TYND 7

TL: Motokare

“Your Grace, Rothy’s just a child. When you say something like ‘hunt,’ it can give him the wrong impression,” Ultje interjected softly.

Theon paused, weighing Ultje’s words. After a moment of reconsideration, he amended his statement.  

“We’ll make sure to bring your lost weasel back safely.”

He chose not to add any further reassurances. Rothy gave a faint response—a slight nod or perhaps just a tremble—but he didn’t withdraw back under the covers. 

“Zey, remove them.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Zey swiftly draped the cage of abruptly abducted weasels with the black cloth and exited the room. 

The Black Lion knights—renowned for their brutal efficiency on the battlefield, to the point of intimidating even their allies—set out to release the captured weasels back into the wild. It seemed they would capture more along the way. Rothy’s gaze followed their exit, lingering on the door even after it had closed. Theon recognised the emotions stirring in those emerald eyes. 

There was joy—from seeing them, fondness, and trust. As if he knew the knights… Instead of leaving after his usual cursory visit, Theon took a seat in an empty chair. 

“Rothy, did you know of us?” 

“……”

“Or did your master speak of us?” 

“……” 

“If there’s any magic you know, show me.”

But Rothy only lowered his head in silence. Theon scowled, his already sharp gaze growing even sharper. 

“Seems like you can’t hear me.”

The hard edge in his voice seemed to terrify the child even more. Rothy whimpered and ducked back under the covers, a muffled sound escaping him like a frightened animal seeking shelter. Did he really believe he’d be safe under there? If this child were truly a mage, he should’ve shown some sign of magical ability by now, especially when faced with a threat. 

A magic stone implanted into a living being. Pigs might fly.

Yolone must’ve poured his efforts into countless experiments, all in a desperate bid to harness the power of that stone. But Theon was convinced he’d ultimately failed. This child had merely been fortunate enough to survive that ordeal. 

“……”

Watching the little lump beneath the covers, he’d a change of mind. No, calling it ‘fortunate’ would be an insult. The circumstances this child had endured were nothing short of cruel. Theon had no idea where Yolone had found him, but it was clear that Rothy had suffered through hardships no one should face.

“Your Grace, if I may, let me attend to Rothy for a moment.”

Ultje said on the edge of the bed, carefully lifting the blanket just enough to slide his hand in and cover the child’s forehead, checking his temperature. The moment Ultje’s hand made contact, Rothy let out a few nervous squeaks.

“He’s running a fever. Rothy’s terribly sensitive to stress—even the slightest tension sends him into a mild fever. Lord Chungnip, there’s a wet towel over there. Could you—”

“Oh, of course.”

Ultje lowered the blanket, knowing that covering the child too much would only worsen his fever. But as soon as Rothy’s thin frame was exposed to the air, his entire body stiffened, and his breaths turned frantic and uneven. 

“Hff… hic…. Hhak…”

He was so frightened that he couldn’t even breathe properly. Gently, Ultje laid the boy back down and placed the cool, damp towel over his forehead. He adjusted the blanket, pulling it up to Rothy’s chest to offer some comfort, but the child’s breathing remained shallow and erratic. 

Chungnip shot a quick glance at Theon, trying to read his expression as he explained.

“If he does have a magic stone implanted within, then the fevers are inevitable. The stones themselves run hot, you see. In the absence of air, they behave like any other mineral, but the slightest movement triggers heat generation. It’s why they’re notoriously difficult to handle.”

“I know. In the North, we use the heat generated from these stones for warmth.” 

“Ah, right. My apologies for the unnecessary explanation.”

“The fella^[1]’s fever, however, has little to do with any magic stone. It’s his fragile constitution that’s causing it.”

“So you’re well aware, Your Grace,” Ultje interjected, pointedly. 

“And yet with all that insight, you still press a fragile child like this?”

He was the only one who dared to chastise Theon. 

“He’s sixteen, nearly of age.”

“The empire’s current standard for legal age is problematic. Don’t you find it absurd yourself, Your Grace?” Ultje countered without missing a beat.

That was a fair point. 

The legal age for adulthood had once been nineteen, but after the law prohibiting child soldiers was enacted, recruitment numbers dwindled, prompting the age to be lowered to seventeen. That’d been the late emperor’s doing. Every time Theon saw seventeen-year-old soldiers shivering in their loose, ill-fitting armour, he silently cursed the late emperor. 

“Nevertheless, sixteen can hardly be considered a child. Apprentice knights his age are out training in the yard, shirtless, even in this weather.”

“Your Grace, you of all people should understand that comparing individuals with vastly different upbringings and circumstances is simply wrong.”

Theon had no immediate retort and merely pressed his lips tightly together. But Ultje wasn’t about to let him off the hook. 

“By the way, Your Grace, did you review the list of marriage prospects I painstakingly compiled for you over five days?”

Theon let out a sigh. 

“I tossed it.”

“Your Grace.”

“I already have an heir. Therefore, I’ve no intention of fathering any children.” 

“I’m aware. But you still need to marry. Even if it ends in divorce, a noble of your standing should marry for appearances’ sake. An unmarried noble invites unwanted rumours.”

“Anyway, those nobles are—”

“Your Grace’s a noble as well. Not to mention, you sit at the very pinnacle of the nobility. What about the young lady from the County of Ostte?”

Theon frowned. 

“You mean that sixteen-year-old child?” 

“She’ll be of age next year.”

“And just a moment ago, you’re saying the empire’s current legal age is problematic.”

“Did I say that? The legal marriageable age has always been sixteen, so there’s no issue.”

With shameless persistence, Ultje went on, listing the noble families that’d sent invitations or approached Theon—including daughters and sons alike, with the oldest being nineteen—an eleven-year gap from Theon. Unable to argue with his loyal steward who’d followed him even to the battlefield, Theon finally stood up, deciding it was best to leave rather than endure more of Ultje’s persistent nagging.

As he turned to go, he could feel the child’s gaze boring into the back of his head. That piercing stare followed him all the way out of the room. Once in the hallway, he leaned against the wall, out of the child’s sight. From behind the closed door, he heard a faint sigh—whether of relief or something else, he couldn’t tell. 

“Ultje.” Theon called, prompting the steward to step out into the hallway. Theon closed the door behind him. 

“How is it, looking after the child?”

“He’s so quiet and well-behaved that he’s hardly any trouble at all. Sometimes, I even forgot he’s there. In every respect, Your Grace was far more challenging at the same age.” 

“Don’t get too attached. We’ll be returning to the North soon, and magic stone or not, PLEIN will take possession of the boy.”

“You mean, ‘take custody’, Your Grace.”

Ultje corrected Theon and added, 

“Before PLEIN takes him in, we should work on his eating habits. They’re not likely to concern themselves with his health.”

“His eating habits?”

“He has this habit of gulping down his food—soup, bread, you name it—like he’s never learnt how to chew. He barely eats half of what someone his age should eat. The physician even said he’s malnourished, though you can tell just by looking…” 

As he listened, Theon glanced down at his wristwatch. Ultje’s eyes followed the movement. That watch… It must’ve been five or six years ago since a hunched, elderly woman had handed it to him when they’d set up camp in a desolate town, ruined after a fiend attack. 

“Your Grace…please, if you keep this, I’m sure it’ll serve you well…”

It was small and delicately crafted, an odd match for a man nearly two metres tall with the build of a wild beast. But Theon’s own watch had been broken at the time, so he’d accepted it without hesitation. He still wore it, out of habit more than sentiment, and because, as long as it worked, he saw no need for a replacement. 

“Tonight at eight, I’ll dine with him. I’ll inform the crown prince myself.”

Since the child’s presence was still a secret, dining with him meant Theon would dine in the child’s room. 

“Understood. I’ll see to it.”

Ultje bowed his head respectfully as Theon turned and strode down the hallway in long, determined strides.  

Hopefully, he won’t be too hard on the poor child over table manners.

Ultje thought, watching Theon’s retreating figure with a sigh. 

“You shouldn’t make it a habit of eating in bed. Get out and sit properly on the chair.” 

Theon’s deep, stern voice only made the child burrow even deeper into the blanket. Ultje let out a sigh. This was exactly what he’d expected. 

Dinner had been set in the room ten minutes ago: a lavish spread of dishes laid out on the round table. There was spiced lamb seasoned to perfection, delicate steamed fish with all the bones meticulously removed, sweet broth noodles, an assortment of fruits cut into bite-sized pieces and arranged in the shape of a flower, and a vibrant salad lightly tossed in olive oil……

Despite the delicious spread before them, they still hadn’t begun the meal—all because the child refused to come out from under the blankets. 

After the swarm of visitors earlier in the day, Rothy had fallen into a deep sleep, only now just waking up. When he saw Theon enter the room, his eyes went wide, and they widened again when he saw the array of dishes covering the round table. Naturally, he pulled the blanket over himself, crouched on the bed, watching Theon take a seat at the table, still wide-eyed, and showed no intention of getting off the bed. 

“Rothy, get out from the bed. You’ll be having dinner with His Grace tonight.” Utlje said, trying to coax the child gently.

But the moment those words were spoken, Rothy flinched and pressed himself against the wall. 

“I’ll eat here……”

It was clear he was hungry; he wasn’t refusing the food itself—only the proximity to Theon. But in the end, even Theon’s sharp reprimand made him retreat further, disappearing beneath the covers like a frightened animal.