CHAPTER XII: Rumors

ALXINFIELD, Venningham Hall, Year 079 Y.D

Right after dawn, mockingbirds sing by the trees of the estate; magnolia, almonds, and dogwood. The sun showers all of Alxinfield with a healthy, beaming glow, bathing each spire and roof of different kinds with paints of yellow. Today, is his third day of return; Ilayan enjoys a warm breakfast—porridge, bread, pancakes, and, syrup—with Eri and Laya.

Last night, he had spoken nothing after hearing Eri's resolve. He admires his consort, for all that he is, even how much he had changed from the first time they met, and despite the inferiority he has, he is more decisive than he looks and stronger than he seems. It appears to him, that there remains a shadow of Eri's past, deeply engraved in his bones, that only Ilayan can see, and perhaps he had long forgotten to reckon him fragile. Only that he isn't. Yet, as his gaze lands on his son's oblivious face—round eyes, lips smudge by jam—his guilt remains heavy.

To his surprise, Eri reaches his hand, presenting him a gentle smile. "This is where my duty lies my Lord," he tells him. "I wish nothing less but your glory and this household's, of which should be rightfully yours. Although I cannot help much outside of this door, wholeheartedly, I hope you do not wait for us. I promise you that— wherever you decide to go, I and your son, are with you. So please lighten your heart."

"I see," Ilayan says, smiling, yet there is sourness in his tongue.

There is nothing more that he can say. Although he is not ambitious for greater power like his brother, he understands where his father is coming from. At the very least, the Duke acts like a father, even if only when the advancement and preservation of the household are concerned. He desired to be a general; his brother only seeks power and influence. So as, he is aware, of course, his father will not hand over the dukedom and his military power to a proud and ambitious man with no real capability to lead an army. Worse, but he will not scruple to dump his legitimate son, choosing him, son of a concubine, as a successor, for a brighter and greater future of the household he governed for years.

Not long after he finished his meal, there is a knock on the door. He exchanges a glance with Eri and they both proceed to the entrance. Standing there is a sweating, liveried escort. He bows to him, seemingly too eager in his abrupt and clumsy movements.

"A herald from the royal estate has come, Young Lord."

Ilayan straightens his back, he regards Eri with a meaningful look, for whatever courteous words might the officer spout, it will undoubtedly end with the Emperor's summon.

With his tunic hastily change into a military jacket, he traces the escort's steps, heading to the main hall to receive the messenger. And as he arrives at the double-doored entrance, he finds his father, Duke of Venningham, and the summoned household anticipating the news as they wait for him, from the noble personages on the dais—his brother Admiral, Lady Sariah, and the Duchess of Venningham—to those of the lower ranks; ladies, pages, maids, escorts, butlers, attendants, and even the kitchen staffs and the servitors who create an aisle to allow the messenger in white and blue livery to approach the Lord of the House.

The great hall, with its glittering chandeliers and huge oak stairway, buzzes with expectancy, painting a picture of days when it welcomes great news of the realm. Yet, for all he knows, this is his father's meaning to announce his mighty accomplishments to everyone in Venningham Hall, from the extravagantly dressed ladies and nobles to the lowliest of errand boys.

"You have taken your time, Ilayan," the Duke whispers as he sits in a well-carved seat cushioned in velvet, reminding him of his manners and disrespect to the time of the Emperor's messenger. "His Majesty, the Emperor has sent his personal herald to the Venningham Hall, all must hear it."

The caped officer bows before them, yet clearly, implying an emphasis on Ilayan, the youngest first-class general, the favored successor of the Venningham Dukedom, and the subject of the Emperor's message. It is to him, aside from the Duke and Duchess, that he defers meaningfully.

"Gracious Greetings, my Lord and Lady," he says. "The Emperor has sent his regards to the noble contributions of the Venningham household to the realm. His Majesty sends to merit your house," he declares, proceeding to read a parchment that listed the Emperor's so-called 'gift'. It includes ownership of land on the expensive streets of the capital, gold, jewelries, and sets of servants. "And he sends his delight to you, my Lord, for the descendants that you reared for the posterity of the empire. His Majesty also requests your son, General Ilayan, to visit him personally at the court by ten in the morning, to have a word rewarding your mighty leadership in defending the realm."

The hall exclaimed with hearty jubilation, praising the Emperor for his grace and reciting phrases of glorification. Even Ilayan, can't help but smile, the recognition of his three-year worth of hard work at the battlefield finally sinks into him, his accomplishments—the dream he had since his childhood. The satisfaction is wonderful, yet the Duke's calculating nudge pulls him from his merry thought, who he perceives, desires to convey his unspoken meaning in regards to his marriage. Deep inside him, he buries his annoyance, but when he scans over his brother, even with the dullness of his mind, he can sense the jealousy and disappointment that fate has favored him, more than he—the older and legitimate heir of the household. Yet, it only lasts for a flash and the glint in his eyes extinguishes as Duchess Esmeralda performs her hospitality, inviting the herald for food and refreshments as she dismisses the servants, signaling their return to their respective duties.

They transfer the conversation to the private lodging, near the manor's great staircase, and although the size is not even a quarter of the hall, the luxury of rich, artful hangings and trendy tapestries embellished the wall extraordinarily, even the space is more than enough to host six of them.

"You don't have to be overly modest, have a seat for a while," Lady Esmeralda says amiably which is a rare scene in Ilayan's eyes, in his mind, he praises how she perfectly does her job in lowering the officer's guard.

"I shall visit the Emperor's Majesty once he is free from the matters that keep him occupied," Duke Hugo says, expressing his gratification. "How is he these days, the Emperor?" he inquires, sipping the tea brewed by the Duchess, conversing normally, only that, for those who understand his drift, Ilayan, the Admiral, and the Ladies, hear the caution, implying that he is to venture an intriguing topic.

"He is more than well, although he had spent more time with the court for the plan of consolidating the empire after the war, yet, he is looser these days, as the court officials say."

He nods, as if in deep thoughts. Among the people who remained in the hall, none is holding their ears carelessly. "Did something happen in the court to reckon them the impression?" he asks further.

"The court has been stable," the messenger says, dropping his formality. Perhaps because he rode to Venningham early in the morning or he feels comfortable with the conversation that he is willing to speak more. "Only that for years, tensions are forming in the court and backhouse as the Majesty has been ignoring the pleadings of the Minister of Household Management and the Minister of Royal Bloodline, in regards to the marriage of the Seventh Prince. He has long been ripe to match a mate but he was betrothed to no one. Yet now…" his words come to pause as he cautiously glances at Ilayan as if measuring his temper.

Ilayan observes the Duke's action, as he squints and eyes him keenly, and certain to his instincts, there seems to have speculation sprouting in his father's gaze. "Continue speaking."

Looking back in forth between the father and son, the messenger swallows his courtesy and braves to speak. "A rumor circled the court yesterday," he says hesitantly. "Although the details are not within my knowledge, I heard much—that the Seventh Prince has refused to lead the prayer over Khie'lal's temple to rendezvous with General Valquistine, and that coming from insolent tongues, spreading the Prince and General's affair. Most say that they had been in loved for long, praising the Majesty's affection for his son, a considerate and doting father as he did not give in to the pressure of the court to protect the Prince's love."

Ilayan's eyes widen in surprise, to him, it was nothing but a simple incident, not expecting to result in such grandeur. He looks at his father, but in contrast, it seems that he has taken it impassively as if already foreshadowed the news. If not used on him, he might still praise the masterminds for a well-designed scheme, linking Rionne to him, and not even the Emperor's Majesty can contradict, only if he desires to have his pretense of a loving father fade. Ilayan raises his lips in irony, the events at the royal estate were only known to him and the Prince, and if Rionne wants, he can come out to clear his name from this controversy that will inevitably affect his reputation. Yet he did not. It seems, that perhaps, he had underestimated him and Lady Michelle, who he believes is the most desperate to snare him a marriage through Rionne.

For a moment, there is dead air in the room, of which Ilayan regards that the people—his father, the Admiral, Lady Sariah, and Lady Esmeralda—must have spent running calculations in their scheming minds.

"Then, how did the Majesty take it?" the Duke asks.

"He acts ambiguously, neither confirming nor refuting the rumor. Very unlikely to how he took the matter of the Seventh Prince's marriage," he tells them. "Thus, it only resulted in bolder speculations that perhaps, the Seventh Prince and the General have long promised each other's hearts and are now in talks of union."

---End of Chapter----

—noir_alois—