Chapter 6
As Andy's muscles clenched around his bones, he couldn't tell what burned more. The fire that pillaged the heart of the village, or the icy glare whose sole purpose was to freeze him to the chair he was in.
Probably both, he thought bitterly, wrapping the thick blanket around him tighter as he curled up onto the chair.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Ingvar snapped. The air in the room wavered from warm to cold constantly. The man was leaning back against the large desk in the library's study where the young prince had retreated to the moment he set foot in the castle.
After rubbing his skin raw in the bathes, possibly staining the sides of the tub black from the soot and ash that layered his body, Andy squirmed his way out of Georg's grasp from his bedroom and into his corner in the library. Despite the urging of the nurses to have the prince rest after the fire, Andy couldn't find it in his self to sleep. And Ingvar happily took advantage of that.
Andy bit back a groan, wrapping his arms around his legs as the man stared him down. His eyes darted everywhere around the walls stacked with leather bound books until he felt an icy chill jerked his chin forward. Ingvar, without raising a finger, had the boy turning towards him with his magic, hissing, "Look at me when I'm talking to you."
Andy's teeth sank into his tongue, his brows narrowing at the older man.
"I'm sorry. What else do you want me to say?" He said, fighting back the growl in his voice.
Ingvar shook his head, his fingers digging into the table behind him. He breathed in deeply, carefully choosing his words as he glowered at the boy.
"Do you have any idea," he said slowly, folding his hands together. "How frantic your brother was? Not to mention how the gentries absorbed the fact that their prince disappeared in a raid—"
"I would've been worse off there." Andy snapped.
"—only to discover hours later, that he willingly abandoned his first meeting—"
"No one knew I was gone."
Ingvar suddenly towered over the boy, leaning close to him as his palm pressed down onto the arms of his chair. Ingvar's voice dropped into a harsh whisper.
"—to go off to a festival and put his self in more of harm's way by racing in to play 'hero.'"
The iciness that pierced Ingvar's words sent a shudder running down Andy's spine. Ingvar leaned back against the table, his hair pooling down onto the dark wood, and rubbed his hands over his face. He chuckled dryly, "It took so much to persuade your brother not to dive into that fire. Yet, he did anyway."
Andy's heart skipped a beat, his glower softening slightly as he stared up at his uncle.
"Y-you mean he went into the fire to save me?" His voice cracked slightly, wavering with a hint of hopefulness.
Ingvar rolled his eyes at the boy. "The heart of the fire was in the market square. You oh so happened to be there."
Andy's heart instantly sank at that, his fingers playing with the ends of his blanket. "Oh."
Ingvar heaved in a deep breath, flexing his fingers out from his fists as ice crackled upon his flesh. His tongue twisted into knots as he stared at Andy, his heart unable to fathom keeping his own temper at bay. Suddenly, the door to the library slid open where a quiet set of footsteps tapped down the hall. The two raised their gaze over to the end of the twisting aisle to find the young king leaning against one of the bookshelves. Andy's heart began digging deeper into his chest as he darted his eyes towards the fireplace.
"You're supposed to be resting." Ingvar said with a frown etched deep into the corners of his lips, flicking his gaze up and down the king's frame. "You know you have another meeting tomorrow—"
"Ingvar." Elias casted his eyes towards the man. His irises flickered from a pale shade of ice to a dark film of blue darkness, making Ingvar flinch as he swayed his head towards the door.
Andy chewed on his bottom lip as his blood boiled. He glanced back and forth between the two men, the flicker of light in their eyes veiling an entire conversation in just a few short gestures and nods. Andy's arm tightened around his legs, jerking his gaze towards the simmering fire in the hearth.
"I'll see you momentarily," Ingvar whispered quietly in Elias's ear, brushing his hand down Elias's arm as he walked out of the library.
Elias closed his eyes, sighing heavily at the man's quiet footsteps. The king finally opened his eyes again to stare at a tangled mop of golden hair turned away from him. A frown wrinkled Elias's lips. Andy slowly turned his head towards Elias, his eyes downcast as he focused on counting the number of tendrils on the rug. Elias moved away from the bookshelf towards Andy, yet froze. He took a step back from him, turned away from the flash of hurt that flinched through Andy's shoulders.
"How are you feeling?" Elias asked softly.
"Fine," Andy murmured, tangling his fingers together.
The silence gnawing between them caused Andy's teeth to grind against each other. Elias's lips thinned into a line, his mouth opening and closing again as his tongue tried to force some other words out. The two stared at each other for a moment; their eyes searching the each other's orbs to communicate some secret between them—but nothing came. Nothing ever came.
Andy noted the shadows flickering across the elder man's face, caressing his firm jaw and cheek bones as if he were made from the smoothest of stones. Andy's tongue dabbed at his chapped lips and his skin prickled the longer he stared into the other's eyes. The icy irises lied still in their own world, churning mystery upon mystery beneath the thick surface, but merely reflected his gaze.
The phantom of the boy he could barely catch in the halls of his childhood memories vanished in an instant as Andy's eyes wandered down the faint dusting of stubble upon his chin, the lone lock of ivory that landed just above his brows, and the faint line of the ragged scar that stretched from his eye to his jaw like a broken smile that could break through his stony exterior.
A flash of scalded bodies crossed Andy's mind, causing a shudder to run down his spine; the last this man had seen his childhood was when it was waving goodbye to him in a blur of color as he was dragged off to an alien country. Andy shook his head. How did he manage to come back—mind unscathed—when Andy could barely hold back his meal when he saw the faintest hint of blood?
Why can't I read you? Andy cursed, pondering over when their prickly silences became so routine and fragile. His fingers crushed the fabric of the blanket in his hands with a bowed head. Elias bit his bottom lip, reaching out his hand towards Andy and instead flinched away as he looked back up at him.
"You," Elias started uneasily then sighed. "You should get to bed. It's not good to strain yourself when your body's not used to such exertion." The man turned on his heel towards the door, ready to weave through the halls when Andy rose from his chair.
Andy's hand grasped onto the silken dress shirt that hung loosely on Elias's shoulders, swallowing thickly as he tried to remember how to breathe. Elias arched an eyebrow at him until Andy cleared his throat.
"Is that all?" Andy asked.
Elias shrugged slightly. "There isn't much left to say after Ingvar talk with you."
Andy winced, his fingers curling themselves tighter into Elias's shirt. He forced out a light chuckle, grinning sheepishly. "Oh, yeah. That little talk." Elias's lips squirmed, searching for words until Andy spoke again. "So that meeting tomorrow…pretty important, huh?"
"All meetings are important." Elias replied softly, jerking away from Andy's grasp. "This one particularly even more crucial than it was supposed to be now."
Andy slowly unwound his fingers from their curl and scratched the back of his head. He fought the urge to squirm at his spot under the other's gaze.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
Elias rolled his neck back, rubbing his fingers along the bridge of his nose. "Try to convince the gentries the benefits of waiting before jumping into making such large deals with one another when they have so little." He snorted bitterly. "Not that that's their main priority at the moment."
Andy nodded with furrowed brows until his eyes lit up slightly. He tilted his head to the side, asking, "I-is there anything I could do for you? Like organize your notes or…"
"Ingvar already does that." Elias said flatly. "He's my right hand."
"Well," Andy chuckled awkwardly with a shrug of his shoulders, "you still got a left hand that needs fitting." At the blank stare, Andy's laughter died off. "I-I mean there must be something I could do."
Elias sighed, moving his shoulder away from Andy's outstretched hand. His eyes flashed from light to dark, biting back a hiss. "You could do some good by waiting for instructions." He shot a narrowed glare at Andy, adding bitterly, "That is if you decide to stay the whole time. If not, then there's no need for you to show at all." Andy's stomach twisted at the sharpness in the other's voice, reaching out for him one last time before he cut him off. "Good night Anders."
As his footsteps echoed throughout the library and the door slammed shut behind him, Andy slowly sank to the floor. He punched the rug, blinking back the warmth straining behind his eyelids as he dropped his chin to his chest. His gaze drifted over to the wooden floorboards where his reflection waved back at him in the flickering light from the fire. Andy's eyes narrowed on his reflection, venom seeping into his voice as he whispered, "I hate you."
Unbeknownst to the boy, however, was a film of ice that wandered up the walls of the hall outside, slowly following the young king as he rubbed his arms helplessly.
"Don't feel." He whispered, his voice shaking with each step. His eyes flashed constantly as he whimpered out, "Don't feel."
Yet, as he rushed down the hall to his quarters, black tendrils ice crept silently outside the window of the library where Andy laid. Its darkened frost crackled into a circle around the boy while the center cleared into a snowflake shape, a fog of breath tapping on the window—as if someone were peering in.
"We must prepare for war now!" Another heated voice burst among the cacophony of gentries prying for a second of silence to get their point across.
"With what? You're country hasn't faced war in years!"
"That's why we must pool all of our resources together."
A set of papers crumbled under fists viciously clenching onto the table. The icy glares that bombarded one another throughout the room set the room on the edge of a knife, constantly wobbling from sanity to pens being thrown through the air. The king of Arendelle leaned against the arm of his chair with a sigh, watching his fellow allies of dukes, duchesses, regents, and more press their lips together to contain the foam spewing out of their mouths.
"You mean the ones you blew off for five ship-fulls of wine." The low hiss didn't go unnoticed by the Spanish gentry, whose eyes narrowed dangerously thin onto the Duchess of Birmingham.
Ingvar leaned over towards Elias, whispering, "They'll kill each other off before the enemy even reaches land."
Elias rolled his eyes and whispered back, "I'm tempted to see them try." Ingvar gave him a wry frown before brushing a strand of white hair behind his ear. Ingvar tapped his fingers against the long table as Elias sighed. Placing his hands on the table, he rose from his chair; causing all eyes in the room to automatically turn towards him. His eyes scanned all of their wary gazes before shaking his head.
"As much as you all would like to bury more salt into each others' wounds," he said, his voice clipped and calm. "The longer we bicker, the faster the Draugen will take us all down." The group of gentries fell silent, glancing away from each other with reddened cheeks.
Elias straightened his shoulders and turned towards the wall behind him. With a flick of his wrist, a small whirl of wind tugged down at a map of the eight realms; the gentries' kingdoms circled in either black or red while markers of a bony creature lied at the foot of the map. Elias turned back towards the gentries, hands folded behind his back.
"Ingvar," he said, without looking at the man. "Would you inform us of what you extracted from the spy?"
Ingvar cleared his throat, moving over towards the map.
"From the questioning, we've gathered that our crasher is indeed a part of the Draugen." A muffled gasp resonated amongst the gentries as Ingvar moved a hand towards the map, his index finger tracing over the intricate painted mountains and oceans. "She claimed that she was sent here from the western Draugen unit bent. And from her marks, she was not lying."
"Marks?" A gentry inquired.
Ingvar pointed to the bony creature on the map. "The mark of the Vipen." The gentry shuddered as Ingvar continued. "A creature of nightmares that was said to on its death bed raise a clan suffering from the greed and lust of titans with powers of their own, thus leading to the birth of the Draugen. However…"
"What Ingvar?" Elias said.
Ingvar hesitated, his brows furrowed as he finished, "That was all, the girl said."
"What do you mean that was all? You questioned her didn't you?" A Polish gentry snapped.
"Of course we did. But every time she spoke it was of what the Draugen had already accomplished from slaughtering the titans to enslaving man. Despite our persuasion, that was all she would repeat."
A snort broke the thick spell the news casted over the room. King Westerguard shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a smirk lacing beneath his beard and mustache.
"Forgive me, my lord," he said, waving his hand in the air as if swatting something from his ear. "But this spy sounds more like a rebel bent on resurrecting a lost cause." The thick, auburn hairs on his upper lip trembled in a twisted amusement. "If anything this is an enemy kingdom trying to weaken us all—you especially, your highness. After all, not all the realms were too thrilled of accepting you as the overseer of us after Mist Haven."
The king's words hung heavily in the air, the gentries' very breaths crackling under the weight of the new turn of perspective. Elias's brows knitted together in a frown as he let out a deep sigh. He slowly sank back into his chair, rubbing his brows.
"And, please forgive me for my rudeness," King Westerguard said. "The fire that harmed your village could have very well been from one of the damned monsters you vanquished during the wars. The marks burnt into the ground could just be an illusion to a greater conspiracy in progress."
Elias's lips thinned out as he weaved his fingers together and propped his chin up. "That is a strong possibility." He said. "However, we—"
The gentries nodded slowly as if coming out of a thaw when the doors to the meeting hall creaked open. Their gazes turned towards the door cracked ajar as a mop of strawberry-blonde hair poked into the room. Elias raised his head among the throng of arched eyebrows as the boy slipped into the room. The door slammed shut behind him, causing him to wince. A sheepish smile squirmed across his lips.
"Sorry," he chuckled uneasily. Andy shifted closer to the very end of the table, quickly sliding into an empty chair at the corner. He strung his fingers together and cleared his throat. "Please, continue."
The gentries blinked quizzically as Elias shook his self out of his daze. The young king looked back towards King Westerguard.
"As I was saying," Elias said, "although the attacks may be from another source, we must all set up a series of precautions in the mean time. Arendelle was far off guard and suffered because of that. If this continues, then the stakes may grow much higher than anticipated."
"I agree, your highness," the Spanish gentry said with a firm nod, "which is why I ask for an attack system among us in case one of us should fall."
The duchess of Birmingham rolled her eyes, digging her cheek against her hand as she mumbled under her breath, "Figures a drunkard can't hold his own."
The gentry snapped his head towards her, his lips pulling back into a snarl.
"At least I don't go around selling my children to pay off centuries of debt!" He snapped heatedly.
The duchess's dark eyes boiled as she scraped her nails across the table. "Why you reckless, pigheaded—"
"Enough!" The icy bark snipped the tension in the room instantly, albeit sending tendrils of snow brushing through the room. The head chair Elias sat in screeched across the floor as he stood up. The temperature in the room wavered ever so slightly with his glare shooting between the two gentries. The two shuddered back into their seats under the king's gaze, catching the flicker between ice, blue irises to stormy, black. "Our kingdoms are being preyed upon by some unknown foe, and you two are busy trying to tear each other apart! Don't let yourselves become your enemy before you've even faced them."
Lord Louis gulped heavily at the flaming silence that whisked at them before tentatively raising a hand. "If I may, your highness," he stumbled over his tongue, silently thanking the gods for not putting him in the same regime as the young king during the war. "We do know who is attacking us. No one, but the Draugen would cause such agonizingly, slow distress."
Before he could finish, a barking wail of laughter thundered through the room. King Westerguard shot a glare at the French lord, his smoldering, green eyes showing no humor in them, as he flung his hand in the air.
"The Draugen have been dead for centuries." He proclaimed. "These—bastards who are attacking us one by one is just a wolf in sheep's clothing trying to make us uneasy with these myths!" He rose from his seat and slammed a hand on his chest. "I'll admit the southern isles too have been attacked by these fools by poisoning our harvests, but we struck them on the spot. I say as soon as we see them, we take them down until the last bloody morsel is cut down!"
"Tis not good to belittle legends so easily Westerguard," a low, cool voice said. Lady Tirith rolled her neck to the side to stare up at the man, her hazel orbs growing murky with each word as her hair brushed over her shoulders. She idly swayed a dark, caramel-brown hand towards Elias and Ingvar. "Legends have ways of living through the young."
King Westerguard's teeth grinded against each other. He ran a large hand through his hair, causing his auburn locks to fall to the sides of his face.
"I don't fear a mere legend, my lady," he bit out, practically hissing the last two words. "What I fear is that you all believe in some bloody fairytale without so much of a glance of the threat itself! I mean have any of us seen these 'powerful' creatures in the middle of any of their attacks?"
A hand slowly raised in the air, bringing the group's attention towards the one who dared interrupt them. Andy gulped, choking on the bow tied perfectly in his throat as he forced his trembling limbs to steady. He sucked in a breath, squeaking, "Um…not to get off track or anything, but do the Draugen by chance in their real form have skulls for faces and these tiny, beady eyes in their sockets?"
Lady Tirith tilted her head to the side, blinking slowly. "Yes, actually. In the olden times before us they found no need for skin."
Andy's heart skipped in his chest as he scratched the back of his head. He felt the wood of his chair dig into his back as the gentries' voices began to rise into another argument. He mumbled something quickly under his breath, his face ashen. The gentries froze again and turned to the prince.
"I beg your pardon?" Lady Tirith arched an eyebrow.
Andy winced and rushed his words together once more. He squirmed in the chair, fiddling with the ends of his tunic before feeling the council's eyes boring into him.
"Anders." Andy flinched at the sharp tone in Ingvar's voice.
He took a deep breath and sighed, "Last night…during the fire, I was trapped inside the village bakery and…and…" A gentry was about to retort about the prince's absence until Elias raised a hand. The gentry instantly swallowed his words as Elias nodded.
"Go on," he urged.
A drop of sweat trembled down Andy's back, gagging at the roar of coppery ash that flooded his mouth. He gulped, forcing the words out of his mouth, "I saw one of them in the flames. He just walked through them like they weren't even there and just stared at me before I fell unconscious."
The gentries choked on the air that wavered in temperature again. And then Pandora's box opened. The gentries leaped from their seats, a series of security and battle plans flying from their tongues. Andy shrunk back into his chair as the cacophony of the meeting polluted his eardrums.
Why did I even come here? Andy thought to his self. His fingers played with loose, beige thread until a clap of ice snapped the gentry out of their maddened haze. Ingvar's steely glare punctured the air of rebellion out of them as they sank back into their chairs.
"There will be no war." Ingvar said firmly. "Not on Arendelle, the Southern Isles, or any other land. Be it Draugen or not, we will stand our ground in the midst of any danger."
"But Sir Ingvar," Lord Louis cried, "this is the Draugen. The blood on their hands drowns out anything from Mist Haven or the Grimm!"
"Then we must solidify ourselves before they can shatter our defenses any further." Elias cut in. "All of us here from the first realm to the seventh are bound together one way or another. Yet, all eight must be united if we wish to eradicate this threat."
King Westerguard let out a deep sigh from across the table, rubbing his forehead. He flicked his gaze towards Elias as he said, "Threat or no threat, the eighth realm in the north hasn't shown its face since the wars, and with the…" he hesitated, rolling the word in his mouth with a grimace before continuing, "Draugen attacking our vital sources, how are we to reach them?" He panned his eyes across the table. Andy blinked, his ears buzzing as the king spoke. "If any of us sets foot outside of our lands to round in a distant kingdom, then that would be the perfect time for them to strike. If anything we should be focusing on solidifying our defenses to strike our foe down."
Murmurs instantly blistered from King Westerguard's point, clattering against each other across the table. Furrowed brows and frowns grew deeper among the gentries' faces while Andy tapped a finger against the table.
"It wouldn't make sense for us to send our leaders to the north," a gentry whispered besides Andy. Her gaze was locked onto a larger man who fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves.
"But wouldn't that be best," he murmured. "We could gain another ally."
"At what cost?" the woman chided. "A kingdom or a leader who may not even come back? Haven't you heard what happens in those mountains?"
Andy chewed on his bottom lip, his finger continuously tapping the table. Suddenly his eyes widened as he slammed his hand on the dark wood and leaped up from his chair. With his hand raised high in the air he exclaimed, "I'll do it!"
The murmurs in the room grew silent, the gentries' staring at him as if he had caught on fire. Andy flinched at the silence surrounding him before clearing his throat.
"I mean," he said, clasping his hands together. "I would gladly go to the north and negotiate with them on becoming our ally." A snort clucked off the tongues of the gentries as Andy waved them off.
"I know. I know. Why send the guy who couldn't even stay at his first royal meeting? Why send me?" He scuffled away from his chair as he rounded about the table. "I mean, really? I'm just another family member of the king you all chose to be the realms' overseer." The gentries' frowns faltered slightly, glancing at one another. Andy's heart battered at his chest as he wrapped his arms around one of the gentry's chairs. "But I'm also unnoticeable—unknown—in public, which would allow me of all people to leave the country without the Draugen noticing."
The gentries nodded, some rubbing the tips of their chins as the prince continued. Andy moved over to the other side of the table. "And if I were sent, then it would cost less for travel and protection over a court member whose history is," he spared a quick glance in Elias and Ingvar's direction, "not so violent and would allow a potential ally to relax more easily than approached by a supposedly rumored threat."
Andy slid over back to his corner, feeling the others' eyes following him as he sank into his chair.
"Then you would all—also—have time to iron out the nitty gritty details of protection and defense should another attack arise." Andy swayed his head to the side. "All of this if you just sent little ol' me."
Andy's words hung in the air, prickling through the new silence among the table until the Spanish gentry murmured, "That could work."
"Indeed." The duchess of Birmingham nodded.
Slowly, the gentries' voices rose, their agreements bundling together in unison. Ingvar found his self absentmindedly nodding until he shook his head. He turned to Elias whose face remained still in its cold exterior.
Elias sent a look towards his uncle who nodded in response. While their eyes flittered back and forth, the Spanish gentry rose from his chair to look towards the young king.
"Your highness, I nominate Prince Anders as regent to go to the north." He said, smoothing back his dark hair.
"I have to agree, the prince does make a fair point," The duchess of Birmingham nodded.
The gentries began bombarding the king with their agreements until Elias rose from his chair. The room fell silent again as the gentries tried to pick at the young man's stony expression. Elias merely rolled his shoulders and nodded towards the door.
"I believe now would be a good time for a break," he said calmly.
The gentries held their tongues, swallowing any other nominations and the eighth realm as they shuffled to the doors of the meeting hall. Elias stared down at the table with a firm line creasing across his lips while the gentries fled to the hall outside. Andy swallowed thickly, casting a single glance over at Elias before slipping outside as well.
Andy rubbed his arm, breathing in the calm air outside of the meeting room. As the gentries dispersed along the hallway, the boy walked down the hall towards the back staircase. The dark mauve walls flew by in a blur as Andy raced down the stairs to another hall. He glanced towards the door at the end of the hall and flung them open. A rush of chilly air brushed across Andy's cheeks while he walked out onto the small balcony.
A sigh fell from his lips, leaning against the marble railing as he drunk in the rolling hills before him. Minuscule blips of people scurried throughout the village, shifting through the rubble of the village with guards marching through—all the while avoiding the fallen seasonal pole that had collapsed onto the Draugen message. Aqua, blue orbs glistened at the corners of Andy's eyes as he brushed the back of his hand against them.
"It's always the aftermath that's the hardest part, isn't it?"
Andy jumped at the deep voice, whipping his head around towards the doors. King Westerguard stood at the foot of the door with a melancholy smile softening his cheeks. He stepped out onto the balcony and leaned against the railing, eyes running over the charred remains of the village.
"This was the first time you've been in such a situation, hmm?" King Westerguard inquired, crossed his arms over the railing. Andy nodded and let his weight fall upon the railing. The boy laced his fingers together, chewing on his bottom lip as the king sighed deeply. "You know, the first death you see is the only one that will haunt you."
"I doubt that," Andy laughed grimly. "It's a wonder my bro—king can be so calm about it."
"To be fair," King Westerguard replied. "Your brother isn't like us ordinary men. He's seen things—done things—no child should ever have to face." Andy's head sank into his arms, rubbing his hands over his face as he groaned. "He's learned that to grieve, is to slow down. And if you slow down, then you'll eventually stop. And if you stop, there's nothing left to do in the world."
King Westerguard turned towards the boy. "But I suppose that's why he has you, hmm?"
"What?"
King Westerguard shrugged, nodding back towards the hall. "To remind him what he's fighting for. I'm sure he must have been torn inside out when he came back from his first war."
Andy's cheeks burned as his heart sank. He turned away to glare at a crack wriggling through the railing.
"He didn't seem torn." Andy said, biting his cheek. "We never were that close when we were younger. So if he was, I'm sure Uncle—Sir Ingvar took care of him. I was just there to welcome him back."
King Westerguard blinked curiously at the boy.
"But you two seem to be well acquainted with one another…oh, forgive me." King Westerguard said. "I'm trying to pry into something best kept locked." He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing out the loose strands of his crimson locks and let a smile widen across his lips. He nudged Andy with his elbow, saying, "That was quite the plan of action you had back in there."
A light shade of pink dusted Andy's cheeks, rubbing his arm again as he grinned sheepishly.
"I just figured I'd put my unknown status to good use." Andy said. "That and make up for the trouble I caused for missing the meeting."
"Oh, come now," King Westerguard chuckled heartedly. "When I was your age, I was off on midnight rendezvous almost every night. And meetings? I would come back to them five hours after they were over."
Andy snorted, "Your parents must have been furious."
"Furious? More like spewing lava from their mouths when they finally found me."
Andy couldn't help the laughter hiccupping from his mouth as the king went on until a soft chime sounded throughout the castle. King Westerguard looked back and clucked his tongue.
"Looks like our 'break' is over," Andy murmured with a frown.
"From that speech of yours, I'm sure the gentries will have much to discuss." King Westerguard clapped the boy's shoulder, shaking it forcefully with a smile. "I have to say my prince it's been a pleasure talking with you." The corners of Andy's lips crinkled into a grin as the king began to walk back into the hall. "And it'll be an even greater pleasure when I can you son."
Andy's heart froze, his hands on the doors falling to his sides as he lunged out towards the king. His hand slapped onto the larger man's shoulder while Andy ogled at him. He quickly pulled his hand away from the king, chuckling uneasily.
"I'm sorry," Andy said, scratching the back of his head. "I wasn't aware that Arendelle was going to be unified to the Southern Isles. But don't you think calling me son is a bit odd with my king marrying one of your—"
"My boy, what do you mean?" The king raised an eyebrow. "Of course I would call you my son. After all, you'll be wedded to one of my girls. I thought your brother talked to you about this."
Andy's eyes widened, his heart dropping straight into his stomach. His feet began walking down the hall with a mind of their own, slowly gaining speed as he raced down the hall. His teeth grinded together, red splotching across his cheeks with one thought shouting angrily in his mind.
Elias!
