Tristan stood alone in the throne room, staring at the ivory throne. Sunlight pierced through the stained windows that ran across the walls, flooding the room in an orange hue. Around him, servants, couriers, and knights walked. Tristan noticed them and peeked at them from the corner of his eye occasionally.
The majority paid him no mind, but in some of their gazes, he saw a scheming ambition, looking at him, wondering how they could use something so innocent against him to curry favour. 'This disgusting place.' It was a belief he had held since he was a child. His parents had died at the schemes of the court; it was a belief he always held. The one time they decided to leave the Everlight palace, their carriage suffered an accident. It was only years later that he found out he was meant to join them, but fell ill and had to stay behind.
Despite the tragedy of his family, he had long gotten past any hatred or anger. He was young enough to have never known his parents' faces. Being raised by servants and the occasional kind aunt was enough.
"Young Princeling." An old, croaky voice called out from behind Tristan, and, looking back, he couldn't help but smile thinly. The old man with short grey hair, cracking tanned skin and sunken eyes rested his hand on his chest, lowering his head in one perfect movement.
"There is no need for this, Hank." Hank rose and smiled, nodding and taking his place almost next to Tristan, making sure to be a half-step back. Tristan's eyes returned to the throne, and Hank followed his gaze.
"It is a beautiful seat. Isn't it?" Tristan nodded, then smiled and looked to the old man.
"It is beautiful, but it looks uncomfortable. They could have at least put a pillow."Hank chuckled and shook his head.
"A throne shouldn't be comfortable," Hank said with a deep voice. His gaze hardened as he saw the images of all the kings he had served overlapped over the throne. "Otherwise, a King will forget his role."
"Wise words from a birkeeper. How are the crows?" Tristan asked with interest. Hank, although a Commonfolk, was someone he realised wielded considerable power. He held no formal position advising the king, but was the one in incharge of his messengers' birds, the Birdkeeper. His friendship with the old man had started innocently. When he summoned Annabell at the age of five, he was drawn to the bridkeeper, hoping Annabell could have a friend. Since then, even if Hank never said it, he protected Tristan where he could.
"They are tired. Having flown across the realm, they wish to rest. I have let His Grace know, and he agreed to reduce the number of messages sent out." Hank reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of seeds. Shoving them into his mouth, the crunch echoed throughout the room. Those of Highborn birth who saw flashed disgusted looks, wondering how someone so uncivilised could walk in.
'To look at a man with real power like that.' Tristan held back his disgust for the nobility as Hank carried on speaking, "They miss you. Crows are smart creatures, Princeling. They recognise you as one of their own, especially after you helped heal that youngling those years ago."
Tristan thought of the birds and lowered his head with a soft smile. The balcony they rested on was one of the best spots in the entire Palace, overlooking the capital of Everlight as the sun set behind it. "I'll find time in the future, but for now, it would be best if I don't."
Hank nodded and looked around. Seeing a few courtiers and servants watching them, he turned back to the throne and nodded. "Loyalty is the only way to survive here, Tristan," Hank said in a hushed tone, making it so no one could hear them. Tristan noticed his sudden change, and when looking around, he saw a few servants leave, knowing they wouldn't be able to hear anymore.
"Do you think I am unaware of that?"
"No, you've proven you understand that. But this is a different game compared to the reign of an established king without rivals by his side." Hank took a deep breath and rested his hands behind his back, letting his back slump. "The rules have changed slightly. Loyalty isn't enough; you must prove you are useful or leave. Take Prince Brandon."
"Those are dangerous words, Birdkeeper. To assume my uncle isn't loyal to his King." Tristan narrowed his eyes and stared deep into Hank's eyes. Even if he had known Hank for years, there was a truth that existed throughout their entire relationship. Hank was a survivor. He had helped and befriended Tristan all those years ago out of pity and a lack of risk, but the moment he showed he could be a threat to his own survival, Tristan knew he might hesitate, but would eventually sell him out.
'So disgusting.' He hated that even with a man whom he would call a friend, he had to keep in check, never knowing if he was a spy for another member of his family or not. Were his words a test done by Anton, or was it Brandon trying to lure him over? He didn't even want to imagine if Hnak was on the payroll of one of the Great lords or another aunt or uncle.
Rubbing his hand over his face, Tristan sighed and saw Hank nod in approval. "I am not saying the Chancellor is unloyal, I am saying he has made himself useful, Princeling."
Tristan curled his lips up, forming a fake smile, "Of coruse Hank. No one doubts my uncle's loyalty." Resting his hand on his chest, Tristan gave a respectful nod towards the old Birdkeeper, "Your advice is appreciated, but I must leave."
Walking off, Tristan looked around. The grey halls of the everlight palace were massive and overwhelming. Ornaments of all sizes made of gold and silver littered the place. Paintings of battles hung on every wall, leaving nothing bare. Furs and skulls of exotic animals are placed next to them. Stained white glass, placed so the sun would always light the building, created a serene white glow that hid the rot within its walls.
Everything felt like it had eyes, watching the people who came through. The servants are always listening, the knights are always watching, and the paintings are seeing everything. Nowhere felt safe, and Tristan wondered how anyone could wish to be King in such a place, never being able to feel comfortable in their own home.
Shaking his head, Tristan thought of Hank's words. 'I must make myself useful.' Telling himself, he had realised the point even without Hank's warning. Bradon could live for the sole reason that he was useful. After all, even if it meant war, it wouldn't have been strange for Anton to try to kill his brother, whose claim was arguably stronger to the throne. He had already proven he was a cold enough man to do so.
'Offer myself as a marriage, no, I don't have enough clout to do that for any worthwhile house. I can't be trusted to advise him either, I haven't made a name for myself yet.'
Tristan sighed but realised he was attacking it from the wrong angle. Sure, he needs to prove himself useful, but it doesn't mean he needs to prove it to Anton, but to those close to him. And those who were the closest and most trusted would be his children.
'Matthew would be easiest, but he is a strange child. Either Elias or Mabel. Both spend time in the training yard; maybe it's time to return to the sword.'
Sighing, Tristan marched forward, holding his head high to not let anyone look down on his family or himself and headed towards the training yard. Knights littered the ground. After warming up, he found a corner of the training ground and summoned Annabell.
"Tell me if you see any of my family arrive. Also, listen to the conversations and tell me if anything interesting is said." Annabell nodded and flew into the air, flying around before perching herself on a tree and watching. Tristan did the same as he practised swings, analysing the knights and those they trained or chatted with.