The words of Prince Rowley were enough to send a shiver down anyone's spine.
"Bewitchment..."
The word, coming from the mouth of Rowley, the heir to the throne, struck Po Han with a sense of unreality.
Moreover, he said that his father was bewitched.
The Holy King in the eyes of the Exiles was bewitched.
Such an act was utterly blasphemous.
Po Han suddenly felt dizzy; he stared at Prince Rowley and abruptly realized that beneath the composed exterior were trembling hands.
"Why, why do you say that?"
Po Han's lips were dry, a rarity for a Merfolk, whose body naturally secreted mucus.
The hands of Prince Rowley were still shaking as he spoke slowly after a long pause:
"Lord Po Han... I hope, no matter what I say, you won't speak of it to others."
He seemed to have come here with great courage.
Po Han caught this point and slowly regained his composure,
"I, I know what to do, as I always have."
Prince Rowley took this as an assurance and thus he opened up:
