Chapter 38: A Day of Rest

The D'Arcy mansion was unusually quiet, its grand halls absent of the sound of rehearsals or the rhythmic steps of ballet practice. The sunlight poured in through the high windows, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and luxurious furniture. For once, the echoes of disciplined movement had ceased.

Etienne lay on the sprawling velvet sofa in the sitting room, his body draped in soft blankets. It had been weeks, perhaps months, since he had allowed himself a moment of genuine rest. His muscles still ached from the relentless training, but for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no urgency driving him out of bed.

Lucien had granted him a day of rest—one day—and Etienne wasn't sure how to feel about it. He hadn't even argued when Lucien told him to take the day off. Part of him wanted to push back, to insist he keep training for Varna, but his body had betrayed him, sinking into the cushions without protest. He knew deep down that he needed this break more than he was willing to admit.

As he lay there, staring at the ornate ceiling, Etienne's mind wandered. The house was beautiful, grandiose in every way—an estate that exuded elegance, much like Lucien himself. The mansion, situated on the outskirts of Paris, had become his home, yet at times it felt foreign, like a gilded cage.

The air inside was still, almost suffocating in its silence. In the absence of movement, Etienne felt restless. His mind wasn't used to being idle. Even though his body demanded rest, his thoughts raced, a relentless churn of ballet positions, upcoming choreography, and Lucien's ever-present expectations.

He stood up, his feet padding across the polished wood floors as he wandered toward the grand window that overlooked the estate's vast gardens. The view stretched for acres—a perfectly manicured landscape of hedges, fountains, and pathways that wound through lush greenery. The garden was peaceful, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves in the afternoon breeze.

Etienne gazed out, watching the birds flit from tree to tree, the simplicity of their movements a stark contrast to the intense focus and precision demanded of him. A pang of envy tugged at him. They were free, their lives unburdened by the crushing weight of expectations, of titles, of legacies. He wondered what it would feel like to live so freely, without the constant pressure to be perfect.

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Lucien entered, dressed in his usual elegant attire, his sharp features softened slightly by the warm light of the room.

"How are you feeling?" Lucien asked, his voice calm, but there was a hint of concern that Etienne had rarely heard.

"Better, I guess," Etienne replied, still looking out the window. "Just... not used to this."

Lucien approached him, standing beside him to gaze out at the same serene garden. "Rest is just as important as practice, Etienne. Without it, your body—and your mind—will break."

Etienne nodded absently, though he wasn't fully convinced. Every fiber of his being was wired to push through pain, to keep going no matter what. Rest felt unnatural, almost wasteful.

"You're allowed to take a breath," Lucien continued, his voice softer now. "The world will not fall apart if you rest for a day."

Etienne gave a small, almost bitter laugh. "Sometimes it feels like it will."

Lucien turned to face him, his gaze steady. "That's the pressure speaking. Not you."

Etienne finally met his father's eyes, searching for something in them—approval, maybe understanding. It was always hard to tell with Lucien. He was so controlled, so composed, that even when he was being caring, there was a distance between them. It was a distance that had defined their relationship since the moment Etienne had become his heir, his son.

But there was something different today. For once, Etienne wasn't sure if Lucien was speaking as his teacher or his father. There was a vulnerability in Lucien's expression, a recognition that perhaps even he had pushed too far. Lucien, the ever-exacting master, seemed to understand now that the line had been crossed.

"You've already achieved so much, Etienne," Lucien said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But you are still human. Even the greatest dancers have limits."

The words hung in the air between them. Etienne didn't respond, but for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to accept them. The weight he had been carrying on his shoulders—of perfection, of living up to Lucien's expectations—began to lighten, if only slightly.

Lucien stepped back. "You have the day, Etienne. Use it well."

With that, Lucien left the room, leaving Etienne alone with his thoughts once more.

The rest of the day passed in a strange haze of stillness. Etienne found himself lounging in various rooms of the mansion, never settling in one place for too long. He drifted through the expansive library, his fingers trailing over the spines of old books, and wandered through the art gallery, pausing in front of the grand portraits that lined the walls. He had seen these rooms countless times, but today, everything felt different—like seeing them through fresh eyes.

For once, he wasn't thinking about technique or competitions. He wasn't rehearsing choreography in his head or worrying about whether his form was perfect. He was just... existing. It felt foreign but not entirely unpleasant.

As evening approached, Etienne found himself back in the garden, sitting by the fountain. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the estate. The soft sound of the water bubbling from the fountain was the only noise, and for the first time in a long time, Etienne felt a sense of calm wash over him.

He closed his eyes, letting the peace of the moment envelop him. Tomorrow, the relentless pace would begin again. Tomorrow, he would return to the grueling training, the preparation for Varna, the life that had been carved out for him as Etienne D'Arcy.

But today, just for today, he allowed himself to rest.