Chapter Four: The Refusal

The room smelled faintly of ink and polished wood. Candles burned despite the afternoon light, their flames flickering in the breeze from the encircling windows. In the center, a long table curved into a horseshoe facing a large pedestal. The wood was a rich red, taken from a trunk many centuries old. Scratches, gouges, and even a few burn marks marred its surface, but the table was well tended.

Master Iverra, an aging woman whose black curls were now threaded with white, stood at the pedestal. Behind her, a chalkboard still bore scribbles from past lessons deemed important enough to remain. This was her domain. She had always been the royal children’s tutor, and despite the grumbling of the older ones, they were still required to attend at least one of her etiquette lessons each week.

Nokon sat near the edge of the massive horseshoe table. Places were never assigned, but it was his nonetheless. Beside him sat his second, Thyren Malvos, his companion who knew these halls better than most. Thyren’s father, Master Malvos, taught the martial lessons. Though Thyren was technically a bastard, if Nokon wasn’t careful, he would begin to envy the relationship Thyren had with his father. 

The other royal children in attendance had brought their own companions, though unlike Thyren, Walric’s and Wrena’s stood behind them like servants. Nokon chose not to show his annoyance. He had long known they would lead very different lives from the one he intended for himself.

Elora’s companion was new, a strange girl, who not only sat beside the princess, but held her hand, their fingers intertwined. Nokon had not witnessed the commotion himself, but he had heard reports: Elora’s previous companion had become mentally unwell upon her return. Nokon wasn’t the only one watching the new girl with hesitation. She seemed…incomplete. As though part of her has been left behind in Veeque.

Master Iverra cleared her throat and began her lecture. “It is good to see all of you, my little jewels.” 

Wrena smiled brightly, at the familiar term of endearment. Nokon did not. 

“Today we will be discussing moments of friction in your interactions with peers and subjects. It is important to maintain a calm, clear demeanor in times of tension. We will examine several scenarios and discuss appropriate responses when dealing with those who are…difficult to persuade.” 

As she finished speaking, the main doors opened. Elmara entered at a brisk pace, her handmaiden trailing behind. 

“Master Iverra, I do apologize for my late arrival. There was some miscommunication with the Emissary of the Golden Flame regarding the end of service.” 

Iverra gave the smallest possible sigh before gesturing her inside. Given what was known of Calrithane’s ambassadors, her lack of enthusiasm was unsurprising.

Elmara reached for the nearest, then paused when she realized it would place her beside her twin. Without subtlety, she pushed the chair back and moved two seats over from Elora instead. Her handmaiden adjusted her position, maneuvering her gown so she could sit as close to the table as it allowed.

“Now that we are all here, let us challenge ourselves.” Master Iverra said, her voice level. “You are publicly addressed by a lesser lord who questions your judgement. You cannot contradict him outright. You cannot appear weak. What is your response?” 

There question lingered. 

“I would acknowledge his concerns,” Walric said first, as he usually did, leaning slightly forward. “I would also remind him that decisions are made with a broader understanding than any single perspective allows.” 

Measured. Controlled. Expected.

“How do you ensure he does not repeat that challenge?” Iverra asked.

Walric hesitated, only for a moment. “By making it clear that the outcome justifies the decision.” 

A ripple of nods moved through the room. Nokon did not join them. 

“You could redirect focus.” Wrena said, speaking without being called on. She fidgeted with her necklace. “Expand the conversation until his concern becomes small in comparison. If he presses, offer him responsibility within the solution. Most will quiet when given a piece of the problem.” 

“Very good.” Iverra said, her lips curving slightly. She turned to Elmara. 

Elmara brushed her fingers along the table’s edge before she speaking. “You could soften it. Turn it. Thank him for his loyalty in speaking, even when it’s misplaced. People like to feel seen.” 

Her voice was gentle, but it carried over the room. 

A few heads turned toward her. The room adjusted, just slightly, around her presence. 

“Elora?” Iverra prompted. 

The warmth in the room cooled. 

Elora’s gaze flickered, just a fraction too slow. “I would…question his understanding… of the situation. I would…ask him to clarify what he believes… he sees.” Her fingers flowed with her odd pacing above the table.

Silence stretched longer than it should have.

The answer wasn’t wrong, just….misaligned. 

“Nokon.” 

His name landed without weight. 

He lifted his gaze. “I would ignore him.”

Silence followed. Not sharp. Not shocked. Just…uncertain. 

“Ignore him,” Iverra repeated.

“Yes.” 

“And allow the challenge to stand unanswered?” Irritation crept into her tone. 

Nokon held her gaze. “People will believe whatever truth pleases them most. To try and take away that comfort from little lords seems… delusional.” 

Brows drew together across the room. Walric shifted. Wrena’s attention sharpened.

Iverra stepped toward him. “That is not an acceptable response.” 

Nokon said nothing. 

The silence stretched, expectant. 

Nokon met it with nothing.

At the far end of the table, Thyren leaned back slightly, one hand resting against the carved arm of his chair. He had been quiet the entire lesson, his attention drifting where it pleased, never lingering long.

For a moment, it lingered.

Elmara reached for a quill, and a loose strand of her pale blond hair slipped free. Thyren’s gaze caught there, briefly, before shifting away. 

Small, almost nothing.

But Nokon saw it.  

Iverra’s voice cut cleanly through the quiet. “What would be an acceptable response?” 

Nokon still didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

 “Acknowledge the concern,” Thyren said, smooth and unhurried, eyes forward. “Then you can redirect the discussion to a broader objective, one that reinforces authority. Offer the challenger a role within that objective if necessary.” 

Iverra nodded “Correct.” 

The moment passed. The lesson continued.  

Nokon let his gaze drift to the map of Korvethis at the front of the room while the others spoke, of anger, of grief, of scandal, of kindness that was not required.

An hour passed. 

At the end, Iverra returned to her pedestal and opened her ledger 

Names were called and each answered with “Present.” 

When Nokon’s name came, he did not speak. 

“Present.” Thyren said.

He did not look at him. 

Iverra marked it down. 

Nokon sat with what just happened, his hands resting against the table. 

Unnecessary. 

His gaze shifted, just slightly, toward the ledger at the front of the room. Ink on parchment. A name among others. Clean. Simple. Replaceable. 

Chairs scraped softly as the others rose. Nokon stood with them but did not join the flow of movement. He followed at a distance, watching as they left. At the doorway, he paused. 

As he got to the door he turned back, looking at the space he had occupied. Already empty. Already forgotten.

It would not be difficult.