Micah was seated on an armchair in her chamber with her legs crossed, staring down at nothing in particular.
Her fingers were entwined, placed gracefully on her lap. Her dark wavy hair was let down, cascading down her face.
She was wearing a violet-colored gown that had an opening in the back, with long loose sleeves. The gown was snatched from her boobs down to her waist, outlining her ethereal figure.
Just when she was losing track of time, a knock came on the door, slamming her back to reality. She raised her gaze, and it settled on Amilek, who had just stepped into her chamber.
"Amilek…"
She called out softly, a warm smile tracing her lips.
But he seemed rather cold and distant.
"Would you not like to bid farewell to the king?"
He asked before taking some steps forward. He looked nice, tucked in a royal outfit befitting his status, his brown curly hair glistening with oil, and his green emerald eyes… sharp and calculative, just like that of his mother, Racheal.
"Why should I? It is not like he would be gone forever."
She answered, not meeting his gaze.
"Is that why you decided to keep yourself within the walls of your chamber?"
"What?"
She blinked, digesting his words.
"You are hiding from the king. It is not that you do not want to bid him goodbye; you just don't want him to see you. Am I right?"
A sly grin curled at the corner of his lips.
What a wise little fella.
"I do not see the need to answer your questions."
She retorted, inhaling sharply, then reclined on the chair, throwing her head backwards, her eyes now fixed on the ceiling.
"I see."
Amilek smacked his lips, pausing for a fleeting moment before continuing.
"Will you, however, like to tell me why you decided to run away from the castle?"
He asked with a straight gaze; Micah's eyes widened at his remark. She hated to discuss that topic. But now that she had thought of it, ever since then, she has spoken to Amilek until now.
Amilek seemed to have understood that Micah now realized his subtle absence and refusal to talk to her.
"You…you are upset with me."
She said, straightening up on the chair, focusing her gaze on him. She opened her mouth to say something, but he intervened.
"You forget that there are people that care about you. People to whom your well-being matters a lot—I happen to be among those few people."
"I am sorry."
She quickly intervened, her chest twisting with unknown guilt.
"That is not enough…for now."
He answered and then looked away, turning towards the direction of the door.
"Do not look away from me, Amilek."
She said, instantly shooting up to her feet.
"The king… He is in the throne room; all the queens are bidding him farewell and wishing him a successful triumph. Don't be the odd one."
He said that and then finally took his leave, the sound of his footsteps echoing until he crossed the door, and then came the sound of the door closing with a bang.
Micah felt the world begin to spin as she gazed at the door for a while, reminiscing through Amilek's words, his voice reverberating in her head over and over again.
He was right.
He has always been right, and she was indeed selfish to try and take her own life without considering how it would affect others.
Her legs were weak from standing for a long while and suddenly became numb. She dragged herself to the dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Rearranging her hair unconsciously, she ran her fingers through the thick strands of her wavy hair.
She glanced down and saw the diamond necklace the maid had set aside for her after giving her a bath. She had refused to wear it, refused to take a single step out of this room.
What a cowardly decision that was.
Picking up the necklace, she slides her hair to the side and then wears the necklace before rearranging her hair back.
The necklace…it was beautiful. She allowed her fingers to trace the diamond stones while still summoning courage.
After a few minutes of battling with her thoughts, she turned around swiftly and made her way outside the room while closing the door behind her.
The throne room buzzed with controlled urgency.
Maps lay unfurled across the long oaken table before the Ragaleon. On the map were scattered daggers and small carved markers representing battalions. Generals stood in a half-circle, speaking in clipped tones as they awaited his final commands.
Ragaleon's golden eyes leaned over the table, one hand braced against the wood, the other clasped behind his back in a habit of discipline.
His crown, heavy with authority, glinted each time he moved.
He reviewed every detail: supply routes… messenger schedules… the timing of dawn marches.
His eyes, sharp and unwavering, moved from one corner of the map to another as the lord commander murmured updates about the frontier.
Armor pieces were being fastened over his garments by a royal guard, the leather straps tightened.
Outside the tall windows, the courtyard churned with the clatter of preparation, hoofbeats, the grind of wheels, and banners snapping in the wind.
Inside, he remained the center of the authority, issuing final orders with calm precision.
"See to it the eastern flank holds position until my signal," he commanded, not lifting his gaze.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Answered the lord commander, who was standing beside him.
Just then, the great doors leading to the throne room slowly opened.
Ragaleon paused mid-stride, his boots falling silent on the polished stone. The massive doors of the throne room groaned open, and Racheal stepped in.
She moved slowly, one hand resting on her rounded belly, the other lightly gripping her attendant's arm for support. Though heavy with pregnancy, she carried herself with a quiet, unshaken dignity.
Her breath came carefully, yet her gaze was fixed on him.
Ragaleon's stern countenance shifted, just slightly.
His shoulders, broad beneath his armor, lowered a fraction as he took in the sight of her.
The courtiers bowed away, forming a path between them.
"My Lord."
She called out, then paused to breathe.
"You are not supposed to be here."
He said, brushing past the lord commander as he made his way towards her.
"I know… but I wanted to say goodbye."
She said, raising her weak gaze to meet his. Her eyes were pale, and her skin was a bit sweaty.
Ragaleon's gaze hardened when it settled on the maids that had escorted her. They had just one job, and that was to keep her from any strenuous activity, which included walking in her condition.
"Do not look at them that way, lest they never let me leave my chamber again."
She said with a casual smile, trying to suppress the fear biting through her skin.
She was a stubborn woman; he knew that the maids weren't at fault.
"You shouldn't have."
He said, taking her hands in his. Her palms were soft and sweaty.
"I needed to see you."
She whimpered, then looked down at her protruding stomach; she was almost due, and now he was leaving for war.
"You are afraid.
He said, gazing into her eyes. He has seen that look before; it wasn't new to him. That was why she so desperately wanted to see him before he left.
"Nothing will happen to me; I will come back… victorious."
He said, and she nodded curtly; if she were to say a word, she knew she would cry.
She didn't want to look weak.
"I will be back just in time to see our baby come into this world; I promise you that."
He said, leaning in, he placed his forehead on hers, his eyes closed as he made that promise.
Steadily, he bent into a low squat despite the rigid plates of armor. His hand hovered carefully on her stomach before settling lightly against her side, making sure not to cause her any discomfort.
With a quiet breath, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her protruding stomach.
Racheal's eyes softened, touched by the rare vulnerability of his actions.
"We have to leave, my king," the Lord Commander said, his voice tight with urgency.
A moment earlier, a messenger had leaned close to him, whispering a fresh report about the movements of their opponent.
Ragaleon straightened up, then turned away from Racheal, his features hardening back into the implacable mask of a ruler heading to war.
"Get my men to fall in line," he commanded, his voice ringing through the hall. "We move now."
Just as he issued the command, his gaze swept sharply around the throne room, scanning each face with purpose.
Then his eyes halted, landing on William.
He stood near one of the pillars, straight-backed and silent, watching everything in a calmness that didn't quite hide the flicker of tension in his jaw.
Ragaleon's eyes dropped to the sword sheathed at William's side.
"I hope you know how to use that sword as well as I've heard," he said, his tone half-teasing.
William's lips curved into a confident grin.
"You want to see?" He asked, fingers already brushing the hilt of the sword.
"Save your show-off for the battlefield," he replied, turning away. "I need every man I have."