A hush fell over the grand hall as the double doors opened, announcing the arrival of the royal family. King Valdemar, his expression a mixture of pride and solemnity, entered first, his hand a steady presence on Queen Vivienne's back. She followed, her elven grace undiminished, her gaze soft as she looked down at the infant cradled in her arms. A wave of reverence washed over the assembled guests—human nobles in their finery, stoic dwarves elders with their braided beards, ethereal sylphs with their shimmering wings, beastmen in their human form wearing noble uniforms and all counts and dukes of the major regions all united in this moment. The newborn prince, a symbol of hope and continuity, held them captive. Even the normally boisterous orcs stood in respectful silence, their rough features softened by the sight of the child. Reaching the dais, Valdemar raised his voice, the sound echoing through the vast space.
"My lords, my ladies, representatives of the free peoples and citizens of people's republic of Sangrael" he proclaimed, his voice resonant with emotion as he carry sleeping infant in his arms, "I present to you my 3rd son and heir, Aerion de Lorium."
A collective murmur rippled through the hall, a mix of blessings and well wishes. Red-haired Caius was sitting on a chair as his jaw tightened.
[Heir? ]
The word tasted like ash in his mouth. He felt his elder brother, black-haired stiffen beside him, a barely perceptible tremor running through his brother's frame. Lucian's eyes, normally so sharp and calculating, were wide with a stunned disbelief, fixed on the tiny infant swaddled in white silk.
Quickly after this formal presentation, the celebratory atmosphere of the party resumed, though a subtle undercurrent of speculation now rippled beneath the surface. Guests began to converse in hushed tones, the unexpected announcement of a third heir the primary topic of discussion.
Several Counts, accompanied by Dukes from various provinces, gathered in small, discreet clusters, their expressions a mixture of polite curiosity holding drinks in hand.
Count Duskbane of the Northern Province, a man who had remained conspicuously silent throughout the initial announcement, his dull features now etched with a barely concealed displeasure, spoke in low, measured tones to a select group of influential nobles.
"An… unexpected development,"
He murmured, his gaze flicking towards the royal family before quickly returning to his companions.
"The line of succession… one assumed it was firmly established with Prince Lucian. By all accounts, the boy possesses the intellect, the bearing, the very essence of a future king. He has been groomed for this since birth, demonstrating a keen understanding of statecraft and a natural leadership that inspires confidence."
A fellow Count, Lord Elmsworth of the Western Marches, a portly man with a jovial demeanor, chuckled nervously.
"Indeed, Duskbane. Three sons… a blessing, of course, but it certainly… complicates matters, wouldn't you agree? Choosing young infant as heir, Especially after given Prince Lucian's… preparedness."
Count Duskbane offered a curt nod, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Preparedness is paramount. Stability is paramount. To introduce another heir, seemingly out of nowhere…"
His voice trailed off, the implication hanging heavy in the air: Lucian, the King's firstborn, the one who had met every expectation, deserved the succession.
Then, Lord Elmsworth takes a sip before his gaze drifted across the hall, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Speaking of absences… has anyone seen Count Lionheart?"
A ripple of acknowledgment spread through their small group.
"Now that you mention it…" Duke Vale of the Eastern Plains mused, stroking his meticulously trimmed beard. "They are never in attendance, are they?"
"It has been… twenty years, I believe," another Count, Lady Ruhvya of the ishtaar islands, added, her voice soft but carrying.
"Not a single appearance at court, not even for the most significant royal events."
They exchanged knowing glances, a shared curiosity and a hint of concern clouding their expressions.
"The last Count Lionheart I recall… a tall man, wasn't he? With striking white hair, piercing red eyes, and a complexion as pale as winter snow.
"Indeed," Duke Vale confirmed. "A formidable presence. Even my grandmother knows his presence, But who is the current Count? Or Countess, for that matter? Does anyone know if they are even still… with us?"
Whispers of speculation began to circulate, fueled by the Lionheart family's long and enigmatic absence.
Just as the speculation reached a fever pitch, a figure in the distinctive uniform of the High Guard approached their group, his polished armor gleaming under the hall's illumination.
"My lords, my ladies," he began, his voice carrying a note of apology for the interruption. "Forgive my intrusion, but I felt it necessary to assure you regarding the Southern Province."
He paused, his gaze steady and reassuring. "The Southern Province are in capable hands. Only those privy to the intricate workings of that region truly understand the… necessities there."
His words, though cryptic, carried the weight of authority and inside knowledge, effectively quelling the more outlandish rumors and offering a sense of stability regarding the absent count and their vital territory.
After a few weeks, Aerion awoke in his opulent cradle, a jeweled haven of soft fabrics. Crimson eyes wide vision is much clear now, he gazed at the vast, tapestry-hung room, its rich carpets and towering fireplace hinting at a world of royalty. Awe filled him, a silent understanding of the grandeur surrounding him.
[ Ohhh man, this child body is so weird. Like, how do toddlers manage in this? No wonder kids are so annoying… By the way, am I still in the same room I was in? Yeah, probably… I wonder what this new family of mine is like and have a few questions, such as, can I still remember everything after I grew up? Why do I get reincarnated? Like, for what purpose? This second chance is given to me. Why me? I'm not that great; to be honest, I didn't achieve many things in my life. I just managed to survive and provide for my family, and I'm about to get married. I'm about to step into something unknown. I was scared, to be honest. And what happened to Ashutosh, Mansi, Chirag, Pariari, Priyanshu, Sahil, and Dumbass Happy, all of those people who my friends lost their lives because of my mistake.]
The weight of his unspoken words pressed down on him, a suffocating blanket woven with threads of anxiety for his actions and fears on his infant body, unable to process the emotional turmoil roiling within him, began to cry.
His cries, sharp and insistent, filled the room, the sound carrying through the heavy oak door. Outside, in the hushed corridors, the guards on duty immediately recognized the distress of the young prince. One of them, a woman named Maria, her blue hair pulled back in a severe bun, excused herself and hurried away to inform Queen Vivienne of the situation.
As Maria traversed the long, echoing corridors, her footsteps soft on the polished stone, she noticed a familiar figure striding towards the training grounds.
It was the elder Prince Lucian, already clad in his combat attire. His white, full-sleeved shirt, the fabric crisp and clean, had the sleeves neatly folded to his elbows. Dark leather jeans hugged his legs, tucked into sturdy leather boots that spoke of countless hours spent in rigorous practice. His changed silver blond hair. He moved with a focused intensity, his mind clearly set on his upcoming combat training session.
"Your Highness, Master Lucian," Maria greeted him, offering a respectful bow.
Lucian paused, his eyes focusing on her. "Yes, Maria? Do you need something? I'm kind of busy right now," he replied, his tone carrying a hint of impatience.
"Apologies, young master…" Maria began, her brow furrowing slightly. "It's actually young lord…"
Lucian's brow furrowed in confusion. "Young… Lord? ...."
"I'm talking about Lord Aerion…" Maria clarified, her voice softening. "He is crying. I was about to inform this to Lady Vivienne, but I saw you."
[Lord… huh…]
A bitter taste, the tang of distress, flooded Lucian's mouth at Maria's words. He had deliberately kept his distance from the newborn, a knot of complicated emotions tightening in his chest whenever he thought of the child. But duty, and a strange, reluctant sense of responsibility, warred with his inner turmoil. He bit back the sharp retort that sprang to his lips, giving Maria a gentle, albeit forced, nod and a strained, fake smile. He then turned and started approaching Aerion's room, his steps feeling heavier than usual.
The insistent cry of Aerion still echoed in the air as Lucian pushed open the door and stepped inside. He walked towards the ornate cradle, crafted from polished wood and lined with soft, embroidered fabrics. This was the first time he had seen Aerion this close since the day he was born. The infant's delicate features, the shock of blond hair that shone like spun moonlight, a mirror of his second mother, Vivienne, struck him with a pang of something he couldn't quite name. But then his gaze fell upon the baby's eyes – a deep, startling red, an undeniable inheritance from their father.
He reached down and picked up the tiny bundle, his movements stiff and awkward, as if handling a fragile, unfamiliar object.
[Why the FK did he pick me like this… Ahhhh, I can't control myself, dumbass. Haven't you held a child before?]
Aerion thought to himself, his mind a whirlwind of helpless frustration. He squirmed in Lucian's unyielding grip, his cries intensifying.
Maria's eyes widened in concern as she witnessed Lucian's clumsy handling of the newborn. "Master Lucian," she spoke hesitantly, her voice laced with apprehension, "I'm sorry to speak without permission, but can you please hold him a little more gently? He is a fragile newborn."
Lucian blinked, a look of genuine bewilderment on his face. "Huh? … This thing really?... How can I do that? I never picked up a child anyway," he replied, his tone a mixture of annoyance and utter cluelessness.
[This thing? What do you mean, asshole? You are supposed to be my brother if I'm correct.] Aerion fumed internally, his cries continuing unabated.
Maria, her concern growing, walked closer to the cradle. Gently, she positioned Lucian's left arm beneath Aerion's small body, supporting his weight. Then, she carefully guided Lucian's right hand to support the delicate curve of the infant's neck, resting the rest of Aerion's tiny form near Lucian's chest.
"Yes, this is how you should carry someone," she explained softly, her eyes filled with gentle instruction.
As Aerion settled against his chest, a faint shiver, unexpected and unfamiliar, ran through Lucian's body. It started as a subtle tremor, but then a warmth began to bloom in his chest, spreading outwards like the first rays of dawn.
He looked down at the small face nestled against him, his own features softening, the tension in his jaw easing. A warmth, unfamiliar yet strangely comforting, filled him, and almost instinctively, a small, hesitant smile touched his lips.
Maria, observing this subtle but profound change in Lucian's demeanor, a flicker of something akin to tenderness replacing his usual guarded expression, refrained from disturbing their unexpected moment of connection.