The king

Lloyd stared incredulously at Roman, who sat stiffly on his horse, his expression grave and unyielding. The weight of his brother's armor gleamed under the waning sunlight, accentuating the tension that thrummed in the air. "The king is ill?" Lloyd murmured internally, grappling with disbelief. "How could he be sick? The last time I checked, he was as robust as ever."

He spoke aloud, the bitterness lacing his tone. It wasn't that he felt any genuine concern for the man who had treated him like little more than a servant for most of his life. The king had consistently acknowledged Lloyd and his mother with the same disdain reserved for unsightly weeds—ever to be cast aside, never nurtured. It stung to think that their very presence seemed to loom like a shadow over the royal family, an unsettling reminder of things better left forgotten.