CHAPTER III: Behind the Smiles

ALXINFIELD, Venningham Hall, Year 079 Y.D

There is a commotion in the Venningham Hall, even before the sun completely devours the fading darkness. The restless liveried maids scurry in the halls, gallery, and the corridors, sweeping, dusting, and mopping, as other servants carry the golden plates on the cupboards that only appear on days of grand occasions. So as, the tables of not fewer two hundred and fifty persons, being finely skirted in red and purple silks, and even the trestles are generously arranged near the carved timber screens, separating the steeming kitchen from the ninety-feet length great hall, where the main chef bustles with his cooks, butchering meats and chopping greens, preparing the courses and courses of dishes that suit Ilayan's taste. For not only it is Khei'lal's—diety of seiths—feast today, but also, Ilayan's return.

Erin, under his steeply pitched rooflines, of the half bricked and half-timbered, single floor, red-bricked cottage, shares the same tension. As the most recent news he overheard from the gossiping laundry drudges, the homing pigeon of Ilayan's troops delivered the notification of his arrival today.

He sits by a stool, in front of a mirror beside his and Laya's wardrobe. Since yesterday, his heart has been restless. His fingers trace the pale white cheek and purple eyes stare at his plum lips, then down his evenly shaped body. It has been three years since he last met Ilayan when he was an eighteen-year-old blooming beauty, and he is afraid that his evenly shaped, and now matured body which had experienced the labor of childbirth can no longer arouse Ilayan's fancy.

"Ease up Erin," he whispers.

Suddenly, he stands up and examines all his hanging clothing, mostly in light colors, white, light bluee, and tea green, completely opposite from the daring vermillion laced gown he used to wear when performing before.

"Dad?" Laya meekly calls, his hands wander on the coverlet, looking for Erin's warmth that has long subsided, when he felt no one, he anxiously wakes up.

He is still afraid, for the absence of his father, he views himself as the man of the house, a little man in Erin's sight, yet his Dad, that is only gentle and lenient, even to his naughtiness, had been mercilessly lashed by the villains a week ago. And he can do nothing but cry and appeal to their benevolence. He was heartbroken and angry, deeply angry with the people who wounded Erin. For those, he never went out again and looked after him.

"Why are fretting again?" Erin smiles, walking towards him. "It's still early sweetheart, sleep some more so you'll have the energy to greet your father later," patting him, he adds.

"Really? My father will finally go home?" he chirps, breaking away from the quilt and cupping Erin's smooth face.

"Yes, so don't be naughty anymore, hurry and get back to sleep," he says, amused by his reaction, he also palms surround the other's bulging cheeks.

Laya giggles in delight, yet, after a moment, he falls in silence again. Then he approaches Erin and snuggles in his arms.

"What's the matter, darling?"

"My father, will he… he won't dislike me right, Dad?" he fidgets.

"Haven't I told you this before? Your father loves you very much."

"Really?" he asks, his eyes rounding.

"Really!" he assures, expecting him to be joyful, yet his son's mood also seems to be in disarray after the news of Ilayan's arrival. He keeps burying his head on his chest, wrapping him in his short, tender arms.

After a moment, he looks up to him again. "How about you, dad? Father also loves you right? He won't marry other people to replace you and become my other parent, like what they told me, right?"

The child's question stuns Erin.

And then an answer comes to him, yet he can only smile.

Serene but lonesome.

"Now, stop with your worries," he answers, pinching his nose. "You'll know it when your father returns, so get back to sleep and when you wake up, we'll welcome him back."

At eight in the morning, Erin wears a white undershirt tucked in mint trouser, layered by a bell-sleeved robe of the same color. He combs Laya's hair after dressing him in a buttoned-up shirt, a lace navy waistcoat, and a blue hooded coat.

"Here you go, pretty boy."

"Do I look good, dad?" he tiptoes in his knee-high boots. Evident in his sparkling eyes is the excitement he had not yet vented since dawn.

"Very good."

They proceed to the gates, where some members of the household gather together with their retinues and five coachmen, each sitting in a carriage. Although he feels it would be presumptous of him to be in the same ride with the nobles, he still hopes that they would not mind his presence. For he also wants to welcome Ilayan with their son.

Erin also sees the Lord Venningham who rarely stays in the manor and the virile, contemptuous look from Admiral Leonard's brown eyes.

"My Lord," he curtsies to the Duke, then proceeds to pay respect to the Admiral. Laya also mimics his actions. "Forgive my insolence, but I would like to request for your grace, please grant us the opportunity to welcome the Lord Ilayan as well."

"You? What can you do aside from bringing shame to the family?" Leonard mocks. "You are just a concubine, as well as your stupid son!"

Simultaneous laughter of mockery burst after his words, as they, the young gentlemen of the Valquistine, eyes Erin like he is a jester.

Laya's hands tighten on his own, he knows that his son's short-temper, maybe because of his pamperings and tolerance, he feels nervous for a moment, fearing that the child will retort to his uncle's degrading remarks. Fortunately, he only lowers his head, biting his lip to bear the ridicule that is terrible to hear, especially to him, a three-year-old child, whose frail mind only matured because of the circumstances inside a noble's household.

"Enough!" the Duke's deep, authoritative voice says, a single word enough to restrain the savagery of almost fifteen young men, and the Admiral as well. They straighten their backs, returning to their previous business, acting as nothing happened. Like it was not hurtful to both Erin and Laya.

He eyes the father and child, who he assumes, prepared their best vestments for today. Still, it was never a proper conduct for a low-ranked concubine, to appear in ceremonious events like the main wife of the house. Also, today is Ilayan's return, and they—his wife, Alinah Dorset, the Duchess of Venningham, and him—had agreed to take this opportunity to select a main wife, later in a small banquet honoring Ilayan's return.

"There is no need for you and your son to be in there," he says coldly. "Don't involve yourself with other affairs than warming your husband's bed. Know your limitations."

Erin lowers his head. He broods on the vivid mockery they just received and the remarks of the Duke. Again, he is brutally reminded of the truth he convinces himself that never mattered. But, deep inside, for him, it does. Especially for the people who don't even take Laya's feelings, a mere innocent child. It breaks his heart that he also had to suffer the injustices because of him.

"I understand. It's us who are rude Sir."

With a depressed mood, Erin plasters a smile to comfort Laya, and he takes him back to their house, where they would spend their time waiting until Ilayan returns.

ALXINFIELD, Supreme Palace, Year 079 Y.D.

"They are already on their way Madame," kneeling, the girl dressed in simple wool clothes says.

There are only eight of them in a jasmine-scented boudoir. The woman she talks to, Lady Michelle, elegantly sits in a meticulously carved wooden chair. She seems to be in her thoughts, yet her eagle eyes pierce on her. Her ladies stand either side. They both wear expensive dresses and unfriendly expressions on their faces. And having tea with her are two women dressed in embroidered velvets with glistening pieces of jewelry in their fingers and necks. Both have their own servant behind.

"The hero of Gedeva they say," she murmurs with a sarcastic smile. She gracefully lifts her tea to sip. "Good," she says, throwing a pouch of silver coins on the girl. "Take that and leave."

After the girl was escorted out of the room, the woman in crimson dress bursts out her suppressed irritation.

"How come?" she grits. "That bastard survived after all these years."

"Conduct yourself with modesty Lady Denise." Lady Vierra reminds. "Are you planning on something Lady Michelle?" she asks, sending a meaningful look at Lady Michelle.

"What can I do?" Lady Michelle mocks. "Even those barbarians cannot eliminate him, how can I?"

"But if we don't do something, the third prince's position─" Lady Denise reasons.

Before she can finish her sentence, Lady Michelle's glare silences her.

"This is already out of my hands. Even the emperor values Ilayan now, and several elders of the council are starting to watch over him," she says, coldly. "We cannot be reckless at this moment."

"Does my lady suggest that we'll do nothing?"

"Only for the time being," she replies, circling her tapering finger around the teacup. "I'm sure a someone impatient will act. It doesn't have to be us," the lady says, smiling.

Her words convince the anxious Lady Denise. But contrary to her, Lady Vierra remains in her thought.

"The young General will finally return after three years, not only bringing a glorious feat for the empire but will also obtain additional military power. Such a man," she says while looking at the golden ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Then she eyes Lady Michelle meaningfully. "Maybe all in line see him as a rival, but not all rivals are meant to become enemies."

Lady Dennise and Lady Michelle immediately understand her words.

"You are indeed smart," she praises meaningfully. "That is why I made a different preparation," Lady Michelle says, gracefully opening the fan to cover the scheming curve on her vicious lips.

---End of Chapter---

-noir_alois-