Mother's Blood

Her son is the spitting image of his father—people would always tell her that, and Wales would never deny it.

Nobody would see Prince of Wales in the boy—not even the slightest hint that would show the world that she's indeed the mother. Not from his jet-black hair, his hazel eyes, or the shape of his face.

Despite that, nobody had ever questioned his parentage—not Wales's sisters, including even the infamously cynical Monarch, nor the other residents of the base.

"There's more to heredity than just physical appearances. I definitely could see you in him," the boy's father told her when she brought it up once. She wasn't that concerned nor distressed—he's still the son she undeniably had given birth to, after all—but one can only be curious for so long. 

The answer certainly didn't help at that time, but watching her son grow up had opened her eyes, and only then did she finally understand.

"Well done. That concludes today's lesson," George addressed the panting lad.

"Thank you very much, auntie," he bowed amid ragged breaths.

"Good job," Wales passed her son a bottle of water, which he gratefully accepted.

"Teaching him fencing reminds me of you, Wales, and now I must wonder why you don't instruct him yourself. You've always been the best fencer among us," George remarked.

"One, you are my older sister, and two, I need someone impartial."

"Well then. If you put it that way, I shall continue my tutelage."

"Thank you. By the way…"

"Yes?"

"So he reminds you of me?"

George glanced at the boy; he continued to practice fencing forms by himself.

"Determination; diligence; talent; willingness to right wrongs. Yes, he does remind me of you."

Wales only laughed a little at that, which George noted was atypically self-satisfied.

"Did I say something funny?"

"Nothing. Just recalling something," Wales smiled. That smile didn't last long as she noticed Belfast coming. The maid was solemn.

"What is it…?" Wales raised a brow.

"This is most unfortunate, but I've received reports that the young master has been flipping skirts and, in the case of Miss Illustrious, groping. She dismissed it as an accident, but I'll leave that to your judgment."

Her expression darkening, Wales whipped around to face the boy, whose face was now devoid of color.

"Uh, mom, you see…"

"Don't bother explaining. What did I tell you about acting in such an ungentlemanly fashion?"

"Um, well, you know—seeyouauntie!"

"YOUNG MAN, COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

George and Belfast watched as mother and son disappeared from sight.

While Belfast could only shake her head—partly out of pity for both—George chuckled.

That boy really took after his mother, indeed.