,"

"Anything?" He asked, his voice deep, not like before — annoyed and exasperated of his sons and the unwanted predicaments — this time it was hard, like steel and ready for any lies that were about to spill from my mouth. I was speaking to the man who took down an entire army of Ezèrian because of his strategic skills and I had to be wary of his every words.

"Anything," I said, not even knowing if I just fell into his trap or walked out of it.

"I have never seen you so desperate for anything," he pointed out, now walking closer to me, his face relaxed and yet, I could sense how he was thinking of his each step, words and gestures carefully in his mind. "Are you hiding anything from me, Emerson?" he asked, giving me a side look, his eyes narrowed, sharp and I tried my best to not swallow and let him know how afraid I was right now.

One wrong word, and everything would collapse.

"Everything is alright, father," I managed, my voice quiet.

He hummed, barely hearable but I still heard it, every fraction of it, every frequency of it as I waited for him to speak again. "You haven't released your renèi Possession for a while,"

"I didn't feel the need to," I said again, my voice slightly quivering, my heart beating quick, my ears reverberating perhaps with my own blood, I didn't know — but that wasn't my concern — father was getting suspicious of me each second and I was making it worse more and more.

"I want to see your renèi Possession,"

"I'm sure you have other tasks to attend—"

"Release your renèi Possession, Emerson," he commanded, his voice firm, and I knew right then and there I had no choice but to show him my wings, my evidence of not being a Naught.

I hardly nodded before straightening my back and arching it before the fabric of my clothes tore slightly, white feathers slowly protruding out of there, slowly mixing with the miscellany of feathers. Father didn't wait for them to fully form into wings — he rushed to my back, seeing the feathers slowly helping one another to grow more and more, until my wings were fully released, flapping against the wind with a new-found strength, surprising myself.

I frowned when I found myself being able to control my wings, being able to make them flap however I wished and that was when I realised that the Ezèrian's healing powers had worked, and I couldn't be more grateful. "Are they alright, father?" I asked, resisting the urge to smile.

"Quite alright," he said and walked back to me. "Some of the feathers seemed out of place, why is that?"

"More feathers are growing and maybe they didn't have enough space?" I managed to lie, meaning my head was clear again, because of the Ezèrian, again.

He gave a firm nod. "The condition. . ." he began, walking to his table which had uncountable amount of papers piled up, finished ink bottles, quills in a corner, stamps, unopened letters and invitation scrolls for Elliot's amalgamation, papers signed by father and other things buried under the papers. It was hard to not look at my father's unorganised desk and even more hard to not make a comment about it but I managed to do both. Father began looking for a scroll amidst the sea of papers and after finding it, he took a quill and scribbled something, then handing it to me.

I took it, opened the scroll and saw the official signature of consent for prince Ira Emerson Elysian's knight. I blew a short sigh in relief, oddly thrilled to tell this news to the Ezèrian and see her reaction. She would be happy. "And the condition, father?"

"Yes, the condition," he looked at me, studying my face expressions, another one of his tactics to make the other person feel weak and doubt his own statements and sometimes, even his own identity. "Normally, the three trials take three days but this one, I want it to be done by one day — by tomorrow."

"Thank you for the consent, father," I said, my head inclined, gripping the scroll. "The knight will not disappoint you."

I was expecting this. If I wanted the Ezèrian to be knighted as soon as possible, and before Elliot's amalgamation as well, I would have to have her get done by the trials soon as well. It seemed impossible, finishing the trials in such short amount of time but she was desperate. And so was I. For our own lives.

And when life is at stake, desperation outdoes death itself.

***