Lythor, Lumithar 24, 528 EK

  The warm scent of meat stew braided with the powdery perfume of dried rose petals filled the palace garden. Daylight slipped between the white column arches, bouncing off pale green leaves that swayed gently in the garden’s calm breeze. In the center of that garden Queen Lythienne Valterion sat upright, poised—so much so that even the air around her seemed to fall into the rhythm she set.

  Before her, the three Valterion children sat in a row on a low stone bench.

  Varian, the youngest, wore fine smudges of rose powder across his face and hands. Aric sat with a tidier posture, his eyes sharp as he scanned the surroundings. Aeliana held her chin high with the confident air of a firstborn who believes she knows more than everyone else.

  Servants stood nearby, some holding small bowls, others soft cloths and rose powder—ready to follow any sign from the queen.

  But this midday meal was more than a meal. For Lythienne there was no trivial moment that couldn’t be turned into a lesson.

  “Varian,” she called softly, but with a tone that allowed no refusal. “Your turn.”

  The youngest lifted his head; his eyes tracked a lazy cloud drifting across the sky. The smudges on his cheek made his expression even more sour. “Mother…” he muttered at last, voice grumpy. “I don’t know the answer. It’s not fair. Aric and Aeliana are older. How can I possibly know more about the kingdom of Myranthia than they do?”

  A corner of Lythienne’s mouth rose. But before answering, she drew a slow breath—one of those nearly invisible inhales—and let a thin silence work its small magic. Her gaze lingered a moment longer on Varian, as if weighing something beneath that complaint, then she spoke with the subtle weave of a calming net.

  “You are only one year younger than Aric,” she said finally, light but firm, “and two years younger than Aeliana. Don’t hide behind your age, Varian.”

  Aeliana snorted, taking the opening. “When I was seven,” she said with a proud tone, “I already knew not only the human kingdoms but the elf realms as well.”

  “Yes,” Aric added, turning to his brother with an almost provoking smile. “If you don’t know, just give up.”

  Lythienne did not scold them with words. She only signaled a servant with two fingers.

  The servant stepped forward and knelt slightly to meet Varian’s level. “Forgive me, young sir,” he said gently, lifting the rose powder.

  As that hand came close, Varian suddenly flailed.

  “Hey! Don’t touch me again! Don’t smear my face!” he shouted, the small voice exploding into uncontrolled anger.

  The servant froze. His face went pale—though a child, Varian was still a prince.

  “Varian.”

  One word.

  But the way Lythienne said it made the garden fall quieter. Varian immediately bowed his head; his shoulders stiffened.

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  Lythienne rose, approached, and knelt before her son. She placed her hand on his head, stroking his hair slowly—not to spoil, but to soothe.

  “You know,” she whispered softly, “you are the luckiest of them all.”

  Varian glanced up, uncertain.

  “Right now you may be behind,” Lythienne continued, “not because you are weaker, but because you are younger. But if you are willing to try, you can catch up—perhaps even surpass them at an age younger than when they learned the same things.”

  The fury on Varian’s face ebbed, replaced by fragile confusion.

  Lythienne smiled thinly. “And remember this well. This is only a game. But even games have rules. Rules are promises.”

  She glanced at the servant, then back to Varian. “If you break the rules, you break your own promise. So now, apologize. Allow this servant to finish his task.”

  Varian swallowed. He turned toward the servant and said in a small voice, “I’m sorry. You… you may continue.”

  The servant smiled in relief and resumed his task with steadier hands.

  “Good,” Lythienne said as she rose again. Her gaze shifted to her eldest daughter. “Now, Aeliana. Your turn.”

  “Still about Myranthia, Mother, or do we change the topic?” Aeliana asked, voice sweet but clearly stalling.

  “Still,” Lythienne answered without hesitation. “You know the rules. Themes change only when the three of you can no longer answer. Now—tell me what you know.”

  Aeliana lifted her chin; confident smile spreading. “Dunsmere was the last kingdom to join Loristhaven. That union birthed Myranthia—with Loristhaven as the center and capital, while Sunforge and Dunsmere became the kingdom’s cities.”

  Her tone was steady, as if reciting something she’d kept carefully stored in her head.

  Lythienne smiled, pleased. She gave a subtle signal to a servant. A spoonful of warm soup was offered as a reward.

  “Good,” the queen said, turning. “Now Aric.”

  Aric blinked. He named kings, queens, princes—common facts repeated many times. His words slowed and then halted.

  “…I don’t know anything else, Mother,” he admitted at last, frustrated with himself.

  Another servant stepped forward and traced a little smear of rose powder on his cheek. Varian watched and lit up.

  “My turn! My turn now!” he shouted, almost springing from his seat.

  Aeliana turned quick; Aric grunted in disbelief.

  “Go ahead,” Lythienne said, now intrigued. “You seem very sure, Varian.”

  Varian rose halfway and faced Aric with a mocking grin. “If Dunsmere was the last to join,” he declared loudly, “then another fact is: Sunforge was the first kingdom to accept Loristhaven’s offer.”

  Aric stiffened. “That’s not a new fact,” he retorted. “That’s just a continuation of Aeliana’s answer!”

  Lythienne laughed softly—not mocking, rather a satisfied laugh. Her head tilted slightly; for a fraction of a second her fingers hung in the air, a tiny pause that marked she had noted the cleverness and filed it away. She had seen the spark. “He’s right,” she said calmly. “Varian didn’t repeat the same fact. He drew a new conclusion from his sister’s answer.”

  “That’s not fair!” Aric protested.

  “If you knew, why didn’t you say it?” Varian shot back, sneering.

  Aric half rose, about to push his brother. Aeliana laughed aloud, while the servants exchanged looks, fighting to keep their smiles.

  “Enough,” Lythienne said, voice gentle but commanding. She drew a soft breath—almost a sigh—then spread her hands to separate them; a small gesture that asserted control without raising her tone. “Mother decides. And this is official.”

  After several rounds, Varian finally received his first spoonful. He leaned forward and said to the servant in a small, triumphant voice, “Fill it up. Don’t be stingy.”

  He chewed the soup with a satisfied face, looking at Aric as if that small victory were a temporary crown.

  Others watched Varian with smiles that were hard to hide—his innocent triumph was too pure to resist laughter. Only Aric looked at him with furrowed brows, annoyed that the small prize had gone to his younger brother.

  “Aeliana,” Lythienne said calmly, returning their attention to the lesson. “Do you have another answer? If not, we will change the theme.”

  Aeliana blinked; her eyes darted as if rearranging memories. But before she could answer, a loud voice shattered the garden’s calm.

  “Your Highness must not pass.”

  Every head turned toward the far end of the garden.

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