It was about eleven years after the birth of Prince Garril. It was eleven years after the neighboring dukes of Elvinia came by to fawn over how cute the baby was, and how their duchess could not make something as beautiful as he. Eleven years after even the other kings and queens would go the castle to admire the king and queen simply for having so many children. That all came to a stop, and the goings-on of the country had finally slowed to its regular cadence. And then it all started to slip. He opened his mouth once, and everybody leaned in toward him. A failing gasp escaped his dry throat.