Dreaded Possibilities

Princess Julianna's morning went by almost mechanically, inertia carrying her through the motions of the day. The lives of royals were often subject to great interest from the common folk, yet what they failed to realize was the inherent dullness that accompanied their existence. Conferences, luncheons, lessons, balls, and new acquaintances formed the majority of their reality.

Even the Blackguard family, who were the supremacy of Russian monarchs, could not escape this fate.

As the carriage slightly jolted over the small pebbles that coated the roads, she lay her head back against the cushioned wall and watched the orderly stone buildings of the Third Segment pass before her eyes. The Segment was divided into different regions, each dedicated to a certain form of building to maintain the integrity of the city. At the lowest point, nearest to the Second Segment, were businesses. They tended to be shorter buildings of red bricks, with colorful banners that served as signs hanging from the doorways.

In the middle were schools, hospitals, theaters and such. This was the part of town that Julianna visited most often.

And finally, at the top most part, were residences. They were all identical buildings of four stories tall, made entirely of gray stones and wooden beams. Nearly every resident of the Third lived here, and so did certain lower-ranked officials that worked in Semper.

The village, overall, was nothing compared to Semper, but it was nice.

Compared to what Julianna had just spent the past two hours in, it could have passed as the commune of Versailles.

Horace and Julianna had just finished business in Rhyles, where she suspected the polluted air had ruined half her lungs and taken twenty years off her life. She loathed visiting Rhyles. The mere thought of the place made her skin crawl with millions of imagined little pests.

Outside her window, the city gradually thinned out, making way for the trimmed trees that lined the driveway of the fortress. In the far distance, hidden by the curtain of vegetation, was a small cluster of white limestone buildings. It was where the wealthiest officials and merchants lived. The most well-known of them was Lawrence Murray, whom Julianna was having tea with in less than an hour.

Several of those small communities were dispersed around the perimeters of Semper. Her father preferred having the strongest of his legion within reach at all times. To offer aid, to facilitate business. To survey them.

With every roll of the wheels, the trees grew thicker and thicker until the outside world was completely obscured and all that remained were leaves of every autumn shade, from apricot to merigold to the few remaining emeralds. The branches had grown long enough to reach across the driveway and intertwine into an arch above head. It felt like traveling into another world, one of peaceful daylight, pleasant surprises, and enchanting mysteries.

Julianna was just letting herself soak in the mystic of it all when the passage of trees came to an abrupt end, the magic faded, and trumpets echoed in three sharp blares. She heard the grand gates swing ajar, and at long last found herself back in the protective embrace of Fort Semper.

The clean air that the wind brought in caressed her cheeks, the smooth stones under the wheels finally bringing a relieving end to the constant joggle of the trip.

She glanced at her older brother, knowing he must have been twice as relieved to be back as she was. Horace was known for being a high-maintenance germaphobe. If Rhyles had made Julianna want to climb up a tree and hide, for him, it must have been the eighteenth level of Hell.

He was sitting across from her in the plush red velvet space, his head turned slightly towards his window, legs crossed at the knees, and hands folded neatly in his lap. He was nice to look at, when his face wasn't occupied by an arrogant smirk or a disgusted sneer. He'd inherited their mother's sleek, scarlet-colored hair, which he recently had snipped to the tip of his earlobes. He had it slicked back and out of his face to display his porcelain forehead. Despite having eight more years of exposure to the sun than Julianna, he'd retained the ghost-pale skin tone that she'd discarded before she'd even turned ten.

His light hazel eyes, he'd also received from Melinda. They were so pale that in the dark, his eyes seemed as if they had no irises. But they were as sharp as needles and as cold as frost, which made them stand out even more than Julianna's own abnormal red eyes.

His entire person resembled the faded picture of a once vibrant man.

A ghost prince.

She spied him surveying her out of the corner of his eye, and before he could face her, she turned away. Always one step ahead.

She could never let her guard down around Horace. She had to be vigilant, well-poised, and acute at all times.

This was the result of their long-lasting sibling competitiveness. Only they were skilled enough to challenge the other, so in term, were each other's only competition. Their mutual desire for the throne was just another element that kindled the flame and expanded it into a forest fire that constantly blazed around the entire family.

However, their relationship grew even more sour when Julianna was crowned heir a year ago.

The succession to the Blackguard throne, unlike most other European thrones, was not under a system of male preference cognatic primogeniture, meaning that Horace, the eldest son of King Sebastian, was never inherently destined to be first in line of succession. Nevertheless, most, including her brother, still thought he would be crowned without any troubles.

All until Julianna entered her first battle in Ukraine at twelve years old and accidentally saved the life of a general. Most of it had been chance. She had been riding her horse, Castiel, away from the hustle, looking through her binoculars at the fight before her. Her father had been behind her, inspecting how she reacted in the field.

Suddenly, she had heard the roaring neigh of a horse in pain and turned her head, only to watch it fall to the ground. Horses had a special place in Julianna's heart, and she'd been saddened by its possible death, but the sight of the black rose imprinted on its saddle had snapped her right out of her sorrow.

One of her men had fallen.

Before she could have even caught a glimpse of the soldier, a brute of a man had raised an ax right above him. Without a second thought, she'd dropped her binoculars to the ground, loaded her crossbow, and let an arrow fly.

She'd never thought she would succeed. The distance, lack of time, and hurried motion of it all had already robbed her of all hope.

However, fortunately for she and the general, luck was in their favor, as the arrow found its mark in the base of the assailant's skull and he became yet another lifeless body in the pile of dead.

It was only when the enemy plummeted that Julianna saw the petrified face of General Comwell, and realized the prominence of what she had just done. Seconds later, he'd looked up, locked eyes with her, and gawked at the young princess that had just saved his life.

The seconds seemed to have stretched, the movements around her slowed and faded into the background. In that moment, staring in the face of one of the bravest men she'd ever come upon, seeing the relief, fear, and amazement on his features, she knew that shot would change her life.

And it did. It started attracting attention to her already-existent skills, which placed her in contention for the throne. Three years later, she was inaugurated crown princess.

However, it did not change the fact that the sudden stops of the carriage came unannounced and startling.

Her body was jostled forward, and her thoughts seemed to spill out of her as her mind went suddenly blank. They were parked in the stables, where Ines worked every single day of the week. Julianna casually peaked out the window to see if she was there, but was instead greeted by the alarmed face of a footman who had come to open her door.

Disappointed, Julianna grabbed the hood of the carriage with one hand and gracefully swung down. On the other hand, her older brother was taking his sweet time waiting for someone to deliver a wooden step stool before descending as well.

Once they were both out of the carriage and the two doormen gone with their bags, her brother posed a casual question.

"What did you think, Caz?" asked Horace, pulling at the tips of his gloves. His eyes were turned down to his hands but his head remained straight, as if even his own gloves had to suffer the stealth of his disapproving glare. Whatever they had done to him, Julianna did not know, but she knew she would not take their place for anything.

'Caz' was an abbreviation of her middle name, Cassandra. They referred to each other using their middle names when they wanted the other person to be honest in their response, not evasive the way they were when questioned by officials. This code was one of the few things they shared that wasn't entirely negative, and she enjoyed these infrequent instants, where they were not opponents but two people who had just gone through something unpleasant together and could now fulminate over it together.

Julianna looked around, making sure no one could eavesdrop. Royals were exactly like everyone else, meaning they had their own opinions, and not all of them were positive. To be honest, few were. And the servants did not need to hear them and spread them across town like the latest gossip sheets.

There was not a soul in sight, but still, she kept her voice low and her pace quick.

"Rhyles is a pigsty, the Dearnaleys beyond useless, and Father ought to fire them before putting the district under the capitol's direct sovereignty," she answered.

"Yes, you have been speaking of this 'direct sovereignty' since you were fourteen," he sighed, snickering and shaking his head as if she'd just suggested they invite leprechauns to dinner that night.

Agitated and angered by her brother's dismissal of her opinions, she raised her voice and insisted, "Yes, because Rhyles has been a dump since I was fourteen!"

Horace scoffed, looking exhausted. Any thoughts differing from his only fueled his already blazing ego, which made it impossible to reason with him.

Once out of the north wing that housed the stables, Julianna covertly glanced at him. Horace was looking straight forward, his head held high enough that his nostrils could just as well have been his eyes.

Julianna had once asked Sebastian why he'd chosen her as his heir as opposed to Horace. He replied saying her brother's arrogance would one day ruin him, and regardless of what may be right, he would take the legion and everything he could down with him.

This fact was the only thing that restrained Julianna from knocking the conceit right off his face. If his arrogance was what had led to her being the subsequent ruler, then she prayed he would only grow in arrogance.

As their silence stretched, a maid walked up next to Horace, so he leisurely pulled off his gloves and tossed them at her, but missed the cushion she was holding and hit her face. He did not even spare a glimpse in her general direction.

The girl couldn't have been older than twelve, with sweet pink cheeks, innocent eyes, and, now, long dirt marks on her forehead. However, she still looked up at Horace's profile as if he were Apollo riding in a floating gold chariot.

His sharp good looks certainly attained him a large number of admirers. Even Princess Clementine of Legion Wallace had fallen victim to his glamor, and it was said that she'd begged her father to propose a marriage between her and Horace when the latter was only eighteen. In spite of that, it had been turned down. The Wallaces were the Russian equivalents of Marie Antoinette, and no Blackguard wanted to be related to them. But it had served as proof to Horace's attractiveness, which Julianna had beforehand always denied to him.

His army of admirers were also known for spending half of their hard-earned money on buying him flowers for when he visited the villages. Just like today, he'd returned to Moscow with almost a hundred roses from the inhabitants of Rhyles. However, he'd thrown them in the back of their carriage and ordered their chauffeur to burn them alongside the road before they arrived in the capital.

For once, Julianna did not blame him. Everything in Rhyles looked like it had been buried in the wet mud for decades and recently dug out. Even Julianna, who was about as low-maintenance as a princess could be, did not want those roses anywhere near her home.

"You do not seem to understand how hard that would be to manage," Horace spoke up, picking back up the subject she thought they'd already discarded. He quickened his pace before Julianna could respond, forcing her to jog a bit to match his pace again. She was already tall for her age at five and a half feet tall, but she was no match for Horace's six feet and the long legs that accompanied that.

"I know of the inner workings of our legion, thank you very much," she said defiantly. "All I am saying is Rhyles can no longer be ruled in this way. Father refuses to retire the Dearnaleys, only because they're his in-laws! I understand his desire to do right by his family, but it would be preferable if that didn't come at the cost of one of our districts!" Julianna said, growing more and more flustered.

To this Horace gave no response. He must have expected this conversation to provide more entertainment, and when it failed to deliver, he discarded it the way he did his gloves. Julianna turned her head away. She had had enough of her brother for one day.

Neither spoke up again as they continued across the courtyard towards the south wing. En route, they spotted Jameson, who was walking in their general direction. However, he did not seem to have seen them, which was strange. Their brother had very heightened senses, and was usually sensitive to even the smallest of stimulations. He'd once sensed a spider somewhere in his room while in deep sleep and had forced Julianna to get up and look for it with him. They'd ended up spending two hours rummaging through every compartment looking for the cursed creature but came up fruitless, until Julianna was one foot out the door and the insect came crawling down from the canopy above his bed.

"James!" Horace called out, waving their brother over. Jameson's head snapped up, revealing startled eyes behind his maroon curls. He'd been even more oblivious to their presence than Julianna thought, which alarmed her further. This was very unlike him.

As Jameson came closer, she tilted her head to inspect his bent-down visage. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, except perhaps slightly darker bags under his eyes than usual.

Unlike Julianna, who purposefully hid her attractive features so as to not be judged prematurely, Jameson had never cared in the least about the way he looked. Like a horse let to run wild in prairies, Jameson let his body change in whatever ways it wished to, tempering with it as least as possible. His hair was always unruly, his shirts often buttoned wrong and his collars sometimes popped in certain spots.

He was a chaotic tangle of a prince, but he liked himself that way. Any attempt to tinker with his ways was met with struggles, arguments, and, on rare, unwelcome occurrences, yells.

Their stylist had once had to put up with such infamous yells when he put gel all over his curls to tame them for Arabella's thirteenth birthday party when the twins were ten. Jameson had claimed the smell made him nauseous and asked him to wash it out, but he refused, saying he'd been directly ordered by Sebastian to tidy up his son's hair. Jameson had yelled and stomped his feet until Julianna had pushed the stylist out the doors and helped Jameson wash it out.

The next time someone tried to put gel on him, he knocked the can out of the person's hand and drove them away with a hairbrush. No one ever approached him on the matter ever again.

Jameson was now walking directly towards the pair, looking straight at them with his hands stuck deep in his pockets. Even from a distance, they could spot his unusual red eyes. The same exact eyes as Julianna.

They were a mix of cognac and red, reflectant like the surface of a lake, and deep set like two small pits of fire.

Those eyes were a representative feature of House Blackguard. Not many members of the family had them, but they only appeared in the Blackguard family, and those who had them always left a significant impact on history. The best example, of course, was Queen Lorelai. But before her, there'd been Queen Daniella, who'd famously settled a troublesome three-year-long war with Ukraine while seven months pregnant with her son.

This eminent trait was passed on to Sebastian, but only slightly. His eyes were maroon, more brown than red. But it returned in Julianna and Jameson, promising great accomplishments in their future.

"Well, don't you look fresh from the fields," said Horace, eyeing his little brother up and down with a quizzical look on his face as he draped an arm around Jameson's shoulders. Julianna leaned past Horace to look at her twin. His beige pants were ruffled, his jacket missing a button and crinkled at the shoulders and elbows, his boots smeared heavily with mud, and his white chemise underneath smeared with something red. Some sort of powder.

Jameson did not answer, only stared down as he neatly re-folded his cuffs.

The three siblings continued walking until Julianna excused herself to prepare for tea with the Murrays, very much disturbed by her twin's attire.

Horace was right. He did look fresh from the fields. There was no way he would end up looking this way after a day in Semper, unless their father had suddenly decided upon a farmer internship for his son.

The crinkles by his shoulders and elbows signified exercise that required great amounts of stretching. Jameson never exercised wearing formal suits. No one did. There was no mud on the pavements of Semper, dozens of servants made sure of it. And unless he'd been experimenting with whatever was in his room again, Julianna could not phantom how he'd gotten red powder on his shirt. And even if that were the case, he would have changed.

The conclusion that the signs led to made a cold feeling of dread wash over her.

Her twin had not been on the fortress premises when this happened. He'd been engaging in atypical activities. More precisely, activities reserved for servants.

What if he'd been out in the fields with someone?

Could it be that Scarlett was right?