Winter, 755:

(A year and a half before)

It was the time of year when classes picked up once more at the university, resuming after a winter break. Reina hadn't yet told her father that she had allowed the registration deadline to slip by without signing up for any classes. She knew it would mean an argument and she wanted to avoid it—but she also knew it was easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask permission. If she had told him she didn't intend to register before the deadline had passed he would have insisted and she would have been forced to do as he wished. Now there was no choice. She couldn't register, even if she wanted to.

In spite of knowing that the topic would come up eventually, when the king brought up the subject of school that night over dinner, it filled her with a feeling of cold dread.

"When do your classes begin again?"

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. She set her fork down, feeling more sick than hungry, suddenly. It would do her no credit to appear to regret her decision, though; come what may, she would stand and take it.

"I have not registered for any."

There was a silence—tense and straining under what was to come, nothing at all like the comfortable silences they shared night after night. It was like the silence caused by all of the birds fleeing the path of a predator.

The king set down his fork.

"You have not registered for any," he repeated.

"No, Father."

"And why?" His voice, would-be casual, set the hairs on the back of her neck on end.

"Because I do not intend to continue my studies. I have weighed the costs and benefits and determined that it is not prudent to return." Just like anything else. Just like running the kingdom. Trim the bad parts and nourish the good. University was draining more from her life than it was giving back and she couldn't afford to go any longer.

He considered her for a long while. Reina fought not to squirm under his gaze.

At length he sighed, the irritation fading from his face. "Here I have taught you to make the most efficient decision and face the consequences, accepting that there will always be some… and you have turned and used it against me."

He gave her a melancholy smile; it wasn't much better than anger might have been, but she was still glad he wasn't vexed at her. Or not too vexed, at least.

"I'm sorry, Father. I cannot justify it any longer. The work I do at your side is considerably more important—for everyone. I know you want me to have time for myself, to make friends and spend time with them, but no amount of living life or having fun could justify the time spent," Reina managed to keep her voice even; she hated to disappoint him, but she hated leaving for hours a day more—the disappointment would fade, at least. The hours she spent away taxed everyone, every day, all term. And—though she would never say it to him—since that night in December they both knew a time was fast approaching when he simply wouldn't be able to do without her.

"I had hoped…" Her father sighed again, running his hand over his beard and sitting back in his chair. "But I suppose it brings you no joy, nor satisfaction, to be there. Does it, here? Or is this merely a sense of duty that you chase?"

Reina's forced calm slipped, allowing something of the girl to show through. She couldn't quite understand his focus on what it was she wanted, but she wasn't going to let him believe for an instant that this wasn't it.

"Of course it does, Father! This time I spend with you is my favorite time." She meant it, without reservation.

It had been nearly two years since she had taken up the extra workload, starting with more weapons training. All the changes had been challenging at the start—more than once she had thought it would be impossible to keep up—but in hindsight she didn't regret a moment of it. Even years down the road she never wished she had spent more time with her friends or on her studies. The most important thing was her father, and that was where she had planted her time.

For a moment he studied her earnestly. Eventually he nodded.

"I think you do mean it. Though I cannot fathom wishing to spend more time with an old man than with your friends." He picked up his fork again, at last; whatever remained of the tension in the air drained away. He wasn't cross with her for neglecting to register. He wasn't even regretful about her loss of a personal life—as he seemed to see it.

"What if the old man is my friend?" Reina cocked her head to one side, hazarding a little smile.

He looked up at her and smiled in return, like it was contagious and he couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.

"Is he?"

"He's my best friend." Reina's smile widened. "Is that so bad?"

A pause, this one quiet and warm, filled with mutual smiles. Then: "No. Not bad in the least."