"Micaiah, this important. Are you even listening?" Spoke the young ebony haired woman. Her green eyes darted from tree limb to tree limb in search of the young boy. Her arms were crossed over her bosom and her hip was cocked out to the right. A giggle poured from the tree limbs and she huffed, "Your father is going to have my head if you aren't ready for the banquet. Two other royal families will be here. Now, down from the tree." The dirty blonde boy scurried between the branches as if he were born to climb them. His dark brown pants and cream colored shirt could be caught between the jostled green crown of the tree, "Relax, Selphia, father won't even know I'm not there. What could he possibly need me for?" The right year old reasoned from the branches. "My Prince, you should-" Selphia tried to reason but Micaiah interrupted her. "Selphia, father gets so caught up in the diplomatic issues that he won't notice my absence," he repeated but more specifically. "He may not," the new voice froze him in place, "But I will." He knew who spoke but as if he needed reassurance he peered down between the branches and caught sight of his mother. Queen Lizbeth Delanaye was a beautiful woman. Despite five children she had nearly as good a figure as Selphia had and Selphia was childless. She wore a beautiful purple gown that fell to the ground. Her blonde locks were pulled behind her head and held by several diamond created clips. Her blue eyes, while normally soft, were locked disappointedly on the frozen form of her son in the boughs of the tree. Micaiah began moving without his mother's prompting joint both her and a respectfully bowing Selphia. Micaiah flashed Selphia an apologetic look and then moved his own blue eyes to his mother. As far as looks came, Micaiah had inherited both his eyes and hair mostly from his mother. He was softer too, compared to his six year old brother, Connerly who looked harder. The one thing that proved he was his father's was the intelligence that shown behind those gentle eyes. Intelligence that screamed that he had been foolish. "Thank you, Selphia, I'll care for the young prince from here," the queen spoke, her captivatingly angry gaze locked onto her eight year old son. Micaiah was too fearful to dare turn his gaze on the young woman who could be heard leaving hurriedly, "Mother, I-" This time he was interrupted, "Micah," the name used only by those he held dear, and proof that his mother was not really angry with him, "Your father wishes you there so that you might learn. You'll be king one day and you must learn how things work." "I under-" he tried to get out of the conversation. He disliked it when his mother scolded him. But she interrupted him again. "I don't think you do. But we do not have the time for a lecture. You're filthy and the others will be here shortly. Head up to your chambers immediately and clean up. I took the liberty of laying out your clothes. I do not want to see you in anything else." "Yes, mother," Micah replied before his mother ran her hand through his short messy hair. Micah looked up into her eyes, all the anger gone. He smiled at her and she returned the gesture. "I love you, Micah," she told her son. "And I, you," he returned before he left her and scurried to his room.