“Sleeping again, Istainn?”

His father's voice made him jump up.

“I was just meditating!”

His cheeky answer was worthy of at least a few belts on his rear, but this time his genitor had mercy.

“Yeah, homework always puts you into a meditative state. Snoring like a bear is zsen now. Nevermind, get dressed; you have a package to deliver.”

“I have homework to do!” he complained, trying to escape another chore.

“It’s for the Royal Palace.”

Orders from the nobility were always accompanied by a fat tip, so he hurried to dress in a presentable fashion. Like lots of other kids of his age, in his free time, he helped around, his parents had a Delicatessen shop and he was in charge of some deliveries.

“Take special care with this,” asked his father, showing him the content of the long wooden box. “These are…”

“Two bottles of elven wine? Wow, it must be a real occasion or something!”

They had a special wine nobody else had. Every year his father received a few precious bottles from a source he never disclosed. Before leaving, he took a surcoat on him too, just to prevent the eternal parental order: take a coat or you’ll get sick!

“Don’t break them! I could buy ten like you from the Port with one of those!”

He pulled his tongue out and started running. While this warning was frequent, it was just a joke; his family was as typical as any other.

The Citadel was not far from their shop; it took longer to go up the tortuous alleys between the gates and the upper fortifications, and then through the vast courtyard until he reached the residential building.

No butler dared to take the bottles from him, maybe because they were costly indeed. He was escorted to the King's private quarters and left there on his own, alone with the monarch. He was stunned; what to say or do in these circumstances, he had no idea. Seeing his highness walking back and forth, rubbing his hands nervously, he relaxed a little; it gave some human dimension to something a child sees as a myth.

“Open a bottle, kid, and pour me a glass!” asked the King. “My hands are shaking!”

Goodness! If I ruin the wine with cork crumbs, dad will take the special belt, and my ass will be red for three days!

He managed to open the bottle without incidents, though, and the King drank three glasses one after another like they were water, without even letting the wine breathe properly. Meanwhile, he was waiting quietly in a corner. It was not polite to leave without being told so and without his tip. He was dreaming about what to buy with the money. For sure crêpes flambées, one of his favorite desserts. The thought that a king looked so nervous could mean internal problems or war not even crossed his young mind.

And suddenly, the reason for all appeared. A solid, aged midwife, carrying a blanket in which two little kitten-like faces were smiling in their sleep.

“Twin girls,” said the woman.

The face of the king was all smiles and tears now. The boy knew, like all the rest of the City, that the monarch had found his better half at a relatively mature age, and instead of picking some noblewoman or wealthy merchant’s daughter from political or financial interest, he had settled for love, marrying a renowned professor of the University. They were his first children, and as tradition demanded when twins were born, the future diarchs of Ohst.

And as he stared at them, crying, a hiccup added another touch of humanity to the man. The kid giggled, loud enough to be heard. The midwife frowned like she wanted to eat him, but the king smiled, nodding his head.

“You’re a kid; kids are supposed to have a merry heart and laugh, even at kings,” he said. “I wonder how many mischiefs these twos here will do until they grow up.”

“Common, your highness, you can stare at them tomorrow. Now ask the Providence for inspiration and give them a name, so I can return the babies to the Queen,” asked the midwife in a quite reprimanding tone.

The King seemed taken by surprise. He scratched his head, looking helpless. Kids often follow their heart, and so did Istaìnn. He approached the monarch, pulled his sleeve, and whispered in the most serious tone.

“You can do it!”

The king shivered for a second, then looked at the boy and smiled. Istaìnn smiled back, winked, then shook his head with determination. It was meant to say the same: Common, you can do it!

“What’s your name, son?” asked the king, caressing his hair.

“Istaìnn… my Lord,” he stuttered.

“An elven name. So be it, this is an as good sign from Providence as any other!”

Turning toward the little beings tucked together, he put his hands on the small heads and said:

“As the First King commanded, I will now give you your names and my wishes. I name you Feyra. One day you’ll be the Queen of Right. May righteousness accompany your steps. You, I name you Heyra. The Queen of Left, one day you’ll be. As the heart is on the left side, be the heart of the Kingdom. To both, I wish you to be happy and to bring happiness and fortitude to those nearby. May you have the longest reign ever, and don’t fear love because in love lays the truth, as I was blessed to discover together with your mother. The King has spoken!”

The woman bowed and went away. Her frowns and mean attitude had disappeared, which meant the King had done a good speech.

“Thank you, son, your help was very welcomed. Here!”

A double gold coin. Best desserts for a month. But somehow, even his little bird-like child brain knew it was inappropriate to take it; the moment had been too remarkable. He pushed the hand away and ran, stopping in the doorway to wave goodbye.

He was sobbing uncontrollably. A gust of wind went through his hair, and it felt like the His Majesty’s fingers, back then. That memory had faded away in time, one among other childish memories, like some soccer victory or his preferred toy, but now, it came back with the limpidity of a mature brain, and all seemed too unfair. He felt the King’s demise at a very personal level, like some old friendly neighbor had disappeared, an uncle, a grandfather, someone close.

This is a calamity! They’ve killed him, and soon they’ll dispose of all the family. I cannot let this happen.

He blew his nose, rose, and walked off the park, with a new determination in his stance and his eyes.