7 | Father and Son

Accompanied by the chirps of crickets and Douglas's hoggish snores, King scanned the room he was in. There were bits of changes here and there, but it was just like how he recalled his old room to be. He pressed his cheekbone, gauging again the pounding soreness from earlier. It stung, but not as much as it did before.

Douglas had caught King before the latter could vanish beneath the mass of water earlier. And after being washed down by the rapids, fortunate for the three, some of Leo Madre's scouts came across them while roaming last night.

"How are you feeling?" Pandora asked.

King sucked in air between clenched teeth. "Better," he answered. He propped his body into a sitting position and hissed when his dressed leg throbbed. "You?"

"Nothing worse." Pandora looked at Douglas, who was dozing off on the sofa.

King's gaze traveled to the door. "Where are they?" he asked.

"They're still discussing downstairs," Pandora replied, aware that he was inquiring about the order of their pride. She flicked a hair away from her face and crossed her arms. "It seems like this is the first time an incident like this had happened."

King snorted. "Well, aren't we lucky?" The lad stared at the Prussian blue sheets. He had a hard time wrapping his mind around the event that had happened to them. All his thoughts were dragged back to where they were.

Sharp as she was, Pandora eyed him and said, "It's going to be all right."

King stared at her, then at the distance. "I know."

King and Pandora broke contact when Douglas groaned and stretched. He sat upright, yawning, and glanced at them. "Why are you two still awake?" he groggily asked.

"Can't sleep," King sighed, stretching the blanket with his feet.

"... A quick jab in the face will make you so. I'll do it gladly for you King if you want to."

"How about a boot up your bloody ass—"

Suddenly, there was a firm knock on the door. The three broke into silence as they waited for the door to swing open. Their eyes widened. Pandora bowed, and Douglas shuffled up to his feet to do the same. King grimaced.

The man of dark golden brown hair—Leon—waved a hand, and the two raised back their heads. He looked identical to King, or you could say that King took most of his features from him. Although, despite their similar image, they vary significantly in character.

Leon had a strict air surrounding him, and a face that mostly didn't apply any emotions into it. He surveyed the youngsters, them and their bruises, from Douglas to Pandora, then at King who rose from the bed to deliver his courtesy. Leon stopped him. "Do not bother, there's no need," he said.

"... Right," King muttered. Six words were all it took to mess up with his thoughts yet again. Was his father's words a manifestation of getting him to rest? Or was it because he was no more a part of their pride for him to adhere to their customs?

King didn't withdraw. He clenched his jaw, and despite the pain he felt, he moved towards Leon and bowed. "I forgot that these are courtesies belonging solely to the members of the pride. My apologies. But I still would like to deliver my... respect."

Leon stared at the bowed head of the lad, which was ironic to the rebellious fire that burned in his eyes. Clearly, Leon knew that his action was an act of defiance instead and that King heightened its opacity intentionally just to irk him like he always did before. However, Leon made sure not to spare a reaction. "Very well," he uttered.

There was an uncomfortable pause in the room. Leon didn't gesture for King to stand back up like the other two, leaving the lad in a bowed position as he paced around, eyeing corners while running his fingertip on a wooden surface of a dresser. "What have you been doing all these years?" he questioned King.

"Studying... and working, sir," King countered.

"And from what I've heard, trouble." Leon caught hints of guilty gestures from King and let out a quiet sigh. "All these years, I thought you'll grow out of that habit of yours. I guess I was mistaken."

Something inside of King snapped. "... What exactly do you know?"

Pandora stiffened, and Douglas's eyes threatened to jump out of their sockets. Leon stared back at King.

"Why even ask, it's not like you care."

"... Are you talking back to me?"

"And what if I am?"

Leon's jaw tightened. "Is this what you've been learning away from here? Learning how to improve your whines and your insolence?"

"I believe you are more insolent than I am—"

A loud slap echoed in the room. Pandora and Douglas remained still on their ground, despite their skepticism to stop the father and son.

Leon's gaze was bitter. "You have no shame. You are ungrateful," he spat. "I am grateful that you are not the one to inherit my title that you were regretfully named after."

King steadied his feet. Every bit of muscles in him tensed. His legs staggered and something in his inward burned, but he didn't falter. "I could say the same."

There was silence yet again.

Leon remained his harsh eyes set on the lad who kept his head lowered in front of him. A few seconds later, he averted his gaze, closed his eyes, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think it's time for all of us to come to a rest. Forgive my late disturbance." Leon then fixed his composure. "Pandora, Douglas, I would like to request your presence tomorrow. Meet us in the meeting room after lunch."

"... Yes, King Leon," replied the two.

Leon then turned to leave. Midway out, he looked over his shoulder, perceiving the still bowed-down presence of his son with a frown, before he finally left the room.

The door closed. After a few seconds, Pandora and Douglas went to King's side. King remained bent down, staggering, trembling, and seething red. His fists were tight as a screw.

"King, he's gone," Douglas said, aiming to induce him to stand back up. King didn't. Douglas and Pandora looked at each other, both having worried lines on their faces.

"... King." Pandora circled a hand on King's back, but it couldn't help the tears that escaped down on his cheeks.