Chapter 107: Trouble's Coming

Chapter 107:

Trouble's Calling

The wedding was fast approaching now, much like the passing of seasons. Though the winter was still bitter and cold, the spring flowers were soon to start blooming, welcoming the passage of spring, the passage of power between the Yursinean royal family.

With the fittings finished, Charlotte's wedding dress had been placed on a delicate mannequin inside her personal dressing room, allowing only herself, the royal tailors, her ladies in waiting, and the queen to lie eyes on it before the fateful day she and Clarence would finally become one. The dress was intricately decorated, fitted to Charlotte's small figure with hand embroidered lace, strung pearls, ivory bows, and a train that followed her figure like a small path, a path she considered one she made for herself, a path to the throne, a path to respect in this foreign kingdom. There were delicate royal blue details sewn into the gown, flattering Clarence's own wedding jacket, a coat embroidered in gold, white, and blue.

Clarence's wedding suit had been resting in his personal dressing room, hidden away from view much like Charlotte's, however, each time he passed the suit, he felt a wave of disdain rush over him until he could no longer stand it. With a well-crafted mention of nervousness from Clarence, the tailor was made to place the delicate suit away until the day before the wedding. Covered with a delicate silk sheet in a private room, it would not be seen until the day he would marry Charlotte.

It was midday now, and the curtains were pulled aside in Clarence's workshop, his hand holding a thin paintbrush in his hands, painting on a figure's lips with a gentle stroke of pink on his brush. He delicately painted the line between the person's lips, painting them in a parted fashion, as if they were forever frozen, attempting to speak to the paint themself.

They never would, however, much like the person they were crafted to emulate.

The person's face in the painting was nearly finished, but there was a shadow over the top half of the person's face, much like a veil. It was difficult to see their eyes, hidden by the black, thin layer of paint, but you could see the almond shaped eyes hidden below, the gentle smile on their lips, staring at the painter with almost a sweet gaze, much like a lover.

Once he finished painting the lips, Clarence set down his paintbrush, wiping the excess paint off on a white cloth as he appreciated the work, nearly complete now. Staring at the painting, the young prince found it was hard to look away. It was unlike anything he had painted before, but he would be the only one allowed to see it, keeping it hidden away deep in his workshop, much like the bastard elf he had captured.

As if attempting to distract himself, Clarence grabbed a book from the side of his painting desk, the leather-bound item dyed with wear. He held it in his hands gently, but it did nothing to distract him from his running thoughts, only exacerbating them to another degree.

Staring at the drying painting so intently, Clarence suddenly missed that earthy smell from the elf, thinking of the scent of violet leaves. When Charlotte held onto his arm, he could smell her cosmetics and floral perfumes she had been adorned with, but he found himself disgusted with those smells, the smells he had forced himself to endure in the name of the throne. He wanted to smell that natural, leafy smell he had grown accustomed to in the past month.

As he thought of Charlotte, he thought of what she had said to him in their past meeting. "You love that elf, don't you?" Clarence could not help but think of Princess Charlotte's words, her jealousy exposed outright in a manner much unlike her.

I don't love that elf. What an absurd idea. Clarence laughed at the thought, thinking of Charlotte's words as he traced his hand over the raised edge of the book spine he was holding, feeling much like the bones of a human spine. But the book under his hand contained no warmth, bringing him no joy. Holding the book, he thought of Silas again, his mind wandering to that elf again, repeatedly against his will like an earworm. Even his skin, roughened by dirt, was softer than the leather-bound book in his hand.

I need to do something else. Clarence thought to himself, pushing the book away from himself as he stood up. He could not explain what he was feeling, but for some unknown reason, Clarence's heart was pounding in his chest, bringing a feeling of anxiety with it. Sitting still only made his mood fluctuate even more, his fingers tingling in inaction.

Quickly, Clarence walked towards the door, opening it with a wave of his hand as he carefully closed it behind him, not allowing any of the nearby servants even a glimpse at the painting he had been carefully cultivating. With the door closed behind him, Clarence walked swiftly towards the stairwell, keeping his face neutral as he walked, listening to the distant sound of servants shuffling throughout the halls.

As he walked down the stairwell and entered the second floor main hall, Clarence looked up and noticed a familiar black haired figure standing outside of a nearby room, standing tall as he glimpsed out the window, his gaze piercing through his golden rimmed glasses, the thin chain glimmering in the dim winter afternoon sunlight.

"Ah, cousin, it's good to see you." Malcolm heard the prince's footsteps and was the first to respond, as if he had prepared his words. "What a lovely winter we are having. I can only wonder what spring will bring."

Clarence smiled, "Of course. It seems even the divines are blessing Charlotte and my wedding. How truly fitting." He spoke sweetly of Charlotte, his eyes bright with an insufferable, faux love the pair had heartily practiced. "I'm pleased to know you'll be with us for it." He said softly, his smile fixed on Malcolm's face.

Malcolm held his natural smiling expression well, "I am excitedly anticipating the day of the event, Clarence." He added, "I am sure you understand the feeling of holding your dearest close to your heart, afterall."

"It seems even at our age, you are quite wise, Malcolm." Clarence spoke. "If you'll excuse me, I have other duties to address. I hope you are comfortable. Let the servants know if you need anything."

"Of course." Malcolm nodded, "I will enjoy your gracious hospitality."

Clarence stepped away, refusing to look over his shoulder at his cousin as he walked down the fall. His smile had faded to a frown, and the once throbbing, anxious feeling in his chest faded to a dull rage. I don't know what Alywin was thinking. That insufferable cousin of mine will never take the throne from me. He sneered to himself, taking a quiet stairwell down to the first floor, his neat black shoes tapping against the stone flooring. There's only a little time left before the wedding. Once it's over, the kingdom will be mine.

Clarence could not help but smile to himself as he stepped forward, making his way towards the dungeon with practiced steps, his mind full of incoherent thoughts.

…

Silas was leaning back against the wall, circulating the mana throughout his body to warm his cold limbs. Though the seasons had begun to change yet again, the air was still cold enough to turn Silas's fingers red and raw. He could only tuck his hands between his thighs, attempting to keep them warm as best he could. With the chains loosened slightly, his degree of movement increased, allowing him only a small bit of comfort.

As the mana circulated around his body, there was the sound of heavy footsteps ringing out in the dungeon, footsteps that Silas had not heard for nearly a month.

What is he doing here? Silas thought to himself, opening his eyes abruptly as he sat up, watching the door to his cell open abruptly, allowing Clarence's tall figure to step inside before it was swiftly closed again.

Clarence's face relaxed somewhat as he entered deeper into the cell, his face staring into Silas's as he glanced down and said with a grin, "You look just as pitiful as before. Don't worry, after I become king, I will make sure to take good care of you. Maybe I'll parade your corpse around the capital?"

"I wonder if you'll ever get that chance." Silas said in a low tone, his voice sore and dry as he licked his dry lips, staring at Clarence with contempt.

Clarence scoffed, "You know nothing."

"You don't look concerned." Silas said in a flat tone, his eyes moving over Clarence's standing figure. "But you should be."

Clarence understood Silas's words immediately, rolling his lip, "There's nothing he can do now. The wedding will take place, and the coronation soon after. What could Malcolm do to disrupt me at this point? Quit speaking nonsense." He spoke down to Silas, in both height and tone, bringing himself a higher sense of superiority, a sense of superiority he held over this man.

Silas withheld a sigh, feeling a tension headache growing in the front of his forehead. "Mark my words, Prince. You're going to regret this inaction of yours." Silas stared up at the prince, his green eyes burning, "Many of us are already facing the consequences of it, just think of your wife."

Clarence did not like Silas's response. His face twisted slightly, and it looked as if he were going to yell back at Silas before he fell silent. Instead of speaking back as usual, an idea came over the young prince, and suddenly he leaned down, trapping Silas's figure in between his arms, nearly wrapping the elf into his embrace. His chest was cold, full of tension as he leaned down, his nose nearly touching the tip of Silas's as he stared at the elven man.

"You dare to insult me, undermine me, and use my name in such a way. What a wry bastard you are."

Silas could only smile mockingly, "Acting like this, it's no wonder the palace thinks I'm your lover. Is that how Yursinean royalty behaves? I'm disgusted."

Clarence slammed the wall with his palm, causing a ringing sound to sound out from the stone wall. "I haven't even shown you all that I can do." The prince gritted his teeth, his ragged breaths spraying across Silas's face.

Silas winced, his anger seeping over, no longer caring to tolerate the abuse of the prince, "Get out of my face."

Their voices were too low to carry outside of the confines of the dungeon, bringing a feeling of taboo with their words and actions between each other. They behaved as if they were players in a scandalous love affair, hiding the prince's infidelity in the confines of the dungeon, however there was no feeling of love or partnership between the two, only rage, hurt, and contempt. As he stepped away from Silas, he watched the elf suck in a breath, the tips of his cheeks reddening in anger.

Clarence wanted to stay with Silas for longer, to punish him further with his presence, but he knew nothing good would come out of staying in the dungeon with the elf. If Charlotte were to find out, she would be enraged. He found the more time he spent with Silas, the more he wanted to stay by his side, keeping the elf close to him much like a treasured possession. These feelings were not right. They were strange to Clarence, and he knew they were abnormal, but he could not dismiss them as he wanted.

Being by the elf, he felt a rush of happiness he had not felt in such a long time. Every time he wanted to express these feelings, Silas would push him away, mocking him and inciting his anger again and again.

Maybe one day he'll understand. Clarence thought, stepping out from the shadows of the dungeon with a frown. He'll understand I'm doing it all for him.

Clarence could only delude himself, refusing to acknowledge the truth behind his actions.

…

Duke Cyneric sighed, rubbing a hand over the thinning wrinkles on his chin as he leaned back in his leather chair, his greying golden hair resting against the head of the chair in a flat fashion, slicked back behind his head to cover a growing bald spot. He glanced around the quiet study, the books within the bookshelves that lined the walls silent and still, the only ambiance in the silent room the periodic crackle of the fire burning away in the fireplace.

Usually, Duke Cyneric enjoyed the silence, but after his conversation with the king's closest aide, Sir Willis, the silence was deafening, causing an ill silence to fall over the room, making even the most patient servants nervous.

Alywin's father replayed the conversation over and over in his mind, his brows furrowing in frustration and extreme annoyance.

"I would appreciate your cooperation. It would be a shame if rumors were to leak from unknown sources if you become uncooperative."

Remembering Willis's smug smile angered the duke even more, who slammed his fist down on his desk, rattling the contents on the desk.

"Sir?" The head butler called from outside the room.

"I'm fine." The duke said, sucking in a deep breath to calm his raging nerves, "How is the child?" The duke wanted to get his mind off of the conversation he just had. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He did not want to do something rash while he was angry.

Instead of answering, the butler opened the door to the study and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

The duke frown deepened. He knew he was about to receive worse news.

"Not well, sir." The butler said, his tone low, "He refuses to eat again."

The duke's hands clenched tightly into fists, but then, as if he thought of something mischievous, he relaxed his hands, a small smile coming to his lips. It was the few similarities the child and his father shared, "Bring that child to me."

The butler bowed, leaving the room like a shadow as he relayed his master's command to nearby servants.

In order to see his father, Alywin had been hastily groomed by his servants to make him presentable, but the redness in his eyes and the dark circles shrouding his unusually pale skin made his father's expression fall. His suit had been carefully selected, leaving a looser red velvet vest and long pants to cover Alywin's thinning figure, attempting to shroud his skinny figure with clothes that appeared to fit him well while seemingly swimming on his boney frame.

It was a sight that made the duke fall silent as his only son was ushered into the room, his golden rod curls falling into his face as he bowed to his father and said in a hoarse tone, "Father." He could barely muster the energy to speak.

"You look terrible." The duke said, not glancing up from a piece of paper in his hand as he sat behind his large oak desk, "You need to clean up your act if you're going to be useful to me." His eyes were dark, narrow like the eyes of a hunting falcon.

Alywin was too tired and ill to even hear his father. His mind was elsewhere, causing him to appear absentminded in front of his father, angering the older man further.

"Are you listening to me?!" The duke snapped, raising his voice as he glared darkly at his child.

Alywin could not get his tongue to cooperate. He even struggled to form a coherent thought, his mind hazy. He could only stare forward, holding his clammy forehead with his pale hand.

"What is wrong with you?!" The duke snapped again, rising to his feet, his chair skidding against the wood floor angrily.

Alywin shut his eyes, trying to fight back the black marks that spotted his vision, which only worsened with his father's shouting. They pulsed, dancing like stars, causing his vision to become nearly black as he tried to blink more and more, only to find his vision becoming darker and darker at each passing moment, until he could no longer see clearly.

"How pathetic. You always disappoint me." The duke said with a shake of his head, pulling his seat back towards him as he sat back down, "Get out. I'll summon you when you stop acting like a fool."

Alywin's head began to swim, his vision blurry with black spots as he turned to walk towards the door to his father's office. Suddenly, as if his legs used up whatever strength they had left just keeping him standing, Alywin collapsed to the ground, the sound of his head coming into contact with the wood floor echoing throughout the small, cozy room.

The duke watched this happen in shock, his eyes widening with disbelief as Alywin lay still on the floor. He stood up abruptly, moving around his desk with a deepening stare. Snapping out of his trance, the duke shouted for a doctor as he ran to his child's side. A pool of blood circled Alywin's head like a bloody halo as the butler raced into the room, immediately running out at the sight of Alywin's limp form to summon a doctor.

"You can't die yet." The duke said heatedly, his voice hardly louder than a whisper, "I still have a use for you."

Alywin's face paled as more blood leaked from his head, the blood spreading to touch the tip of the duke's shoe.

A small group of servants flocked around Alywin, grabbing him gently as they could as they lifted his head into a prepared towel, catching the blood that was still leaking from the gash in his head. The already spilled blood rested in a puddle on the ground, falling still and warm as the duke's leather shoe was stained in red. He grimaced in disgust, moving his foot away as a nearby maid began to collect the blood in another towel staining the pure white fabric red.

Nothing good will come out of this situation. Duke Cyneric thought cynically as he stepped away, smearing a speck of blood where he originally stood, no longer able to look at his disgraceful son.

…

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Hope you all enjoy this week's chapter! Hunny and I will be taking a short hitaus next week due to mental health fatigue (I'm exhausted mentally from con). Though I will be streaming Stray on my twitch (CatMasseuse) at 7PM eastern! My face cam will be on too ahaha

Typing with long faux nails on as we speak. This is terrible. Anyway, see you all next week!