Erich reached for the door handle. Finally, something he could do. Despite his young age, he was one of the highest-ranking captains.
“That would be Ian?” King Frederich asked.
Erich pulled his hand back. Ian was one of the few who outranked him.
“Who else is available?” King Frederich continued speaking. “Ian is... perhaps not the proper choice at this time.”
Erich couldn’t agree more. His oldest brother had been through quite a bit that night. With his sense of responsibility toward Aden’s condition, he likely wouldn’t be able to focus on the task ahead if separated from him.
“We could send Erich.”
Erich grasped the door handle, a “yes” on his lips.
“Is there anyone else?” His father’s voice froze him in place.
“The other two captains were sent with the messengers to Chendas,” Zimri said.
His father sighed.
Erich took a step back, wanting to disappear before anyone discovered he was there.
“Erich has performed admirably under my command, my lord,” General Zimri spoke respectfully but confidently.
The kind words from the man who had been like a grandfather to him rooted Erich to the spot. He could listen for just a moment longer.
“He has rightfully earned his rank as captain through his own merit,” Zimri continued.
“I will admit it’s hard for me to imagine my youngest son carrying this much responsibility, but I do realize my perception is limited.”
Erich felt pained by his father’s words, despite his culpability in the matter. As the fourth son, Erich had practically encouraged his father to consider him as impulsive and somewhat immature. It helped him stand out and feel like his own person, especially when Ian, Onric, and Aden were all incredibly skilled and mature in their ways. It had been easier to play up his role as the spoiled youngest than try to compete with his older brothers.
“He is your son and namesake, Frederich. Your concern is understandable. I cannot guarantee his safety, but I do wholeheartedly vouch for his competence.” Zimri’s words once again filled Erich with comfort and pride.
He could do this. He wanted to do it. He wanted to make his father proud.
Pushing open the door, he walked into the room, pretending he had not been standing outside the door since the beginning of the conversation. “I heard a messenger arrived in the courtyard. Is something wrong?”
A look of guilt flashed across his father’s face, as though he wondered whether Erich had heard his earlier words. Erich pretended not to notice, but he was glad to have seen it.
“The Majis have launched an attack on the coastline,” King Frederich informed him.
Erich feigned shock. “No!”
“General Zimri plans to immediately send you to the old monastery with reinforcements. Are you up to the task?” His father’s words placed the responsibility entirely on Zimri’s shoulders.
Erich stood up to his full height. “Yes, I am. I can do this.” He attempted to fold his arms, but the sprout-green tassels hanging off his sleeves tangled with each other and stopped the motion. Wishing he had changed from his dancing clothes, he smoothly grabbed his left wrist in his right hand instead and stood at attention, exuding as much confidence as he could.
King Frederich exhaled and buried his face in his hands. “I cannot lose another son this night.”
His father’s simple words soothed Erich’s hurt feelings.
“Then send me, Your Majesty,” Zimri said.
“No,” Erich cut in. “I understand you wish to keep me out of danger, but nowhere is safe anymore. We were just attacked here, in this very castle. I am twenty years old, fully trained, and have the additional benefit of being a direct representative of the royal family. This is my responsibility.”
King Frederich lifted his head and gazed intently at Erich. “So be it.” He stood up from his desk to address the general. “Gather a full contingent if you can spare it. They leave at once.”
The general nodded and left the room, his booted feet thumping against the hard floor.
