Talios-Chapter 41: Intrusion

"Ahem..." Ajab coughed, turning his gaze away from Elmah.

"Your Highness doesn’t truly know what he did?"

The corner of Ajab’s lips twitched as he turned back. "Alright, Elmah. Tell me—what exactly did I do to you last night?"

Elmah paused. "So His Highness truly doesn’t know?"

Ajab stared at him, expression vacant.

Elmah met the stare without wavering. He needed to understand whether His Highness genuinely had no recollection—because Elmah himself remembered nothing. By all reason, he had been the last person standing. That alone should have meant something.

"So if I don’t know, what then?" Ajab asked, the corner of his lips curving.

Elmah’s brows knit together as he sank into thought. Earlier he had begun recalling the events of that day—the walk to the Royal Chef’s Pastry, Liah coming to summon His Highness, and then following again as His Highness went to see the Queen. He remembered standing outside the door, watching His Highness step out toward him. Turning to follow him was the last clear thing he remembered before waking up in that—his expression tightened.

Now that he reflected on it, his eyes had felt strange when His Highness approached him. He had dismissed it at the time. But if he had truly used the power of his sight, then His Highness must have been doing something in that moment—something worth asking about.

When Elmah remained silent, lost in thought, Ajab sighed. "Father did say," he began, turning his gaze toward the sky, "that I used some technique while moving through the Hall. I have no memory of it. But with things as they are now, the dots are easy enough to connect."

He paused, fingers settling against his chin, before turning back to Elmah.

"The Eunuchs at the Hall of Rites saw me walk in, so it made sense to assume I hadn’t used any technique. But now—if, as Father said, the Thousand Steps only works in places one has been before—then it explains why I wasn’t using it when they saw me, and why I might have used it in the King’s quarters hall that night. And since you saw me move," his gaze locked onto Elmah, who was struggling to absorb it all, "it would mean you were using your eyes in that moment. That makes sense, doesn’t it?"

Elmah was sure His Highness was saying something important—but importance did not equal clarity. He had been waiting for the point, listening for it, only to realize His Highness had already reached it and moved past.

The only answer he could offer was the one he could afford.

"No."

"Ehn?" Ajab’s eyes twitched. "What do you mean by no?"

"No—it doesn’t make sense. Your Highness asked whether it did. So it doesn’t."

How did that make any sense?

How did that not make any sense? Was he speaking gibberish? Ajab was about to pounce on Elmah when it suddenly occurred to him.

"Oh," he said, grimacing as the realization settled. "The Thousand Steps is a leg technique. Father said it allows for extreme speed."

Elmah’s expression tightened as he considered it.

"Does it make more sense now?" Ajab asked. If Elmah had collapsed from straining his eyes, then this explanation fit. It meant he had likely used the Thousand Steps Father spoke of. Ajab shook his head, suppressing the thought that followed. If he truly had used it, then—just as Father warned—he might lose his legs.

But he had already decided to resign—was he really not going to be able to? that? Would it simply become a question of who reached him first: the Bloodline Footwork or his blood tied parents? At this point, even the technique itself felt like their doing.

He felt tears threaten. Anyone could see why resignation was necessary. One way or another, they were coming for his life.

The Prince’s balcony now held two figures, each consumed by his own world. The Prince drifted within an imagination only he could inhabit, for that was what his bantering truly was —an imagination—while Elmah remained buried in his thoughts, not bothering to answer what had been asked.

Ajab was the first to return to himself. He studied Elmah’s intense contemplation before turning his gaze skyward.

"What are you even thinking about? I moved, you followed, and exhausted yourself to the point of fainting. From where I stand, that’s you dozing off—I had no part in it."

He stared at the quiet sky, then tilted his head back toward Elmah, eyes narrowing. "Why were you using your eyes on a still sky?" He had to ask. Elmah’s eyes had glowed when he entered; that meant he had been using them.

Elmah exhaled slowly, his thoughts remaining his own as his gaze settled on His Highness, whose head was still tilted.

"I was testing how long I could maintain it."

"Hm." Ajab nodded. "So staring at unmoving stars helps?"

"No," Elmah replied flatly. "The training grounds were locked, and my legs were sore. I wouldn’t be fast enough to get a kill."

"It’s Grandfather’s mourning period. Everything is closed—even the markets. It’s a national mourning for a reason. And being seen scavenging in the forest during such a time amounts to beheading."

"I see."

He hadn’t realized it was a national mourning. How could he? He had barely been conscious.

"If your legs are sore, shouldn’t you be recovering? Why are you here and not in your room? Are those bandages merely for show? And are you really supposed to be using your eyes? Liah said your physician insisted they needed healing."

Elmah’s face soured at the word "physician."

"I don’t understand how that lewd man became a physician. Whatever he said was to himself—I’m better off trusting myself than anything he claims."

"He’s that bad?"

Elmah nodded. "The worst."

"He’s a royal physician, though."

Elmah nodded again. "That’s the sad part of everything. I wonder how he even made it into that position," he said, leaning in closer.

"Don’t you think people probably would have died under his treatments?" Elmah asked.

"There’s hardly any way such a fraud could have escaped Mother’s notice."

"Not impossible," Elmah said, lifting his hands to display the bandages wrapped around him, "if he just stuck to bandages."

Ajab gave a small nod. "They do look good. But you still let him put them on?"

Elmah shook his head. "Liah said it was what the Queen would have wanted."

"Hm," Ajab said, nodding. "Fair enough."

Ajab’s face tightened, tension lining his jaw. "That barely explains why you’re here—in my room, on my balcony."

"I am His Highness’s hand," Elmah said as though that settled the matter entirely.

Ajab scoffed. "It’s sword."

"Your Highness said hand before."

"Only because the occasion called for it."

"Then which is it?"

"Elmah, you haven’t answered my question."

"I have."

"Do you see Lord Halh following Father to his quarters?"

"I do not reside in the King’s quarters," Elmah replied evenly.

Ajab’s lips twisted into a faint smirk. "How convenient. Now that the training grounds are off-limits, you choose my balcony for solace."

Elmah tilted his head, eyes half-lidded. "I did no such thing."

"Oh?" Ajab lifted his head slightly. "Then answer this—if the grounds were open, would you be here?"

Elmah nodded once."If necessary."

"Yeah, sure," Ajab said, turning again to the sky.

His face dimmed as sobriety returned, voice weighted. "Now that Grandfather’s gone, I’m not sure what to do."

Elmah’s gaze lingered on His Highness. He had never known loss, and even imagining it, he doubted he would feel a thing. Perhaps there was no one in his life worth mourning. Yet His Highness’s eyes—sharp, distant, cold—were fixed on the sky, and Elmah could not help but wonder what storms flew behind that look, what unseen weight pulled at him upward.

"Grandfather once said, ’Up and up is mostly where you need to keep your gaze. Skip the little things sometimes, and you could be free.’ He always stared at the sky as though it held secrets within. Do you know what he told me when I asked what he was looking at?"

Elmah’s gaze remained steady, unwavering.

"He said whatever he wanted. Every time I looked, I searched for what I wanted... yet I always found the same thing—pastries," he said, laughing softly.

"But now," he continued, "I see nothing. My sky... it’s empty. Dark. Steep."

Elmah turned to the sky; he had no comment—at least, none fully formed.

"You know, this has me wondering... how do I go on now? Without Grandfather, what reason would I even have to visit his estate?"

"Your Highness needs one?" Elmah asked.

"Do you think Father would have let me off without one? Grandfather had his parchments. Father always said to go through them."

"Couldn’t you still access them, even now?"

Ajab turned toward Elmah, expression blank. "Access what?"

Elmah’s eyes narrowed. "Didn’t Your Highness speak of the parchments?"

Ajab let out a slow sigh. "No one actually reads parchments, Elmah."

Elmah’s brow furrowed, frustration rising. "Then what exactly were you going there for, Your Highness?"

Ajab’s gaze sharpened. "To sleep, obviously. Grandfather never minded. But now... someone would have to watch over me. Why should I need that?"

Elmah nodded, seemed he really was in the mud.

Ajab sighed and made his way to his bed.

"All that aside... Grandfather’s estate won’t be the same," he murmured, his voice weighted as he stepped inside.