Stepmothers and Stepsisters

'Tsz, how embarrassing… I cried like a baby!'

It was 13. Mirac and Vincent were heading to the dining hall, having just finished their first day of lessons.

After an hour of math, where they reviewed the first ten numbers and then studied up to thirty, they had a short ten-minute break. Then followed two long hours of continental language, another break, and finally, philosophy.

Unfortunately, Mirac hadn't learned anything new beyond counting to thirty. He already had a perfect command of the continental language thanks to his innate knowledge, while for philosophy, Vincent had only given a simple introduction to the subject, barely touching on the fundamental concepts.

'I know I've already said it,' thought Mirac, recalling the schedule card he had struggled to memorize during the two breaks, 'but it's really a demanding program for someone who's supposed to be only 7 years old!'

This was perfectly justifiable, given that, after all, he was the Prince of the Kingdom of Ardorya!

Preparing to inherit the throne, rule an immense kingdom, command the armed forces, manage strategic resources, and negotiate with other powers… Every aspect of this responsibility required meticulous and advanced preparation!

Therefore, according to King Arthur, Mirac had to begin preparing for all of this, even though he was only 7 years old!

'Isn't he maybe going a bit too fast?'

Fortunately, though, Mirac—or rather, Vector—was an old soul, used to far more rigorous and demanding studies in his past youth.

'In comparison, it will be a piece of cake! Or at least I hope so...'

Walking down the long hallway, Mirac felt the cool spring breeze brush against his face, lazily drifting in through the half-open windows and carrying with it the distant fragrance of the gardens.

Once at the end, they turned left and continued along a shorter corridor that ran along the short side of the royal palace.

At the end of this hallway, they descended a staircase of white marble, covered by a red carpet that cascaded majestically down the wide, low steps. Although the staircase was spiral, it completed only one turn, bringing them back toward the main corridor.

'Wait a minute! Now that I think about it… Why would this oddball be having lunch with us?' Mirac wondered to himself, glancing at Vincent out of the corner of his eye.

However, he was too fascinated by the grandeur of the castle to notice Mirac's puzzled gaze.

'Well, never mind... Most likely, I'll find out later at lunch,' the young Prince hypothesized, shifting his scrutinizing gaze away from Vincent.

After finishing the stairs and reaching the first floor, they arrived at the long main corridor. In the middle of it, a large staircase split into two separate flights that, with a U-turn, led to the entrance hall.

From there, reaching the dining room was easy: they simply had to take the corridor to the right of the main entrance.

Once inside, they found the entire royal family patiently waiting for their arrival. Each member was already in their usual place, as always.

King Arthur and Queen Ginevra were seated at opposite ends of the long, perfectly polished white wooden table, which extended parallel to the wall where the double central door was set.

On either side of the table, seven seats per side: three occupied by Mirac's sisters, all close in age, seated impeccably with their backs straight, their long curly hair framing their carefully groomed faces. Every movement they made was measured, as if even their breathing followed a strict protocol.

On the opposite side, equally composed but with dark and probing looks, sat King Arthur's three wives.

Next to them, occupying the next four seats, sat the daughters, each a unique reflection of their mother.

The first wife, a blonde woman with blue eyes, sat beside her eldest daughter, who shared her golden locks and the same icy gaze.

The second wife had long brown hair and eyes of the same color, a harmony of shades reflected in the daughter next to her, although the latter had her father's light-colored eyes.

The last of the wives, with a bob of black hair and piercing blue eyes, sat near the Queen. Her two daughters, both with the same hairstyle, displayed different irises: one blue, the other green, a sign of heterogeneous beauty.

The stepsisters seemed to be around 10 or 12 years old, while the stepmothers cleverly concealed their age with a beauty that made them appear younger. Even so, Mirac was quite sure they were at least 30 years old.

Moreover, in all of his new life, Mirac had never interacted with any of them! He didn't even know their names, and frankly, he didn't care. More than anything, he was surprised that his father, after seven years, had still not made the decision to divorce them.

But, among all the wonderful and incredible things he could discover in that new world, this detail interested him very little. 

As soon as they entered the room, the twelve people present turned in unison toward Mirac and Vincent, staring at them with sharp, scrutinizing gazes.

The man with gray hair, struck by a sudden panic under the weight of those judging eyes, visibly flinched. He hesitated for just a moment before awkwardly bowing, his torso bent in a forced gesture of deference.

"G-Good afternoon… Your Majesty! A-And to you too, Queen Ginevra! A-And to everyone present in the room. I-I present myself: my n-name-"

Arthur interrupted him with a gesture of his hand, raising his palm with a disarming elegance that left no room for argument.

"There's no need, Professor Shirkenn," Arthur said calmly, withdrawing his hand to rest it back on the table with a measured gesture. "Everyone has been informed of your presence here at the castle, including my family. As agreed, please take a seat with us."

The King indicated with a slight wrist motion the empty seat at the corner near him, across from his blonde daughter.

Vincent swallowed nervously, then walked toward the chair which, like all the others, was white with a tall backrest. As he sat down, he tried to compose himself with a dignity that seemed to elude him.

Mirac observed the scene with an expression mixed with embarrassment and disbelief.

'Did I really cry in front of someone like him?' he thought, barely holding back a sarcastic smile.

With an exasperated expression, Mirac also moved into the rectangular room, flooded with sunlight coming through the five large arched windows on the side opposite the entrance.

Finally, he took a seat in the corner near his mother, while one of his sisters sat on the left, although he hadn't bothered to figure out which of the three it was.

After a brief moment of waiting, seven maids, including Carmen, and seven butlers entered in an orderly line, serving the meal with elegance and precision.

Each dish was carefully arranged, from the finely decorated china to the mirror-polished silverware, and the aroma of delicious dishes filled the air, completing the scene with a touch of discreet opulence.

Vincent began to sweat coldly when Carmen placed the plate in front of him, thanking her with stammering and awkward words.

'I still don't understand why the oddball is here with us...' thought Mirac, as he mashed the mashed potatoes with his silver fork.

Anyone at that moment was asking themselves the same question.

After all, why was that man sitting with them in the dining room reserved exclusively for members of the Royal family?

It's well known that those who work at the palace eat in separate areas reserved for the staff.

So, why make an exception for him?

Noticing the confused looks of his family directed at Vincent, the King didn't hesitate for a moment to explain the reason for his presence at the table.

In short, King Arthur was so eager to stay constantly updated on his son's education that he had arranged with Vincent to attend the royal family's dinners right after lessons, from Monday to Friday.

And indeed, there he was!

During these lunches, Vincent was supposed to explain in detail how each lesson of the day had gone, highlighting strengths or weaknesses, in order to adjust the program according to the needs.

"So..." Arthur added to finish his explanation, cutting his steak in half. "How did it go today, Professor Shirkenn?"

Meanwhile, Mirac froze. The spoon hung suspended in midair as he was about to bring a bite of mashed potatoes to his mouth.

'Shit!'

The thought that Vincent could recount every detail, especially what had happened that morning, terrified him!

If he mentioned his tears, Mirac feared he would become the laughingstock of everyone.

He tried to warn Vincent with a glance, hoping he would catch the message.

Vincent, however, was already speaking: 

"Your Majesty, I will be honest: the young Prince..." 

'Son of…' thought Mirac, holding his breath. 

"...is a true genius!" exclaimed Vincent, his eyes full of pride, addressing Mirac across the table.

'...a good woman!' Mirac concluded mentally, switching from an insult to a sweeter thought in order to show respect for the mother. 

Fortunately, Vincent made no reference to Mirac's crying. Instead, he focused on how attentive, quick to learn, and brilliant the young Prince was at understanding new subjects. 

Mirac didn't know whether he was doing this out of pure pity, or if he had decided to reserve the events of that morning for the two people who had lived through it. 

But at that moment, he couldn't care less about going into details. What mattered to Mirac was that his reputation was intact!

As the praise continued, the reactions at the table were varied: the three wives and their daughters remained impassive, continuing to eat without interrupting their etiquette.

The twins maintained the same formal attitude, but the one sitting next to Mirac barely whispered:

"Great job, little brother..."

Her tone was cold, but Mirac knew that the sisters followed protocol with extreme discipline, not allowing any emotions to show.

"Thank you, Michelle..." Mirac whispered, always guided by the instinct that allowed him to recognize which sister he was speaking to.

After Vincent finished speaking, Arthur's face lit up with immense pride.

"Oh Mirac, I am so proud of you!" exclaimed his mother, placing a hand on his shoulder and then affectionately stroking his face.

Suddenly, a deep and genuine laugh echoed through the room.

"I expected nothing less from my son!" added the King, laughing.

Mirac gave Vincent one last glance, almost with gratitude, and sighed with relief.

'Well... it ended well! From now on, though, keep that secret until the grave, you weirdo!'

Relaxed, Mirac brought another forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth, savoring each bite with renewed pleasure.

* * *

After lunch, Mirac returned to his room, a tidy and well-furnished space with a dark, finely carved wooden desk dominating the short side opposite the bed. On it were notebooks, books, an inkpot filled with ink, and a white quill, study tools that Mirac had come to know well.

He sat at the desk and began doing his homework: rewriting all the numbers from zero to thirty five times, and doing the same for the alphabet of the continent's language. The quill, in his hands, seemed almost alive as it traced letters and numbers on the notebook.

"Tsz, stupid homework!" Mirac muttered, as his white quill wrote once again, as if it had learned what to write on its own.

Finally, for philosophy, Mirac had to reflect on a short passage by a certain "George Rassing," read by Vincent in class.

The author of the passage was a contemporary philosopher and general of King Arthur's third army, dealing with ethical issues on the battlefield during conflicts and wars.

But Mirac couldn't care less about any of this...

'Swords? War? What do I need that for exactly?! I... want to learn magic-'

Mirac was interrupted in the middle of his thoughts by a gentle knock on the door.

"Come in!" Mirac exclaimed, without looking up from the page, continuing to write with evident frustration.

The door opened, and Carmen, the maid with reddish hair, entered with a professional expression.

"Young Prince, your fencing lesson will begin shortly," she explained, slightly tilting her head in a gesture of respect.

Mirac huffed, a look of frustration crossing his face. In fact, he had almost forgotten that at 16, as his father had told him during lunch, he would have his first fencing lesson.

'How many things do they plan to reveal to me at the last moment?' he thought as he stood up from the chair with a sigh, following Carmen to the designated training area.

Thinking back to lunch as he descended the stairs, Mirac clearly remembered that King Arthur had already mentioned his instructor.

Among the numerous praises and recommendations the King had made to impress his son, who seemed uninterested, one particular statement had deeply struck Mirac:

"Among all the seven kingdoms of the continent Harmony, there is no doubt that the Great Knight Leonard is the second most skilled and powerful with the sword!"