Months continued to fold into each other, measured not by the passage of seasons, but by the relentless acceleration of my own internal development. The gilded cage of the Duke's Keep became my new, involuntary academy. My understanding of the kingdom's language, its customs, and its intricate power dynamics advanced at a staggering pace. Seraphina remained my primary instructor, her visits becoming a daily ritual, often stretching for hours. She continued to treat me with the detached curiosity of a scholar, a quiet, intellectual bond forming between us that solidified her role as a sisterly figure, a conduit to knowledge.
She brought me more than just scrolls and tablets now. Sometimes, she would bring maps, tracing the trade routes of the kingdom, explaining the various baronies, the resources they produced, and the historical conflicts that had shaped their borders. I absorbed it all, filing away details about strategic locations, economic vulnerabilities, and potential allies or enemies. I learned the names of the Duke's key advisors, the prominent Montala priests, and even the general's staff. Every piece of information was a thread, weaving a clearer picture of the tapestry I intended to unravel.
"My father is concerned with the upcoming border disputes with the Western Marches," she explained one afternoon, her finger tracing a contested region on an old, faded map. "Their Prince is… unpredictable. And their worship of the Sun God clashes with Montala's doctrine, making negotiations difficult. The Montala High Priests demand a stronger stance."
I listened, my eyes following her finger, my mind processing the implications. Religious dogma dictating foreign policy. Another layer of control, another avenue for manipulation. My face remained a mask of innocent concentration, my occasional nods or eye movements conveying just enough understanding to encourage her, without revealing the full depth of my adult comprehension.
Seraphina herself was a fascinating study. She was sharp, perceptive, and clearly chafed under some of the court's strictures. While outwardly pious, her questions about Montala tenets often possessed a subtle, probing nature, hinting at her own intellectual doubts. She would sometimes sigh, a small, weary sound, after discussing the more illogical or demanding aspects of the faith. "Sometimes, Elias," she confessed one day, her voice low, "I question if the Divine Will truly demands so much... suffering." She looked at me, a rare, unguarded moment, as if seeking an answer in my silent eyes. I offered only a calm, understanding gaze, withholding the rational, cynical truth that would only alienate her. She was a valuable resource, and her nascent doubts were a potential crack I might one day exploit.
My presence in the Duke's Keep began to subtly alter the atmosphere around me. Servants, initially wary, grew accustomed to my quiet demeanor. Some even developed a cautious fondness, seeing me as a gentle, intelligent child rather than a hovel-rat. Mistress Anya, the stern head attendant, still regarded me with a gimlet eye, but my obedience and lack of childish tantrums slowly chipped away at her initial disdain. I was a model prisoner in my gilded cage, learning its rhythms, its rules, and the habits of its keepers.
The Duke himself visited less frequently, but when he did, he would observe my sessions with Seraphina from a distance. I could feel his gaze, calculating, assessing. He was seeing proof of the priests' claims, a valuable asset slowly being molded. He probably imagined a future where my intelligence could serve his ambitions, perhaps as a scholar, an advisor, or even a military strategist. He saw a tool, not a human. This suited my plans perfectly.
My nights were spent reviewing the day's lessons, organizing the torrent of new information. I practiced forming more complex words in my mind, rehearsing future conversations, envisioning the moment when I would shed the facade of childhood and unleash the full force of my intellect. The objective remained unchanged: survival, freedom, and the introduction of a new paradigm—the moral and philosophical tenets of the Bible—to this world, a counter-narrative to Montala's lies. My affection for Seraphina, though real in its own way, was the sisterly bond of an older, wiser mind observing a kindred, if naive, spirit. She was my inadvertent guide into this world of power. My true path, and the true love the synopsis spoke of, lay somewhere in the distant future, with a different, as yet unseen, kindred spirit. For now, I was the silent apprentice, learning the rules of the game.