8 The Jack of Spades

WHILE THE AFTERNOON sun blazed gloriously on one side of the capital, the other side was muddied with dreary rain. The palace was overwhelmed by dark clouds that only grew heavier and heavier, no matter how hard it rained and poured. The two princes in the palace were cooped up in their respective studies, one fully engrossed with books of world affairs and maps of other countries while the other twirled a small handheld knife in his hands.

His blue eyes flashed just as a bolt of lightning struck outside the glass windows, illuminating his appearance but casting a shadow over his handsome features. Those irises were a bright, piercing cobalt blue that seemed to match the color of the lightning strike. It was filled with crackling electricity, intense and masked with hidden intentions.

The young prince toyed with the weapon, twisting it between his fingers and watching as the blade missed his skin just by a hair's breadth. He repeated the action over and over again, seemingly entranced by the dance of the silver light.

Outside, the storm raged on with no signs of stopping. It was in the middle of summer but that didn't mean that every day was sunshine and rainbows. The summer rain could be harsher than in any other season, sending down torrents of pouring water like the heavens were crying sorrowful tears. Lightning and thunder often accompanied it, along with foul, howling winds that shook the trees, threatening to uproot them.

There came a knock on his door, grabbing his attention as his eyes darted up. As a result of his loss of focus, the blade dropped to the table with a thud, hitting against the documents which were spread out against the tabletop.

"Come in," he said, patiently watching as the door opened and in stepped a royal knight in service to the palace.

The knight bowed low in salutation, a fist placed over his left chest, bending at the waist, before standing up straight again.

"Your Highness," the young knight greeted. "Prince Hartley has requested your presence in his study."

"Oh?" Face lighting up with dangerous interest, the prince's eyebrows quirked up at the mention of his older brother. The left corner of his lip lifted into a half-smile, one that seemed more sinister than friendly. The knight felt a chill run down his spine but he tried his best to not let it show. "Older brother did? Well, I suppose we mustn't let him wait for too long."

Pushing back his chair, the prince stood up, sweeping one hand across the table to grab the knife. He sheathed the small blade before pocketing it, strolling out of the door, the heels of his shoes clicking rhythmically along the polished marble floor.

Even though he knew the way to his older brother's study, he still let the knight lead the way, opting to walk at his own leisurely pace behind like a predator stalking its prey. When they've reached their destination, the knight knocked on the door before announcing their presence. A deep sonorous voice trailed out from inside and the door was pushed open, revealing a red-haired man who was sitting behind a large mahogany table, a document in hand, a quill in another.

The young prince was met with a pair of eyes similar to his own, also a startling shade of icy blue, the color of winter's first frost beneath an azure sky. However, the stark difference in their appearance was the strand of fire that dangled from the older prince's head. While the former had black hair that resembled coal, Prince Hartley had hair like fire, resembling his concubine mother now turned queen.

"You called?" The younger prince wore a smirk with no mirth, making his way into the study room before perching himself on the armchair in front of the table uninvited.

The door to the study room closed behind him, the knight scuttling down the corridors with his tail between his legs. The royal knights in service to the crown couldn't have fears. They had to be brave, courageously laying down their lives for the throne. However, even the bravest men agreed that the two princes were scarier than any bloodbath they've seen on the battlefield.

The older prince wore a scowl, but then again, it wasn't something that was rare to see. Though handsome, the walls of their royal palace agreed on one rumor: Prince Hartley could not smile.

"It's pertaining to the ball held in honor of your birthday."

Gently putting down the documents in his hands, Prince Hartley places the quill back into the bottle of ink, the feathered tips swinging back and forth from the momentum. He intertwined his fingers, resting his elbows on the tabletop, practically glaring at the other person.

"Father has spoken. You're to find a partner for your first dance." Sifting through another pile of papers, Prince Hartley pulled out a distinct piece from the stack. "Here's a list of young ladies attending, all from noble families. Find one that is to your liking and report back to father when you've made a choice."

Although the dark-haired youth took the paper, he made no effort to read through the contents. He simply grinned at his brother, tilting his head to one side.

"And what of you?" He countered.

Prince Hartley quirked a brow. "What about me?"

"You're to find a suitable princess consort soon." He waved the paper in his hands, wiggling it in the air. "I believe that the queen has been pushing you to select from the list of suitable noble ladies. And yet you're pushing the responsibility to me?"

"Spade," Prince Hartley's voice held a hint of warning.

"Am I wrong, brother?" He teased. One leg crossed over the other, his movements slow and relaxed. "It's your responsibility to choose your wife well. That will, after all, be our future queen. She will have to rule Gladiolum by your side."

Prince's Hartley's eyes darkened significantly, eyebrows furrowing. "You know better than to poke your head into my personal matters."

"I'm not. I've simply overheard the queen speaking to father about this issue," Spade smoothly replied.

"She's our mother, Spade."

"No, she's yours." Standing up, Spade tucked both hands into his pockets, turning around in preparation to leave. However, before he did, he turned around slowly, throwing a look over his shoulder. "And don't think that I don't know that the ball is simply an excuse for you to select a princess-to-be. I know better than anyone what's inside that woman's head. It was never about me. Quickly make your choice, brother, before the queen makes one for you."

With his parting words hanging in the air, Spade stalked out of the room, his speed never too quick, but not too leisurely either. He always made sure to walk at his own pace, undisturbed by his surroundings. The only reason he survived in the palace all these years was that he knew what he could do and what he couldn't. Showing fear was something that should never be done in the presence of wolves and tigers. If he had shown signs of weakness or even the slightest bit of anxiety, he would've been gobbled up by the strong.

He couldn't crack under pressure. It took him years to perfect that ice-cold aura. By now, it was already imprinted into his muscle memory.

If his older brother was a wildfire that raged and burned with unrivaled power, then he shall be the snowstorm that could freeze a desert over a thousand times if given the chance.