WordMonster99

The quiet, hesitant knock on the door told the King exactly who it was on the other side of the door. Glancing up from his papers, he took note of the time and realized his son was already running late. He sighed, already tired despite the early hour of the day and pushed aside his work. A small break, however inconvenient, Mors nonetheless appreciated. “Come in,” The King called and not a second later, the sole heir to the Lucian throne showed his face. The boy stepped inside, wordlessly, with eyes averted, and closed the door behind him before anyone could follow. It also told Mors that this meeting was going to take longer than he would like and that the boy, apparently, needed them to have some sort of privacy. Regis bowed the moment their eyes met, knowing that, no matter the privacy they enjoyed now, Mors always ensured formalities were followed. 

“Father,” Regis greeted.

“Son,” Mors said. 

Silence fell between them, neither of them comfortable, but the elder of them managed to hide his discomfort behind a stoic mask, the younger would probably hold his breath until he passed out, or until Mors decided to speak up - the boy would never dare to do so himself. Folding his hands together, glancing down at the shimmering, cold light the Ring of the Lucii had held for an eternity, the King eventually asked; “I take it you’re ready for your journey?” 

Mors already knew the answer to that, but at least he attempted to hurry this along, the sooner they were out of each other’s presence, the better. Besides, Regis only came to his office, interrupted his work, when he had nowhere else to turn to and this… visit was merely a formality, a chance to say goodbye, even though they had already done so in the public eye yesterday. Sentimentality. It was the main force that drove his son, Mors believed. 

“Yes, father,” Regis answered meekly. “we’re all packed and ready to go. I just-,” He swallowed, as if he didn’t want the words that crawled up his throat to escape, apparently it didn’t work. “I just wanted to say goodbye.” 

Well, his son didn’t disappoint. Sentimentality. Mors merely crooked a brow, and the minor change in his blank expression was enough to let the colour drain from Regis’ face. “We already did, I believe,” The King said, but sounded surprisingly… gentle, even to himself. “yesterday,” He continued when his son remained silent. “You ought to remember; the whole court was there.” 

A very small, very hesitant smile spread across the Prince’s lips. “I do,” Regis said. “but I wanted,” He trailed off again, hands twitching at his side, as if he wanted to let them express his lack of explanation. He would simply have shrugged, if he were not in the presence of his father. 

Mors could no longer stand the rather sad sight and decided to bring his conversation - if one could call it that - to an end. “Yes,” He said, as if he understood what his son had meant to say, but if he did would forever remain a question neither of them knew the answer to. “but I don’t think it necessary. We both have more important things to do.” The King leveled his son with a look. “You do realize how important your task is, don’t you?” 

The boy had no colour left to lose, but somehow he did, as the blood froze in his veins. Green, terrified eyes widened at the question in shock, but other than that, Regis remained composure, or so Mors would have thought… Yet, there seemed to boil something just beneath the surface, if the reaction of his son was something to go by; “Of course, I do.” He almost spat and Mors suspected his son might actually be insulted by the fact his father thought so little of him. Needless to say, the King was not impressed with his tone of voice and he told his son so by a simple, slight raise of his brows. It was enough to let Regis deflate in mere seconds and the Prince cleared his throat awkwardly. “Of course, I do,” He repeated, with much less heat this time. 

“Do you?” The King asked - challenged - and looked the boy up and down with scrutiny. Regis was tall, but despite his height, he lacked a towering presence. Perhaps it was because of his slender frame: long, toned limbs, but no actual bulk of muscles no matter the years of training. He had widened a little through the shoulders and chest in the last few years, but other than that he was all sharp angles and intensely coloured eyes which often  did all the talking for him. “Because if you do, then I suppose I don't have to tell you that failing is not an option.” 

Regis looked taken aback, but apparently not enough to be lost for words. “I know,” He said and it didn’t escape Mors how desperate his son sounded. “I know what is at stake. This is the lives of our people we’re talking about and I don’t take their wellbeing lightly. This war needs to end, one way or another, and I want to do everything I can to help.” 

“You’re not just helping, Regis,” Mors said. “you are to play an active role in his war. A war which Lucis cannot afford to lose.” 

“We won’t,” The boy began, but the King cut him off. 

“That is just wishful thinking. You certainly won’t win a war with that!”  

“I know that!” Regis protested. “I didn’t,” 

“You certainly seem to know a lot, but you never actually act like you do.” 

It was more than enough to stun his son to silence. Regis could far too easily be played, especially when confronted with his own insecurities and it wasn’t below Mors to use those to his advantage. Perhaps, it was time for Regis to finally see the truth - the actual truth. Yet, the King had to give his son credit when deserved, because Regis kept his face straight, even though the words clearly had hit home. In the end, the boy even dared to ask; “Why send me on this mission if you have no faith in me anyway?”