Elias stood near the small window of his chamber, fingers brushing against the coarse linen of his tunic. The light spilling through the narrow slit cast long, thin shadows across the stone floor. The keep was alive with the faint clatter of activity, but the noise was distant, muffled by thick walls. A sense of quiet control filled the room—a control Elias had carved out for himself in the lord's absence.
Kael had just left, his last words lingering in Elias' mind: "Answer clearly. Remain calm. Let nothing provoke him." The guard's instructions were simple, yet the weight behind them pressed heavily. Kael had seen the boy's skill with the language, witnessed the rapid grasp of Orravian, and now it was time for Hadrien to see it too.
Elias allowed himself a slow breath, scanning the chamber with sharp, analytical eyes. The furniture was sparse: a table, a chair, a single bed. Each item was placed predictably, each shadow a point to remember. He noted where the light fell, where the guards would stand, where he might be best positioned to answer without hesitation or flaw.
He will expect hesitation. He will expect fear. He will not expect precision, nor that I have used this time to learn beyond mere words, Elias thought, the familiar spark of strategy igniting in his mind. He will see only the performance, not the calculation behind it.
The memory of Kael's reports hovered like a ghost. Each scribbled detail, each meticulous note about pronunciation, comprehension, and instinctive correction—these were now his mental arsenal. For days, the lord had been absent, inspecting borders and minor skirmishes, leaving Elias with hours of uninterrupted focus. And he had used them.
Elias lifted his hand, tracing the edge of the table. He rehearsed phrases in Orravian under his breath, testing his tongue, adjusting the sound until it was smooth, deliberate, and confident. The words no longer felt foreign; they were tools, instruments of control.
Then came the heralded clatter of the keep's gates. The distant pounding of hooves grew into a rhythmic drumbeat. Elias stiffened instinctively, eyes narrowing at the faint vibration through the stone. The air seemed to shift, and with it, the weight of expectation.
Hadrien had returned.
From his vantage point, Elias glimpsed the banners along the walls, the green cloth marked with the golden hawk fluttering as the lord's entourage moved through the courtyard. Guards fell into disciplined formation, every step precise. Even at this distance, the presence of a lord—the authority, the command inherent in him—was palpable.
Curious. Always curious, Elias thought. That is his weakness. Curiosity can be manipulated. He turned back to the chamber, centering himself. This was no longer Kael's test. This was his performance, and he would direct it.
A quiet knock interrupted his concentration. A guard, stationed outside the chamber, announced with measured formality:
"Your lordship has returned, and His Grace requests your presence."
Elias' pulse quickened, but not with fear. Anticipation. Calculation. Opportunity. He moved toward the door, feet soundless against the stone. Each step was deliberate, controlled, a reflection of the discipline he had honed over the past days.
Before leaving, he cast one final glance around the room, mentally noting every shadow, every potential advantage. The room had been his refuge, his classroom, his stage—and now it would be his arena.
Hadrien's voice carried faintly even before he entered, calm, deliberate:
"So, Kael tells me the boy has made progress."
Elias' lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. Kael had sent letters before, meticulously detailing progress, but this would be the first time Hadrien heard it himself, directly. Every gesture, every word would be measured.
He stepped into the corridor, chains softly clinking at his wrists and ankles—not a threat, not a punishment, just a reminder of circumstance. Guards flanked him, silent and disciplined, ensuring nothing interrupted the moment. And then, at last, he saw him: Hadrien, standing tall, calm, an aura of authority that drew the eyes of all around him.
The lord's gaze fell on Elias, sharp and appraising. No words had yet passed, but the air was thick with expectation. Elias allowed himself a subtle, steadying breath. This was more than language, more than obedience—it was intelligence measured, control displayed, potential observed.
He will ask. He will probe. And I will answer, Elias thought. Not just the words, but the intent behind them. He will see only what I allow him to see.
Hadrien inclined his head slightly, eyes narrowing in interest. "Step forward," he commanded, voice quiet but resonant, carrying through the corridor like the weight of judgment.
Elias advanced, every step deliberate. He had mastered the words; now he would master the silence, the pauses, the glance, the posture. He would show the lord the anomaly Kael had described.
And as the door closed behind Kael, leaving only the prisoner and the lord, Elias allowed himself a single, fleeting thought:
Time in the lord's absence has been mine. Let him see the difference it has made.