After breakfast, Francis followed his father. Outside, into the green gardens. With the passing of the seasons, summer began its departure. Orange and brown took over the leaves. There, the contingent of knights stood. Hands behind their backs, awaiting orders. Each of them still, and unperturbed.

“Well then. I would recommend the people in front. They are masters with the sword, and proficient in a myriad of other weapons.”

The first row saluted in response. They were aged, though it would take time for such mastery to develop. Experienced, but lacking the youthful strength. The majority of the masters were well within their forties.

“Of course, all of them are trained in Aura, as well.”

“I see.”

He stared at them. If nothing else, the knights had style. All of them wore tailored clothes that by nature, fit them well. Francis began to cull the numbers until all that was left were 4 men and women. One thing in common was their ages, with all of them probably in their 20s.

“Left to right then,” Francis said.

“Milord.” The first man bowed his head. He had a strong build, with wide shoulders. But in his averted gaze, he lacked the willpower that Francis sought.

“I greet you,” the first woman gave a brief introduction. Born and raised on the Rayleigh estate, her life goals were to defeat his family in combat.

“You won’t be a good fit.” And thus, she was rejected.

The third was a woman of few words. With only a curt nod, she stared him in the eye. Brown hair, and matching eyes. She was a head or one and a half taller than him. Instead of the usual zweihander that the others used, she wielded a rapier by her hip. Her eyes stayed locked with his, a rare occasion. She was far older than himself, maybe in her late teens or young adulthood.

“What’s your name?”

“Katalina.”

“No surname?”

She just stayed silent. There was something about her that he couldn’t put a finger on. A certain familiarity, and determination.

“Well, good enough. Father, I’ll take her.”

“Hrm. I hope you didn’t choose her for her looks.” He scratched his head. “But only one?”

“Only one. Just a single knight makes for quicker mobilisation. I’m prioritising swiftness over power.”

“Alright. Then come with me, Fran. I’ll give you a briefing.”

He was led to the back of the barracks. Wooden training swords hung atop shelves, with spare sets of gear and armour laying everywhere. The stone brick building only let light in through the open door and a small window in the side. Charles leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms.

“You’ve changed.”

“10 days of fever tends to do that to you.”

His hands fidgeted. Without an idea of what to do, he picked up a wooden sword and played with it. Charles sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

“Almost as if you’re a completely different person. You’ve never matched up to your sister or mother in intellect.”

“What are you implying?”

He gulped. He was careless. What would he be labelled as? A witch? An imposter? A bead of cold sweat formed at the back of his head, and dripped onto his back.

“I only have one question. Are you one of those people blessed by the gods?”

“What? How did you come to that conclusion?”

“There are stories from the priests that someone on the verge of death can meet a god.”

“And you’re thinking that I met one?”

“That’s what the priest said too.”

“Is it not more likely that they said it to calm your nerves? Either way, I may have changed, but I am still your child.”

Charles closed his eyes. Leaning his head against the stone bricks, and muttered to himself. But his mouth opened again.

“I’m trying to have a father-son talk. How’s your little pet project going on? Were the craftsmen that I recommended useful?”

“It's going well enough. And what about your training? Any tough enemies you couldn’t beat?”

“There’s nothing that can’t be beaten with enough practice and training.” He pinched the area between his eyebrows. “Look. Your sisters are concerned. Elise thinks you’re accepting Her Highness’ proposal because you want to help the family. Estelle thinks you’re walking straight into a trap.”

“And what do you think, then? Am I making a mistake here?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Of course it doesn’t mean anything to you. Because you’ve always had yourself to rely on. But I can’t even rely on myself when it counts. I’m always- Urg!” Francis swung the wooden sword at his father. Even then, it wasn’t much of a threat. The monster of a man just stopped it with a finger. Or maybe it was his own physical weakness. A combination of both.

“I’ve always protected you. Remember how you cried because you wanted to attend Lady Ohera’s 12th birthday banquet? I had to cover you with Aura to hide your halfblood nature. And your mother had to cast protection magic on you as a preventative.”

Francis swallowed the lump in his throat. There was just something that he had to do. To get it out.

“Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He shook his head. “Daddy issues?”

“Is that a need-to-know?”

“It's okay.” Charles patted his son’s head. He lowered his body to meet him at eye level. “You can always talk to someone, alright? Just walk right into my office. I can always make time for you.”

“No. And as he said, I’m here if you need to talk.” Francis nodded. “Thank you, father.”

“You know Fran, if you don’t feel comfortable with me, you can go to your mother. Or your sisters for that matter. You’re still young. Its no good to be bottling everything up.”

His eyes were sincere. With a firm hand running through his hair, and the soft warmth of his father’s body, something just came over him. A stream of tears flowed down his cheek, and he hugged Charles. The larger man wrapped his arms around his son.

“If you ever feel ready to talk about Emilia, I’m always ready.”

“And that is?”

“My first love.”

“What happened to her?”

“She disappeared. Along with her father. It was thought that my father had killed him.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“Cedric, Emilia’s father, was my uncle. And my father claims that he killed his own brother.”

“You fell in love with your cousin.”