The door thudded to break the silence in Daemon's study. Daemon, for some reason, took a while before granting entry. After he gave his permission, the figure of the royal physician came into view.
"Good morrow, Most High," said Lord Netus Grey with a bow.
Daemon's study was not modest by any means. It was filled with books and had a small workshop.
In private, Daemon had been known to study divine traits, lifeforce, and imbued tools. Before he became Emperor, he spent a fortune satisfying his curiosity, and even now, he still retained that desire to know more.
Lord Netus Grey, upon seeing Daemon's incomplete hand, quickly dropped his medical toolbox on a table with a dagger stabbed into it. Without waiting for Daemon's permission, he took hold of his hand and carefully observed it.
The physician drew a tiresome breath as he asked, "How many days now?"
"About a week," Daemon said as he removed an object wrapped in a brown cloth etched with golden runes.
Netus Grey unwrapped the cloth and found Daemon's severed finger inside. "Dear Alabath!" Netus Grey said as he carefully carried the finger.
"Trust you can make me whole, yes?" Daemon said in a relaxed manner.
Netus Grey was the High Physician of the Institute of Divine Trait Healing. Throughout the Empire, there were only seventeen people capable of healing others—and even then, their methods were different.
Netus Grey took the finger and pressed it against the missing space on Daemon's right hand. Flesh called to flesh, and the finger was whole again.
Before Daemon could react, a strong wind blew through the open windows and extinguished all the candles. Daemon's smile was expectant, as if a foolish opponent had just stumbled into his doom.
Daemon quickly readied himself as his blackish-red flames engulfed both his fists. He then scanned his study and waited for a surprise attack. Netus Grey retreated behind a shelf and held his toolkit like a shield.
Both of them waited for about a minute. Their concentration didn't waver—not until the drops of heavy rain beat against the windows and splashed water into the room.
Two men, one the Emperor of a great Empire—the other at the top of his profession. Nonetheless, both of them had been taunted by an emissary of the rain.
"That was not what I expected," Daemon said as he used part of the flames engulfing his hand to relight the candles.
Netus Grey emerged as his glasses were revealed to have been lost to the long-gone wind, bringing his green eye into view.
Netus Grey drew calm and assuring breaths before saying, "I will be leaving now, Most High," then moved for the door.
"Wait," Daemon said with a commanding voice.
Daemon took a letter from his table and flung it perfectly towards Netus, who caught it. "Prepare your men for war," said Daemon.
"Of course, Most High," Netus Grey replied, as if he had already expected such words from his Emperor.
After Netus's surprisingly gallant figure left the room, Daemon teleported away through flame.
And just like that, the study became quiet—but not for long. Breaking the silence was Daemon's apparently healed finger hitting the very ground where he had been standing.
For some reason—the finger refused to heal.
-‐------
Months had now passed since Emon married Talia. The past six months of quiet enabled their friendship to become more solid.
The quiet in those months was caused by a calamity—a carriage full of decapitated heads. Daemon's spies had halted movement in the murky areas.
In barter, Daemon also rooted out all possible spies from Velecor—culminating in months of silence from both warring sides.
However, this long silence brought Talia and Emon closer, adding new layers to their friendship of sorts.
The mirror was as tall as Emon and as wide as five of him put together. Its edges were laced with gold mixed with silver. The glass itself was clean, without any blemish.
But in all its grandness, the grey-haired Prince was far grander. He wore the Clovis House colours, of course. His shirt was red but mixed with the black of the Clovis House emblem—a Dragon, Phoenix, and Firehawk forming a circle. The trims of his shirt were gold, bringing out the richness of the thick clothing.
His trousers were black with stripes of silver on the sides. He wore black leather boots richly designed with streaks of gold.
His hair flowed freely along his shoulders, though some would say it would be better if he trimmed it.
Talia, on the other hand, was already ready and waiting for him as she sat on a couch. Her silver and green gown was perfectly sewn to match her stature. The dress was richly embroidered and fit for the future Empress.
"I'm ready," said Emon as he turned from the mirror.
With a palm on her face, Talia shook her head in astonishment. "You're only two hours late, Emon."
Emon gracefully walked towards her. He took her right hand in a wholesome manner.
"Stop complaining, let us go," he said elegantly.
Talia softly removed her hand from his grip and shook her head.
"That would have worked on most ladies, not me though."
Talia finally stood up from the indigo-coloured velvet chair. Without saying a word to Emon, she gently walked out of the room. Emon didn't seem to mind as he followed behind her, smiling.
His smile continued even after the carriage dropped them off on his command. His knight, Juhsath, protested against his instructions. Nekler, Talia's knight, was also resistant to her order.
As the two of them finally conceded, Talia and Emon began digging their feet into the snow-covered road. Fall had been driven into an unplanned retirement by the cold breeze of winter.
This year's winter came early and was colder than most. However, Emon and Talia's dress stood in contrast to that of the masses. Most of them dressed in wool or wore many layers of clothing. The cold didn't dissuade the bright mood in Damattis—everyone walked on with jollity.
During the week, Emon had gone out into the city to scout for places where he could take Talia. Whether or not his judgement was correct in such matters would be tested in the coming hours.
Emon first took Talia to a store that sold jewellery. Their products were high-end but did not seem to captivate her. Emon, however, took the liberty of buying a two-piece gold-clad bracelet. Each piece had a silver circle, but when joined together, it formed the infinity symbol.
An exquisite choice from Emon—even though its importance would become more significant in the future.
Emon carefully placed one of the bracelets on Talia's outstretched hand. Talia likewise did the same for him.
Luckily, it was somewhat early and the shop had opened only a short while ago. They were spared the giggles and stares they otherwise would have received.
But even then, before reaching the store, they had been the subject of several greetings from the populace. One would think they would be used to such things already.
After Emon paid five gold phoenix for the bracelet, he and Talia took their leave.
Next, Emon took her to a local eatery. Commoners Choice was the name clearly written on a signpost in front of the building. Emon and Talia entered the brick-built bungalow and, unlike the jewel shop, the place was filled with people—most of them soldiers.
"Attention!" the first soldier who saw him shouted.
All the soldiers followed suit and stood at attention until Emon gave them leave to sit down.
Emon walked straight to the keeper and asked for carrot stew mixed with catfish, bread, and a cup of ale. He ordered the most common food eaten by commoners.
Talia gave Emon a wondering look before she dug into the food. She first drank the carrot soup before eating the fish with bread. For the first time in her life, she ate commoners' food, and her reaction wasn't one of discomfort.
As she finished eating, a bead of carrot soup lingered beside her mouth. Emon, noticing it, took a napkin and cleaned her face.
The customers' loud giggles were what made them notice they were being watched. Most of them smiled in admiration of Emon's smoothness.
"Where to next, Emon?" Talia asked as both of them left the place.
Emon gave her no reply. Instead, he held her hand and dragged her along. Talia didn't dispute it. She simply followed him obediently to the next location.
As they walked on, they noticed that the crowd around them was growing larger. Word of their presence must have clearly spread.
"Hey, Emon," Talia called out. "Have you rescinded your decision to forfeit your claim to the throne?"
She wrung her hand away from his hold.
Emon looked down at the deep snow beneath his feet.
"I don't know, Talia. I'm sorry for the uncertainty," Emon said, giving a look that conveyed self-disappointment.
The two contemplated his words until they reached the beautiful Jharle, a river that trapped the light of the sun.
"Caster has no interest in the Gyrspine, and no woman has ever sat the throne," Talia complained as she took in the sight before her.
Emon picked up a stone and threw it into the Jharle. The small disruption was enough to reduce the river's glamour for a while.
Talia gave Emon a disappointing look, and he reciprocated by looking away.
"My father has two brothers, Jhafear and Lenourth. They are legitimate claimants to the Gyrspine."
"Jhafear is in Alabath's-knows-where. Lenourth, on the other hand, governs Central Velecor as its High Lord. He has headaches enough," Talia replied as she began to walk away.
Just before she could widen the distance, Emon took hold of her hand. His face was downcast, and his countenance mirrored it.
"Ask your father what power does to a man. You have lived a sheltered life that only taught you ignorance," Emon said quietly.
Talia turned around and held his gaze.
"Then tell me, Emon," said Talia.
Emon closed the gap between them until they breathed the same air.
"I would rather spare you from them. Besides, what man would curse the woman he—l—"
Emon proclaimed valiantly but squandered the last coin.
He looked at the Jharle and then back to Talia.
"Talia, would you rather become Empress even if it meant living a bad life?" he questioned sharply.
"Emon, I—I—"
Talia couldn't find the right words. She shut her eyes and meditated for a while before rushing towards Emon and hugging him.
"I'm sorry, Emon. I'm sorry for ruining your plan for today," Talia said as tears rolled from her left eye.
The two had grown close enough that neither wished to hurt the other unnecessarily. Emon's feelings might have been clear—Talia, on the other hand, had no explanation for what she felt for her friend of sorts.
Emon smiled joyfully as Talia hugged him. Her body gave him a warmth not even fire could provide.
"The agreement was for me to remain heir until all of this was over anyway. So—"
His next words were cut short by a man wearing a black hat.
"Sorry for ruining the moment, High Prince. My name is Caynith. I have come to offer my services," the young man said confidently.
Emon's smiling face changed to one of disgust and anger.
"I could punish you for this," Emon said as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The young man took a step backwards and bowed deeply.
"Pardon me, High Prince. I am ignorant of the ways of giving courtesy," Caynith said remorsefully.
Talia stood fearlessly beside Emon. Unlike him, she was calm and became interested in what Caynith had to offer.
"What can you offer him?" she asked candidly.
Caynith finally raised his head.
"I am the self-proclaimed best marksman in Velecor," he said with a smile, his black hair lost in the mass of snow on his head.
"Do tell," Emon said calmly.
Caynith giggled as he held Emon's dangerous gaze. "It is best if I show you," said the young man as he summoned something from what seemed to be a portal.
Despite the ruination of their anniversary midway through, it seemed they might have stumbled upon something truly magnificent.