Leander sat in the dining hall with his family for breakfast once more. But this time the atmosphere was completely different from last time.
Servers seemed to be overfilling his plate, and his father was laughing more than usual.
Leander gave him the most deadpanned response, yet he twisted it to be 'a sign of him becoming a true prince'.
He is your father. Do not snap. He is the emperor. Do not snap.
His siblings seemed to smile along, dying to get this breakfast over with. Celestia, however, did not match her husband's energy. She seemed to be pondering over something. Lost in thought, even as she ate.
Finally, she spoke up, "Leander?"
Leander looked up from his plate, "Hm?"
She raised a brow at his impolite response, but continued nonetheless, "I've been hearing some very strange rumors regarding the gathering at the Montclairs."
He froze, but quickly snapped out of it as he chewed on his toast, "I'm listening."
"Apparently... you... proposed to Tia?"
Thalia almost spat out her tea, coughing in her cup. Leander choked on his bread. "What?"
"It sounds atrocious, I know. But it's been circulating through High Society as of late. Did you meet her by chance in the west garden of the estate?"
He wiped his lips with a napkin nervously, trying to find the words to respond. Unfortunately, he took a moment too long to say, "We did cross paths, but I only exchanged a few words out of courtesy."
The kids looked among themselves, sensing something more, but nobody dared to say anything.
The Emperor, now serious, added in, "I've been hearing such whispers too, obviously not outright. But I caught them from here and there. There's something regarding... a confession of true love?"
Thalia was trying her best not to burst out laughing while Damian carefully picked at his eggs. Adrian didn't even have a clue as to what was going on.
"That's... imaginative. May I ask where such rumors sprouted?"
Celestia shook her head, "I'm not sure. A friend of mine was telling me what she heard when she visited the Ashthornes."
He froze at the name. A memory resurfaced. The innocent face of a redhead, adorned with lace and jewels.
"Ah... Then I assume Lady Florence likes to spin tales..." he mutters to himself. Ever since they were introduced, he never got any good vibes from her.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing, never mind." he shook his head, "Just... fleeting thoughts."
If she were Lady Artemesia's friend, then he had no reason to doubt her.
Abandoning the thought, he absentmindedly gulped down the rest of his apple juice and rose from his seat. "I'll be taking my leave."
"Hold on," The Emperor called out to him.
Lee turned back, brow raised. "Mhm?"
He set his fork down and fixed his son with a stony look. "Someone told me you were discourteous to the Countess this morning?"
The atmosphere shifted in seconds.
Damn it. I knew she wouldn't let me off easy.
His father may be lenient, but he never tolerated disrespect to his allies, subordinates and loved ones, especially those he thought highly of
"It-... won't happen again. My apologies." His head dropped in embarrassment.
A moment of cold silence later, "I expect so. You can leave."
He hurried away from the dining hall, and rushed to his room to get his training gear.
He promised that he would grow up tall and healthy. He'd better keep it.
. . .
Thedosia walked up to the deck, face pale. Seeing her trembling shoulders, Artemesia quickly passed Jonathan a woolen shawl, which he draped on his mother's shoulders.
"Thank you, John." She sniffed, and gripped the railing tightly. Artemesia looked at her, worry evident in her eyes. "Mother, you should rest. Land is still far from sight. We don't want your nausea getting worse."
The Duchess shook her head, "I must get used to this. The south is all sea and pirates."
Jonathan sighed, "Mother, please. Pirates can wait. Right now, your only battle is with rest." He set his hands gently on her shoulders, steering her back down the stairs toward the accommodations.
Artemesia's gaze lingered on their retreating forms. A sigh escaped her lips, thin and tired. So many thoughts pressed against her heart, and not one of them had a place to go.
If only, she had someone to talk to...
. . .
Years slipped quietly through the empire, marked by the turning of seasons and the steady passage of duties from one day to the next.
The boy who once bristled at every command was gone; in his place stood a prince who bore his circlet with a steadier grace, though every so often the weight of a private promise would cross his mind like a shadow.
The Montclairs had been absent all that time, their halls shuttered, their name unspoken in court. Yet in that year, faint traces of them began to surface once more, no louder than a murmur carried on the wind.
That particular day, the whispers seemed to be louder.
Fifteen year old Damian knocked on his sister's door, impatient. He had a tea party with his peers that afternoon, to which Thalia agreed to help him manage. But she refused to open her door to his relentless knocking in the early morning.
A few moments of furious rapping on the door, Damian was just about to give up and go to his mother, when the door creaked open and a groggy Thalia in her late teens stood in the doorway.
"What is it?!" She hissed at him. She was still in her nightgown. Had she not gotten up and ready for the day?
"I have my tea party today, and you agreed to help out!" Damian whisper-shouted.
She groaned, "Damian, it's nine in the morning!"
"Better early than late!" he argued, frustrated.
"What, did you learn that from Nanny? Hah!" she scoffed at him.
Countess Crispin was the First and Second prince's nanny. Thalia and Adrian had a different one, but they called the Countess nanny, and their own nanny by her name.
Makes sense. She was like a second mother to all of them.
"So what? It doesn't change the fact you broke your promise!" he grumbled.
"Keep it down, Brother Lee's asleep!" she hissed at him again, but decided to help him out nonetheless.
Just as she was about to let him in her room, the sound of heels against marble could be heard echoing in the corridor.
Speak of the devil.
Sabrina Crispin strode down the hall, followed by servants. At this time of the day, there was only one place she would be going to with so many maids.
"Good morning, Nanny!" Damian beamed.
"Morning, Countess." Thalia yawned.
She stopped to smile at Damian, but fixed Thalia with a stony look. "Morning to both of you. Princess Thalia, do I need to reinforce yesterday's lesson on greetings?"
"I just woke up!" She groaned.
"The hour doesn't excuse poor manners," Damian teased, recalling his own lessons.
Thalia stuck his tongue out at him while the Countess sighed. "I must be getting really old. Last I remember, your older brother acted like that at some point."
Thalia's smile flickered, a memory stirring, while Damian stared. "He did?"
"You were quite young. Thalia, however, may remember some bits."
Thalia nodded in response, laughing softly. "Some memories are too vivid to forget."
The Countess returned the smile before snapping back into her professional tone. "Well, I should wake that princeling. Twenty years old and still unable to rise on time." She shook her head, and the siblings' laughter followed her down the corridor.