The palace garden was quiet in the late afternoon,
Arvail sat beneath a young cedar tree with his notebook open across his knees, The breeze turned the pages gently while he searched for the right words,
The sky never asks permission to exist,
He frowned,
Something about the line still felt unfinished,
Footsteps approached along the stone path,
Arvail looked up,
King Edrion walked into the garden, removing his gloves after finishing a meeting with the palace advisors,
The king noticed the notebook immediately,
"Writing again?"
Arvail smiled,
"I think I'm getting better,"
Edrion sat beside him on the low stone bench,
"Let me hear it,"
Arvail cleared his throat and read the lines from the page,
The king listened quietly,
When the boy finished, Edrion leaned back slightly,
"That doesn't sound like the work of a twelve-year-old,"
Arvail blinked,
"How did you know I was twelve?"
Edrion chuckled,
"Because I was there when you were born,"
Before Arvail could answer, another voice joined them,
"And because he keeps forgetting how quickly time moves,"
Queen Lysara stepped into the garden carrying a small basket of herbs she had been collecting,
She set the basket aside and sat beside her son,
"Tell me, Arvail," she said gently,
"How old are you?"
"Twelve,"
"And what do you think twelve means?"
Arvail thought for a moment,
"That I'm not a child anymore?"
Edrion raised an eyebrow,
"That's debatable,"
Lysara smiled softly,
"Twelve means you're beginning to see the world,"
She pointed toward the palace walls rising above the trees,
"Right now your world feels small,"
Arvail looked at the walls,
"Yes,"
"But the world itself is not small,"
She tapped his notebook,
"And writing helps you see it,"
Arvail looked down at the page,
"So poetry is a way of understanding things?"
"In a way,"
Lysara picked up the notebook and read his unfinished line,
The sky never asks permission to exist,
She handed the book back to him,
"Do you know why the sky doesn't ask permission?"
Arvail shook his head,
"Because it knows what it is,"
The boy tilted his head,
"I don't understand,"
"You will,"
She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder,
"One day you'll leave these walls,"
Edrion glanced at her but said nothing,
"And when you do," Lysara continued,
"you must remember something important,"
Arvail waited,
"Power is not what makes a king,"
Edrion folded his arms thoughtfully,
"What makes a king, then?"
Lysara smiled,
"Understanding the world enough to care for it,"
She nodded toward the notebook again,
"So keep writing, Arvail,"
"Why?"
"Because the boy who asks questions today…"
She tapped his forehead lightly,
"…becomes the man who understands tomorrow,"
Arvail looked down at the page,
Then slowly added another line beneath his poem,
The sky never asks permission to exist,
Perhaps that is what freedom means,
He closed the notebook,
The wind moved softly through the garden trees,
And for a moment, the King, the Queen, and the boy who would one day be called the Sky Prince simply sat together in quiet peace,
A moment the world itself seemed to pause to remember,