Lesson the Fourteenth :: A King's Right
It hardly took any concentration anymore.
Stefan sat at the table in the familiar old training room and stared at the pieces of the watch hovering before him. Over the months, he'd disassembled and reassembled such an antique by hand until the Bastard was sure he knew how to do it.
Then he had to do it without using his hands.
And then in under thirty seconds.
The last few gears and screws clicked into place, sometimes multiple at once. And the backing slid back onto the frame just as Stefan looked up with a victorious smirk.
Despite himself, the Bastard's eyebrows rose appreciatively. "Well, well. Success at last."
"At last," Stefan repeated. "That was only my fifth try."
"Yes, I am sure when you are king, you will get five tries."
Stefan glared evenly, and the Bastard laughed. Stefan stood, picking the watch out of midair and crossing over to his trainer. The Italian watched him with curiosity. Eventually, after a long, thoughtful moment, Stefan held the watch out and nodded.
The Bastard's eyebrows rose. "What was that?"
"I said thank you," Stefan repeated, no hint of derision or scoffing in his tone. "For all you've done for me. No one..." He glanced away. "You've done what I thought was impossible for my entire life."
The Bastard laughed a bit, taking the watch at last. "You had a small hand in that, ragazzo."
"True." It was Stefan's turn to chuckle, a sound that still startled his trainer when he heard it. "But I don't think your work is done."
"Isn't it?" The Bastard held up the watch as proof. "You can control it. And with minimal headaches, si? And just yesterday you flew."
"That was an accident," Stefan reminded. "And only for a few seconds. And I fell on my ass."
The Bastard snorted. Ah, yes, his pupil had changed much over the course of training. Now able to point out his own flaws, if not laugh at them. But that would come. With more maturity. With time. He would be a great king.
"Where will you go now?" Stefan asked, curiously, as he sat on the edge of the table. Much as the Bastard had that very first fateful day.
The Bastard shrugged with a sigh. "I return to Italia. Probably to teaching. If not, there's plenty of wine and food and beautiful women to go around, eh?"
With another laugh, he started to pack up his things into his bag. Stefan watched him closely, a sort of half smile on his face.
"Philosophy, logic, little angry Romanian boys..." the Bastard trailed off with a grin.
Instead of growling or snapping or even smiling, Stefan just kept staring him down. "How would you like to continue the last one instead?"
The Bastard chuckled, still sliding books and papers into his bag. "What do you mean by that?"
"What?" the Bastard looked up, sharply. "You what?"
"You're the wisest man I've ever met and I owe you much," Stefan explained, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I want you as my main adviser. Both now and when I take the throne."
The Bastard stared openly.
Stefan arched an eyebrow. "Well? Do you want to go back to drinking under the hateful eyes of your family? Or do you want to be the right hand of the King of Romania?"
After a moment's more thought, the Italian's face cracked into a wide grin. "I would do it only to keep an eye on you, ragazzo."
Stefan smiled, then, in genuine happiness, for the first time in a very, very long time. The Bastard shrugged and finished packing up his bag, hefting it onto his shoulder as he spoke.
"Besides. You will need all the help you can get, ragazzo. Your future bride is not known for her kindness.”
“Hm” was Stefan’s only response.
“Hmm?” the Bastard repeated, nearly grinning now. “And this is why you like her, sì? Ah, you will make a frightening pair, that is certain. I look forward to it."
At that moment, Cezar crossed the room, not paying either man any attention, as per usual. With a single greeting in Romanian from the Dark Prince, however, the old soldier turned to face them. With Cezar, the offer was much more blunt.
"I want you as my military adviser, Cezar."
And the soldier only thought for a moment before nodding sharply. "As you wish, my prince."
There was an awkward moment of silence. Of course, the Bastard broke it, as the three men walked for the door to the training room.
"Well! I think we'll make a beautiful team. Stefan, get the door, will you?"
And then the two trainers were off down the hall and Stefan slowed to a stop. He looked back into the familiar room. So much pain and wrath and words had spilled forth in this room. So much progress had been made. And now he was leaving it all behind. He'd entered it an angry prince. A silly boy. Ragazzo, the Bastard had called him for every single day. But he was leaving it a king. A man in control. Stefan. That's what the Bastard called him now. That's what he was now.
So it was with a soft smile that he left the room, his power reaching out gently to draw the shades, switch off the light, and close the doors behind him.
King Stefan Alexandru Dracul Cătălin.
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