Oisin pensively stares at the large stone throne perched on the rostrum. Desensitised to the servants draping the walls and replacing spent candles, his eyes locks on the crest of the kingdom carved into the cold grey stone above. It glares down at him, a reminder of the weight of his responsibility. Recent events further north prick at his insecure consciousness. The double security order by Blake surrounding him every minute does little to calm his overactive mind. So deep in thought, even the crashing sound of cast iron falling to the floor fails to capture his attention. But an unexpected hand on his shoulder jerks him back to reality.
“Finally happening, majesty,” the leprechaun proclaims with a wide smile. Oisin returns a more timid smile. Oisin hasn’t met this leprechaun before, bu
