Late Guest

{ 6 YEARS, 2 WEEKS, AND 4 DAYS LATER… }

It was around eight-thirty in the morning.

Mirac was standing in front of the castle entrance, in the wide atrium. He wore a light blue velvet tunic, adorned with thin golden embroidery along the edges and sleeves. His black, knee-length trousers revealed white stockings that ended in shiny, well-maintained black ankle boots.

The enormous wooden doors, tall and imposing, stood as guardians of the main entrance. Carved with intricate patterns of rosettes and noble crests, the doors were reinforced with sturdy iron studs and adorned with golden handles, gleaming even in the sunlight. The impressive wooden structure conveyed a sense of authority and grandeur, reflecting the majesty of the entire castle.

The hall, on the other hand, was vast and airy, with a marble floor laid out in a black and white checkerboard pattern. The red walls were adorned with tapestries and shields, while at the center of the high vaulted ceiling hung a large crystal chandelier that sparkled like a constellation of suspended lights.

The tall, narrow windows, framed by heavy dark red velvet drapes, allowed a soft light to filter through, illuminating the space with a golden glow.

On either side of the entrance, two finely decorated terracotta vases caught the eye of anyone passing by. Each vase was adorned with sculpted reliefs of leaves and flowers, painted in shades of green and gold that enhanced their beauty.

The tall plants emerging from these containers were lush and well-tended: evergreens with dense, glossy leaves created a vibrant contrast with the cool brown of the terracotta vases. Their branches intertwined in an elegant, orderly pattern, adding a touch of freshness and liveliness to the solemn atmosphere.

To Mirac's left, Carmen stood with the impeccable posture of someone accustomed to discipline, her gaze fixed on the imposing wooden doors. Every now and then, she would glance to her left, at the young Prince, but her demeanor remained composed and watchful.

Meanwhile, Mirac nervously drummed his fingers against his leg, his gaze fixed on the massive wooden doors that showed no sign of opening.

Every now and then, he shot irritated glances at the emptiness of the hall, hoping that time would hurry up out of sheer whim. The hours spent standing in front of the entrance had brought him to a state of exasperated impatience, a bad mood worsened by his constant yawning.

The silent, orderly calm of the hall stood in stark contrast to the growing annoyance building inside him, increasingly difficult to ignore.

"Oh, come on, when is he going to arrive?!" Mirac burst out, unable to hold back his frustration any longer.

Carmen slowly turned towards him, her gaze reproachful, with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Young Prince, such language is not appropriate for one of your stature."

Mirac looked at her defiantly, casually picking his nose with his pinkie.

"Oh yeah?! Really?! Even when I'm forced to wake up at six in the morning to receive someone I've never seen or met?"

Carmen raised an eyebrow, maintaining the calm that her role required.

"The rules of courtesy of the Kingdom of Ardorya1 require that the guest be welcomed with respect and patience, even if he or she is late. It is part of our protocol."

"More than a latecomer, he just seems like a retard to me..." Mirac retorted, not even bothering to lower his voice.

Carmen gasped with anger, blushing furiously as she turned back toward Mirac, her gaze as hard as the stones of the atrium.

"Young Prince! Your behavior is unacceptable! If you continue like this, I will be forced to report everything to His Majesty the King and the Queen. And stop picking your nose immediately, thank you!"

Mirac sighed, lowering his hand with a bored gesture. He had no intention of arguing with Carmen, because he simply didn't feel like it. But frustration gnawed at him, and the weight of the tedious wait was unbearable. The atrium seemed to swallow him, amplifying every bit of his impatience.

Then, as if a thought had suddenly exploded in his mind, Mirac widened his eyes.

"Wait a minute! I didn't invite him. So why the hell do I have to wait for him?"

Carmen nodded, her expression understanding yet firm.

"You are right, young Prince. The invitation was sent by the King himself. However, due to his commitments, the responsibility of receiving him was entrusted to you. Consider this an opportunity for growth, a small training for the future."

Mirac rolled his eyes, biting his tongue to hold back another complaint.

'So they're dumping all the work on me, huh?' he thought, yet again burying his silent rebellion beneath another unwanted duty. 'And then, why did I have to come here to wait for him since seven in the morning, if his arrival was scheduled for eight?! It doesn't make any sense at all!'

But then, slowly, the large wooden door creaked open, almost without a sound.

Mirac and Carmen turned in unison, their gazes fixed on the man emerging from the shadows of the entrance.

'Finally!' Mirac thought, with a sigh of relief.

Through the door entered a tall, slim man who looked to be around forty years old. His gray, disheveled hair was scattered messily over his sweaty forehead, which glistened slightly from the exertion.

He wore round, iron-framed glasses that framed his lively, dark eyes, while his thick eyebrows seemed to move in rhythm with his heavy breathing.

All of this added a touch of disarray to his already chaotic and unkempt appearance: black trousers held up by a leather belt, a half-buttoned lilac shirt with sweat-stained armpits, and a black tie hanging loosely around his neck. His black dress shoes were untied, one of them even completely open.

A medium black hammered leather shoulder bag hung from his shoulder. The rectangular-shaped bag, with rounded corners, featured an adjustable iron chain strap and a zip closure, with an inner pocket and two open compartments.

Once he had closed the doors behind him, the man paused for a moment to observe the surroundings and the people in front of him, taking a moment to collect himself.

'Even running, he still managed to be late? What a phenomenon!' Mirac thought ironically.

Afterward, the man who had just arrived entered clumsily, while trying to catch his breath.

"Apologies for the delay-" he started to say, but before he could finish the sentence, he tripped on his shoelaces and fell to the ground, almost face-first.

In the chaos of the fall, the bag opened and a myriad of books scattered on the floor. The man let out an embarrassed laugh as he tried to get back on his feet.

"Augh! What a pain..." he murmured, massaging his head.

"Oh, did you hurt yourself?" Carmen exclaimed, crouching down beside him and starting to pick up the books.

"Uh... No no no, I'm fine, thank you!" he replied, trying to mask his embarrassment with a nervous smile.

Carmen put the books back into the man's bag and handed it back to him, carefully adjusting the strap on the guest's shoulder.

Without saying a word or showing any emotion, she then began to straighten him up with the same meticulousness as someone taking care of a lost child: she bent down to tie his shoes with quick, precise movements, then moved on to the tie, gently pulling it to straighten it and give it a more dignified appearance. Finally, she took care of the wrinkled shirt, buttoning it carefully all the way to the top and adjusting the collar, restoring a minimal sense of composure to the man.

The latter stood there with his mouth agape and allowed himself to be helped, his expression a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

"Th-Thank you very much!" the man finally said, as Carmen stepped back and returned to the side of the young Prince.

Mirac, who had been watching the scene with wide-open eyes, was left speechless.

'Did I really wait all this time for a weirdo like him?' he thought, as a mix of disbelief and disappointment crossed his face.

The man cleared his throat, trying to dispel the embarrassment of his clumsy entrance with a cough.

"Ahem, as I was saying... Apologies for the delay," he said, bowing slightly with a touch of embarrassment.

"Don't mention it. No trouble at all," replied Carmen, returning the gesture with a formal bow.

'Yeah, we really enjoyed waiting for two hours!' thought Mirac, but he held back, merely sighing in silence.

Carmen shot him a glare, almost as if sensing the young Prince's thoughts, and Mirac, caught red-handed, responded to her stare with a fearful expression.

Under the pressure of that silent judgment, he bowed as well.

"Hello, and welcome, Mr... Uhm..." Mirac began, not really knowing how to continue.

"Oh, right! You haven't been told anything yet, young Prince," intervened Carmen, turning first towards Mirac and then towards the man.

"I-In this case, it's better to introduce myself…" he said, placing a hand on his chest in a solemn gesture.

With another bow, he introduced himself:

"My name is Vincent Shirkenn. From this day and for the next eight years, I will be your private teacher. It is an honor to meet you, young Prince..."

'Private... teacher?' thought Mirac, confused. 'It's a joke, right?! Oh yes, of course: an April Fool's joke! Oh no, I almost forgot. They don't celebrate that day here…'

Carmen, noticing the little Prince's confusion in the meantime, bent slightly toward him to clarify the situation:

"After your seventh birthday, His Majesty the King decided to entrust your education to Professor Shirkenn."

Mirac looked at the newcomer with a mix of disappointment and disbelief. The idea that such a clumsy man could be his teacher terrified him.

'Well... I'm definitely screwed!'

Noticing his distress, the servant with reddish hair tried to reassure him, whispering in his ear:

"Don't worry, young Prince. Professor Shirkenn may seem a bit odd, but don't be fooled by appearances. He is one of the best teachers in the Kingdom of Ardorya, a true expert in many disciplines. His methods have shaped some of the brightest minds in the kingdom. His Majesty the King chose him personally, knowing there is no better teacher to guide you on your path of growth."

'As much as I care about you, it's hard for me to believe you, Carmen...' thought Mirac, looking at Vincent with skeptical eyes.

After a moment, he gave in to the inevitable and asked:

"Alright... But when do the lessons start?"

Vincent smiled, replying with a subtle hint of pride:

"Today, young Prince."

"…"

Mirac sighed, accepting the situation with a resigned expression.

'Well, actually, Carmen is right: I shouldn't jump to conclusions by judging him just by his appearance...'

Upon reflection, he didn't want to behave like the people from his old world. There, in fact, his dirty and disheveled appearance was always a reason for judgment, and it almost always excluded him from any place he went to for his needs, like the library or the stores, of course, only when he managed to gather enough money to shop.

They saw him as someone without money, instead of treating him like a normal person. 

But after all, this is exactly what poverty represents in society: a label, a distinction, an invisible boundary that separates those who have from those who don't, those who can from those who must struggle to survive.

Once again, his new luxurious life had almost made him forget these details.

'I am grateful to you, Carmen... Like 6 years ago, you prevented me from forgetting my old shitty life!'

While Mirac was reflecting, the servant with reddish hair turned around and, without further delay, invited them to follow her.

"Young Prince, Professor Shirkenn... I will take you to the classroom prepared for your lessons."

The two followed her in silence, walking through the vast corridors of the castle, surrounded by ancient tapestries and imposing statues, while Mirac tried to mentally prepare himself for his new fate under the guidance of the eccentric Vincent.