Theodred scratched at a spot near his eye patch. It was still strange for him, to have a metal plate on his face. The people probably thought he had riveted the eye patch onto his face. Theodred couldn’t blame them. The Devonese certainly did very good work, and even the king himself was fooled when he looked at himself in the mirror. The lightweight metal didn’t rust and it didn’t give him any feeling of discomfort aside from a slightly heavier feeling on the right side of his face.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eye was the rich dark velvet canopy of the bed. He was aware of bandages encircling his head, going over the right side of his face. He reached up with a hand and felt the unnatural depression where his right eye should have been. He felt slightly sick at the concept, but then swallowed his nausea and sat up slowly.
Theodred waited five minutes, just so his father could cool down a bit, before he approached him again. The man was sprawled on the ground.
“Ah, that was painful.” A voice said. The voice was friendly but commanding. Theodred felt wind on his face, and he opened his eyes… no, eye, and looked around him.
Theodred felt the heavy red mantle over his shoulders. There were people buzzing around him, placing his brilliant crown atop his head. Of course, the king felt that all of this was not necessary but the older people within Ilrea felt that it was. He liked the crown, but the mantle and everything else, like ceremonial armor, was not necessary at all, even if it was shiny.