HE WAS BORED out of his mind.
The clock that counted down the seconds seemed to tick by exceptionally slow today. In fact, there were times where it felt as though time wasn't moving at all and not in a good sense. The women that sat around the long rectangular table all chattered on about useless topics that neither intrigued nor agitated him to offer much care about. From what he could be bothered to hear, they talked about fashion, gossip, and riches, all the things he had heard about since the day he was born.
As the crown prince, Hartley hated nothing more than the mindless chatter of the high nobility. The topics that encircled their society were nothing more than either a pretense to gain attention or it was truly what their cotton-for-brains thought about twenty-four seven.
None of the women present cared much about Hartley so obviously what they chose to discuss was nothing that was or circumstances to him. What they — and their families — truly cared about was his position, his riches, his power. They eyed the position of being the next queen of Gladiolum.
Then again, that was nothing new. Humans had been that way for a long time.
It was his mother's idea. Six women from noble families were selected as the finalists in the selection of the next crown princess candidate. Today would be the first day they were gathered in a friendly tea party. After that, he'll select three women from the group who will be able to advance to the second round of the selection. These three women will then get a chance to dine with Hartley alone. Ultimately, one of these six was to become his wife in the future. However, if Hartley truly selected one of them, his future would no doubt be bleak and boring.
Besides, knowing his mother's intentions, she probably already had a choice in mind. These other girls were just invited to appease the noble social circle and make it seem like fair competition.
"Haven't you heard, Your Highness?" The daughter of a viscount, Petunia Devon, asked. Her bright fuschia pink lace fan fluttered in the breeze as she fanned herself, half-hiding behind the hand-held accessory. She sat furthest away from Hartley but the distance was no hindrance for her. She made sure to speak loud enough to be heard by all. "It seems like a rat has snuck into the famed Ragan household. Isn't your personal assistant the future Marquess Ragan?"
"Ah, Lord Wyatt's house?" Another questioned. If Hartley remembered correctly, she was Marquess De Clare's daughter, Azalea De Clare. Unlike Petunia, Azalea sat on Hartley's left, with him being at the head of the table. She sat closer to Hartley simply because her family was of higher standing. He had been specifically instructed by his mother to select her as one of the three finalists. "I heard that they adopted a distant relative into the main line. What was her name again? Anice? Alicia?"
Hartley's jaw clenched in irritation.
"Alice."
"Right." Lifting the teacup to her lips, Azalea was about to take a sip from it when she paused. Her eyes widened slightly when she finally registered who it was that had replied to her question. A faint blush crept up her cheeks. After all, the number of times the prince had spoken up ever since the tea party started could be counted on one hand. Out of everyone, he replied to her question. Her chest swelled with pride, suddenly brimming with confidence. "Well heard, Your Highness. The name must've slipped my mind for a second there."
'It didn't,' he silently thought to himself. 'You've simply never bothered yourself to find out her name. How would you have known?'
The conversation continued, words thrown about idly. None of it meant any more than the dirt beneath his shoe. In his head, Hartley began counting down the seconds before Wyatt would finally arrive and save him from this mess. He had requested Alice be brought with him to the palace. That meant that he could finally meet the famed peasant girl that had suddenly burst out to be the talk of the town.
Again.
Just recalling their first encounter made Hartley want to both smile and scowl at the same time. While the girl was amusing, she was also infuriating when they had just met. She acted nothing like how a person of her standing should've acted. What's more, she found no fault in it and had turned it around to chastise him instead.
Now it was starting to become clearer as to why his younger brother had taken an interest in her. They were more alike than it seemed at first glance.
"Your Highness," a servant greeted, scurrying over. He leaned over, speaking directly into Hartley's ear, careful not to let the curious flowers that gathered at the table to hear their conversation.
Hartley, who had been lazily resting against his backrest, straightened up just a little. His cheek was propped up with the back of his hand, his elbow resting on the chair's armrest. As he listened to the servant's report, his index finger started to move, suddenly restless.
Think of the devil and he shall appear. Hartley's lips curled upwards, the weight lifted off his shoulders.
"Send him in," he ordered without hesitation.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Ah, no need to get the poor guy to scurry around. I'm already here." The voice of Hartley's second-in-command reverberated through the garden before the servant could even turn around. "Greetings, Your Highness. And a good day to you, ladies."
Under the shelter of the gazebo, Hartley calmly reached for the teacup on the table. His tea had gone cold long ago. Ever since the tea party started and tea was served, he hadn't touched it one bit. Although the tea was no longer fresh, Hartley still dutifully sipped at it, finally finding the appetite to indulge in the snacks that were laid out on the table.
Finally. His ticket to freedom had finally arrived.
Just like any other day, Wyatt Ragan was dressed finely. The man always had impeccable fashion, robing himself in silks from head to toe. His outfits were always exquisite and whimsical, more often in white or off-white than in any other color. Occasionally, there were times whereby he would wear a splash of cherry red or robin egg blue as accents. Today, he was dressed in a cream-colored suit paired with gold cufflinks. As usual, his hands were gloved in white and a smile accessorized his lips.
Standing a little behind him was Alice. It was no longer a masquerade. It would be the first time they were interacting while fully knowing each other's identities. However, unlike Wyatt's clear and crisp greeting, Hartley didn't catch Alice's. His eyebrow twitched in irritation, not knowing that she did in fact greet him but he simply hadn't heard it when everyone else did. He had been too engrossed in his earl gray tea and was busy praising the heavens for his escape.
"Lord Wyatt," one of the ladies spoke up, her red lips twisted in a sneer. She was a daughter of an earl, another candidate his mother had told him to select in the official records after today's tea. Dahlia Capell. "As the crown prince's assistant, you should already have his schedule memorized. His Highness is currently having tea with us and is busy. It's awfully impolite of you to waltz in as you please."
Wyatt hummed. "Of course, Lady Dahlia."
Hartley took another sip at the tea. He needn't turn to know that Wyatt was smiling as he spoke. In fact, he could already picture Wyatt's head in his mind's eye. Leisurely, he picked up his fork and cut neatly into a slice of cake.
"Knowing His Highness's schedule is just but one of my many duties. Rest assured that I have it all handled rather well. In fact, it is because he is busy had I rushed all the way here. There's something else which requires His Highness's attention and I'm afraid it takes precedence over this... tea party."
"Ngh!" Dahlia turned rigid at Wyatt's words.
Most of the other ladies seated at the table wore similar expressions. However, one in particular wore not a face of shock but rather of amusement. Just like Hartley, she picked up her teacup, delicately sipping at the tea, unbothered. Ever since the tea party had started, she hadn't spoken more than what was necessary. All the chatter conducted by the other ladies at the tea party didn't faze her. She remained poised, a perfect elegant statue sitting on Hartley's right side. Her actions would've been refreshing if Hartley hadn't known beforehand that she was his mother's favorite. Anyone who was his mother's favorite couldn't be good news.
Rose Whitaker, the daughter of Duke Whitaker, his mother's strongest ally.
Savoring the last bite of cream from the cake, Hartley placed his fork down. He pushed his chair back, standing up to his full height
"Unfortunately, what Wyatt had said is in fact true. I have other matters to attend to. But please, do not stop on my account. I'll have the servants bring out fresh tea for your enjoyment. Please excuse me, I'll be back shortly."
Hartley stepped out of the gazebo's shelter before any of the ladies could reply — not that they dared to object — and made his way over to Wyatt and Alice. He needn't even signal Wyatt for the latter to know to follow, the two of them scurrying after the prince. On his way towards his office, Hartley didn't turn back once, especially not when they were still in clear view from the garden. He didn't want any of the ladies there to think he harbored any interest for any of them.
They were all flowers, yes, that was true. The most beautiful flowers Gladiolum had to offer as a garden. However, their pollen was also lethal.