Hearing this, the fairies began whispering among themselves again.
"Is it soone who resembles that mber of the royal family?"
"Could it be a fairy from the royal family?"
"No, it can’t be. There should only be that one mber of the royal family; there are no other fairies left."
"That’s strange, then. If not from the royal family or the three Fertile Tooth clans, and judging by Lord Woodworth’s reaction, not from the Winged clan either, could this ’Child of Prophecy’ be from the already extinct Mirror clan?"
"Didn’t the prophecy say that the Child of Prophecy is a fairy from Paradise?"
"Yes, the Child of Prophecy should be a fairy that doesn’t belong to any clan, only resembling that mber of the royal family in appearance."
"Since they resemble that mber of the royal family, they should not look too different from humans, right?"
"No wonder he claims to be human."
"No wonder he beca an enemy set on overthrowing the Queen."
"But there is nothing strange about that, is there?"
"Exactly, it’s not as if there are no forces rebelling against the Queen. Whether it’s the Mors multiplying throughout Britannia, the calamity in the port city of Norwich, the royal family mber in the north, the Round Table Army in southern Lentinien, or the recent revolt in Sheffield, more and more people are defying the Queen lately. Now there’s just one more."
"Then there’s that suspicious human known as Beryl Gate. He ntioned sothing about forces from outside Fairy Country invading soon, right?"
"Fairy Country really is riddled with problems now."
The fairies discussed among themselves like this.
However, the Queen remained silent.
"Black-haired, black-eyed boy with a sword..."
An exceedingly faint voice involuntarily escaped from the Queen’s mouth.
"...could it be you?"
Nobody could hear these words.
"Your Majesty?"
A while later, Tristan’s sowhat surprised calling voice awakened the Queen.
"Where is Elf Knight Lancelot?" The Queen’s voice was still icy as she asked, "Why is Sir Lancelot not present?"
The one who answered the question was not the two Elf Knights present, but Aurora, chieftain of the Wind clan.
"Lancelot is with ," Aurora’s gentle voice ca from the projection, saying, "I’ve invited her to be my guest, and we’re planning to have tea together later."
"Aurora..." Woodworth let out a sowhat useless sound.
It can’t be helped; having one’s admired female invite a rival one sees as formidable to tea together was a hit... no, a fairy’s setback.
"Hehe, forgive , Woodworth," said Aurora with a smile, "As you know, there are many fairies here who admire Lancelot. Everyone wishes to et the most beautiful Elf Knight in Britannia; as their lord, I should understand the feelings of my subordinates and fulfill their wishes."
"So that’s how it is," Woodworth’s expression beca considerably more pleasant, but still he said, "However, I think the most beautiful fairy in Britannia should be you, not that Lancelot, Aurora."
"Right, that Lancelot is not the most beautiful fairy," Tristan also found this statent extrely distasteful, saying, "Your Majesty is the most beautiful in Fairy Country."
Tristan’s assertion did not bring joy to the Queen.
She seed completely uninterested and spoke coldly.
"Lancelot is in Salisbury; Gawain’s troops are also nearby in that area. Along with Aurora, a lord, and Woodworth near Tintagel, you four have now gathered in one place."
"Since that’s the case, I will issue this order to the four of you together," the Queen spoke to Gawain, Woodworth, and Aurora, "Bring the boy suspected of being the Child of Prophecy. Bring him before ."
"Rember, I want him alive."
"Do you understand?"
This command from the Queen made the three nad fairies bow their heads in response together.
"Yes!"
...
This room is a luxurious one.
The room is laid out in a dieval Nordic style, apparently a young girl’s boudoir for there are mirrors about and glass cabinets filled with high heels, indicating that it does not match the tastes of a boy but likely belongs to a female.
"Clang!"
At one mont, a corner of the bedroom suddenly opened like a mirror, letting a figure erge from within.
This person was none other than Tristan, who had just been in the Throne Hall.
"Really, how boring," Tristan returned to his room, sat on the bed, and complained, "I was right there before Her Majesty, yet there was hardly any chance to speak to her. What’s the point in that?"
As Tristan complained, he reached out with a small hand.
With just a light wave of that hand, a vase on the nightstand next to him suddenly flew out, hitting the wall and shattering into pieces.
"No fun at all, it’s really no fun."
"If I can’t talk with Her Majesty, then why should I attend such a boring eting?"
"Whether clan leaders or those ambassadors, they’re all annoying people. I didn’t go to the eting to see them."
"Ah, Mother dear, why don’t you just kill all those eyesores, letting them wail in agony drenched in blood until death?"
"When having should be enough!"
As Tristan went on complaining sentence by sentence, with each complaint, his hand moved, causing furniture to fly out and shatter in a corner of the room.
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