CHAPTER IX: Respite

ALXINFIELD, Royal Estate, Year 079 Y.D

The night is young, vast navy skies extend towards all of Alxinfield, below lies thousands of boxes of golden lights, stretching far away into the distance where Rionne's gaze floats. His finger glides a song befitting the hum of the cold breeze and swaying magnolias, oaks, and pines. He stands by the balcony, in his sapphire robe adorned by the golden swan pendant in his delicate, slender neck, only a step away from the stone railings painted in white, and despite the noises of laughter and incomprehensible murmurs that travels far from the cramped streets, his focus remains at the east.

The Venningham hall.

Recently, fifteenth of March, he had celebrated his twenty-second birthday, making him the oldest unmarried descendant of the revered emperor. He knows that there are those who covet him, not only for his beauty, but also for the status he held, yet he remained unconcerned. Neither he can be. For as long as he is in his cold-blooded, ambitious adoptive mother's grasp, liberty is not within his reach. And then there is his brother and the Emperor, both would greet him with a smile that did not even have a touch of genuine affection, but more of an arrow of which direction toward is not within his predictions. A mystery he can't uncover, not right now, for he is aware that they are both Pandora's boxes that his current power and ability cannot afford to close.

He is inches away from falling off a cliff, without any control of his fate, yet he can't do anything. He can only make sure that he would have to land in a green pasture.

Suddenly, his tapering fingers freeze, his red plum lips parting from the ivory lip plate of his flute, and the melody like a moon's song in every starless night disappears; he hears footsteps approaching. Unlike most seiths and ladies of noble descents, he is never one to remain at the boudoir, reading or indulging in tea, for he had fallen in love with archery, hunting, and the flute. So as, more than anything, he is most sensitive to sounds.

"Your Highness." A young boy, between sixteen and seventeen, liveried in white embroidered with initials SP appears as the French door opens. His personal servant, Sol, who he had bought from Hunder Building, a place where human slaves are sold. And now, the muddied, freckled child has grown into a fine, well-bred seith.

"Lady Michelle has sent a summon to her palace," he intones.

Rionne glances at the moving, grey clouds. "She did not even wait for a night to pass," he sneers. He already perceives the conversation that he is to have, but he is willing to bear being a part of her treacherous schemes.

"Very well, let's not make her wait anymore," he says. He hurriedly changes his clothes into a double-breasted tailcoat, then makes his way down the stairs as Sol follows, maintaining five paces away behind him.

Fifteen minutes passed, he is now covered by a blue, velvet cloak, blending with the lights in the courtyard of Florentine Mansion, the residence of the Fifth Prince, his wives, and Lady Michelle. A groom with a bearded, stern face escorts them to the privy lodgings, a place familiar to him since childhood, the same place where he would be severely educated as part of his royal bearing. His eyes wander around the extravagance of conglomerating jeweled colors, trendy tapestries, and expensive marble floorings. But unlike its regular business—no ladies hurrying by the corridors, sweeping or carrying sorts of fabrics—it is strangely quiet, not even several decorations for today's feast, for the Lady had indirectly expressed her unbelief on Khie'lal, yet the emperor and the priests seem to have tolerated her behavior which supposedly is considered as heresy.

"You are here," Lady Michelle says as he enters the cozy, embellished room. A scent of fragrant honey rushes to his senses as the wooden door closes. Unsurprisingly, his brother is also inside, seated beside his mother, and similar to the situation outside, not a single servant is inside to attend her, and even Sol was not permitted to enter.

"My lady," Rionne bows. the other signals him to sit opposite her. There is a teacup in front of him; she pours him one. He finds her action ironic, her willingness to serve him must be another trick to cover up the schemes she hatches. For years, it has always been like that, although they are both aware that he will end up bending his knee, and lowering his head to her demands, still, she never fails to maintain a righteous and virtuous pretext. A behavior that he finds nauseating.

"How was your talk with the General?"

"It went well, Madam. You don't have to worry. I will do my end," he replies. The lady seems to be satisfied with his answer. However, there are no evident changes in her face.

Their purpose is clear to him, so as, he believes that the eagle-eyed Emperor as well as the other concubines in the imperial harem who have Princes under their knees are not ignorant as they pretend to be. Yet, among his siblings, only he is the available marriageable candidate, the ninth Prince already had an engagement and will be wedded when he turns nineteen, the fifth and sixth princess have not yet reached eighteen, making her plan seamless. But, they all share the same mind refined by the lively backhouse. None will let them succeed easily, for it will create a huge imbalance among the Princes.

However, even the power struggle did not concern him, he is certain that the moment they conspired to bag the Valquistine Family's military power, then he will never be separated from the intrigues that plagued him, his sister, and his real mother. He never was, to begin with, a curse he had bear for the royal blood that runs through his vein.

But he has to gamble.

"There are still no movements from the other Princes, but I am sure that it is coming," she says, squinting her eyes.

"There should be nothing major for now, Madam," the Prince reassures, then he eyes Rionne, "Brother if this marriage is to happen, it will only bring fortune for you. Ilayan is a gentleman of both military and scholarly bearing. His appearance is noteworthy and his status, might be lower than us, but the power and influence he can have in the future is certain that could overlap even our brothers. So, it is you who have to make most of the initiative to seal the agreement. We can only help you internally."

Rionne faces him then bestows a smile of gratitude. "I am more than grateful, brother."

Act, pretend—the most he had mastered in their care for years. Now, even they can't see through his façade.

"Well, that is," Lady Michelle nods, then, her face becomes solemn. "Enough of that, I have called you here for the latter arrangements I designed to have you and Ilayan grow closer, however, you don't have to specifically know them to maintain your ignorance in front of him and make your play natural. You only have to let the current flow."

'I will bear that in mind, Madam."

After they had several exchanges, Rionne bids his farewell. As he exits, he is welcomed by Sol, who he supposed to be standing outside for a long time now. He nods at him and takes the cloak from his hands, then they proceed to walk back to his mansion. He steps slow, yet his mind runs, wondering, imploring for a respite from the devious life he lives. But it only lasts for a moment, as he closes his eyes, breathes then begins to walk again.

There is no turning back for a path he was born with. He has to continue. He must.