He hadn’t actually thought it would happen. That’s what it boiled down to, really. Despite the month or so of condolences trying to masquerade as support, the frequent pats on the shoulder, his mother taking on more and more of the paperwork, despite all of it, Raul hadn’t actually thought his father would die. Even now, a week later, he still kept expecting to see him poke his head around the corner, eyes crinkled over a course, white beard, asking what his favorite son was up to. “Mischief?” he’d say. “We could use a bit of mischief around here.”
There hadn’t been as much mischief lately. Even the gardens had been neatly trimmed for the funeral today, and Raul sat, in his favorite spot, in horrible, stiff, itchy clothes, all too aware of how much his parents would have hated the sharp-trimmed hedges. The middle of summer and not a single flower in the bush. It was a disgrace and he’d make sure whoever was responsible knew it. He’d tell his mother, but he couldn’t stand to be around her anymore today. All the crying had worn him out.
Young Advisor Hotspur, appointed just months ago, had patted his shoulder absently, just one in the long line of people who had done so, and Bordone had tried every day to give Raul a speech on how “sometimes people leave our lives, but they always leave us stronger.” Raul didn’t feel strong today. His father didn’t seem to have left anyone stronger, certainly not his mother, certainly not the palace staff, who could barely keep eye contact with Raul without tearing up, certainly not the absent Hotspur or unaware Bordone. Nothing about any of this felt like strength. Raul was drained, tired, and more than ready to have this nightmare stop.
“There you are.”
Raul felt his face scrunch up without his approval. He thought he’d escaped. He did not acknowledge the short, stocky man whose sword clanked against the wrought iron bench until he absolutely had to.
“Been looking all over for you,” Advisor Merkal said in a far too cheerful tone. “Got to make sure our little prince doesn’t go missing now more than ever. Are you going to leave your mother to deal with all those well-wishers on her own.”
“She told me I could take some time to myself,” Raul answered, still not looking Merkal’s way.
“That’s very brave of her.”
The silence that set in was tense and angry in a way that Raul didn’t wholly understand. He wanted badly to ask what Merkal wanted, if he would go away, please, but knew any rudeness could get him sent back inside. They sat there, Raul pretending stubbornly that he was alone, for several long seconds.
“You can talk to me, your highness,” Merkal finally went on, in the casual sort of voice that one might use to inquire about the location of a toilet. “I know you don’t have anyone here you can count on anymore. I’d like to offer you a friendly ear, if you need one. I’ll be here for you, certainly through when you come of age at least.” Finally looking Merkal’s way, despite himself, Raul caught Merkal looking away for a moment. Distance clouded his face, though there was a brightness there, something that looked very happy at the idea of being nearby at Raul’s birthright, at being close to him at that time. “I want to make certain that you feel comfortable in your role. We’re here to help. I want to help you, your highness.”
“Why aren’t you talking to Mom?” Raul asked quickly. Merkel jolted a little, as though Raul had interrupted him somehow, then turned bright eyes to him.
“I’m talking to the man who will soon be our king. You’re going to have a lot more on your plate soon.”
“Mom’s going to be in charge for a while,” Raul pointed out. “She’ll need help at least as much as I will.”
“Give your mother some credit, princeling,” said Merkal with an easy laugh and a too-even smile. “She’s a woman of very strong will.”
Raul had no answer for this, so he turned away again, staring instead at his hands in his lap. If Merkal wasn’t talking to his mother because of her strength, why did he think Raul needed counsel. He still had his mother. He had friends he could write to, if you counted Charlie down in Libanira and Amna in Sudapor. At the moment, he was quite ready to count them above Merkal. He’d count Amna’s warty little brother if he had to, or even Charlie’s cousin whatever-her-name-was, before he’d open up to someone he didn’t even like about something he didn’t want to talk about. He could feel himself making a face, and tried to stop. He didn’t manage it, however, before he felt a broad hand clap him hard on the same sore shoulder that everyone he knew had been rubbing all week.
“Think about it, princeling. You could use a friend in the palace,” Merkal said quietly. “You’ll need someone to help keep order as you grow. I’m offering to fight in your corner. Just come talk to me whenever you’re ready. You know where to find me.”
Watching Merkal get back to his feet, Raul did feel suddenly smaller and weaker than he had in a long time. The summer sunlight caught the sword in Merkal’s belt, and the flash made Raul flinch unhappily. He could feel his shoulders hunched up around his ears, his knees fighting to curl up to his chest, making him tense and sore and tired all at once. He had to write someone tonight. Today. Right now. Amna would do. She was good about writing back promptly. He needed some excuse, any excuse, not to go to someone who left him feeling like he’d just lost a fight. His mother would need someone, too. Raul watched Merkal’s retreating back, looking quickly back to his lap when the Advisor seemed to turn around and check on his one last time. The rustle of bushes told of his departure. Raul counted to ten, then ran to the back wall. If he was determined, he could probably get up to his room from the balcony, and start a letter to a friend without being seen by anyone else today. Then he’d go right back down to his mother. A woman of very strong will – maybe he’d inherited more of her than his father had thought. He would need to be strong with her.
She was going to need all the help she could get.