The boy stood before the king and queen in the throne room, his back straight and head held high despite the ragged state of his clothes and the clumsily wrapped wound on his leg. He was of average Calormen height, his black hair cut as though sawed at with a knife not far from his scalp as the lower casts of his land did. The boy's frame was thin and taut with muscles earned through hard labor. Nothing to indicate Aravis should believe what he was saying.

Yet it was the eyes that made her pause. Those bright, sly, emerald eyes so full of life. The eyes of her mother. Aravis nodded to him, her heart in her throat, "If you are who you say you are then who is your father?"

If it was possible for the boy to hold himself any higher, he did, "I, Arrosh, am the son of Kidrash Tarkaan, the son of Rishti Tarkaan, the son of Kidrash Tarkaan, the son of Illsombreh Tisroc, the son of Ardeeb Tisroc who was descended in a right line from the god Tash." Rather than stopping there he continued without hesitation, "My mother's name is Nalinayis, she died shortly after I was born. I am 17 years of age and will 18 in 6 months' time. The name of my father's second wife was Lazolmidiz, who birthed a daughter, Iliz."

There was a moment of silence before Cor sat forward some, "You could have easily gotten those names and memorized them. If you truly are the son of a tarkaan then why do you appear to us in this fashion? One would think you would be dressed in the attire made for one of your station."

Arrosh's posture did not change, but he did quirk an eyebrow. Her father's look. It had been 15 years since she had seen her father but there was no way she could forget the man's mannerisms.

"For you to understand that, I would have to tell you the story of the past 12 years of my life." His voice was smooth and tranquil as that of many Calormen people, yet it lacked the vocabulary of that of the upper class and the swindlers of the market.

Aravis waved her hand in dismissal, "Not here and not with you in this state. We shall hear what it is you have to say. Somewhere more comfortable after your journey, you will be given new clothes and your wound treated." Cor merely gave her a small look but did not disagree with his wife aloud. That was something for behind closed doors.

The boy, a young man was closer to it, bowed his head low, "I thank you, for your immeasurable kindness, your Highness. If you wish to move to a more comfortable room, then by all means, let us do so. However, on the subject of clothes and care, I would prefer not. If you choose not to believe me and cast me out as a liar then I do not wish to take what is not mine."

Cor gave a curt nod, "So be it." He looked to the guard, "Please, lead him to the receiving room. We will be in shortly."

Now it was Aravis' turn to give him a look. That was not how they normally did things. The only reason he had appeared before them without being properly cared for was because he claimed to have an urgent matter to discuss with them.

Both the guard and Arrosh bowed low in unison then left the room. The doors shut and the sound of footsteps soon faded. The silence of the room was shattered with the swiftness of a hawk diving in for a kill.

"What were you thinking?"

"Why would you agree to that?"

The voices came at the same time and equally harsh. Faces went red and nostrils flared.

Aravis tilted her head up, as imperious as ever, "I was treating him as we would with any other visitor who came to our gates. I was acting by the principles of our land." She waved a hand at her husband, "You defied them by agreeing not to treat him as such!"

"Me? No, that boy has the pride of every Calormen workman. He would never have agreed until we either offered tenfold or nothing at all. I was speeding this dreadful process up!" Co leaned forward onto his knees, "We both know he would only refuse if he wanted something more from us. He -" He paused, searching her face, "You don't believe this, surely."

Her head lowered, eyes looking into his, "I may. The resemblances to my mother are strong and his mannerisms are that of my father. Even the age aligns. By Aslan, I can feel he's telling the truth."

"Your father is a tarkaan in Calormen why would your brother need to come here? Much less in rags."

"Well, let's hear what he has to say. Shall we?"

Arrosh sat in the parlor upon the strange, straight backed, wooden chair so different from those of his homeland, with his head in his rough hands and decidedly ignoring the guard in the corner of the room. A prayer passing in his breaths to the gods as blood seeped from his bandage to the old slippers that some woman, a servant of sorts, insisted he wore. His bare feet were not clean enough for the rugs of the palace.

This had to work. They had to believe he was telling the truth. He had not done everything in his power to get here only to be turned away. Everything depended on it. All was lost if they did not believe.

~ A/N: Sorry, I still write horribly short chapters. I am trying to be at least a little bit better now XD