-Father! Father!- a small, young voice interrupted the warmth of that intense and dry spring morning.
It was a thin, light voice, with a certain sweet imprint, which only the sweet soul and spirit of an infant could emit.
As already said, it was spring and it was so dry and so warm that in all the territories that the kingdom of France covered, any humidity immediately disappeared from the place.
Something was about to happen to the court that could bring about great positive or negative results.
Little Philip was looking for his father, because he missed him, on both sides, because in all the innocence of his six years, he still couldn't quite understand what was happening that day.
He ran along the wide and luxurious corridors of the castle, on the white marble floors, that seemed to be the only source of coolness and relief, even if in a normal season that should have been the coldest period.
The boy's brown hair rubbed his forehead, tickled it and made him lose focus on his intent to seek his father.
He did not look like his father at all, he didn't look like a "traditional" Hannover in his appearance to be honest.
He inherited his hair and eye color from his mother.
Instead, he had inherited his height and build from his father.
Philip's face was pale and delicate and he had nice fuzzy freckles on his nose.
The young prince had already been criticised and reprimanded several times by his private tutors, because he, Philip Hannover, had nothing royal in his blood, despite being the descendant of two equally influential noble families.
Because, not only did he tend not to behave like a prince at all, but because he too was very easily distracted.
While a prince had the task of order and impeccable intelligence, Philip had always found the obligation of perfection too difficult to follow.
Philip was intelligent, of a different intelligence, not common but fascinating, because, unlike his peers who were imposed with discipline and blind obedience, the little prince created worlds, all in his head and it was fascinating.
He mixed the scents of the air with his thoughts, the flowers, the dreams that passed in his head, the galloping of the horses, the ticking of the passing time, of the clock tower, he loved that calm and was deluding himself that that could last forever.
A world, with no more war, no violence, no death, a world of his own, of which he was the sovereign and on which he could decide with wisdom and blind passion.
Philip didn't care about anyone, his age, he didn't need a partner, he didn't have time and over time he didn't even want to.
He reached the end of the corridor, reached the door, wide, enormous, of the throne room, he knew he was not allowed to enter, he was aware of it, that everything that was happening there would be exclusively the task and responsibility of the great ones.
He knew that a prince did not eavesdrop, nor did he ever meddle in facts that did not concern him, but the will to find out what happened to his father he had done was stronger than any kind of noble obedience.
So he was silent, he heard, still, for a few moments.
The guards who stood at the door were silent, they looked away, they could not do anything else, they too knew that Philip was just a child and they too could neither stare nor afford to chase away a young lord.
It wasn't that difficult for the little boy to overhear what was going on in there, it wasn't a nice thing, he assumed, he could hear it from the tone of voice, from the agitated and angry characteristics of those, of the two voices that mixed.
A mixture of good and bad news mixed in the little prince's head, the first was that finally, after a long time he was able to have heard his father's voice, through the door and this made him happy.
Philip knew he was his father, Prince Henry Hanover was in there, safe and sound.
On the other hand, hearing how the discussion was unfolding, he also heard details that he would never have expected, he heard questions about ships, soldiers, cannons, catapults.
Special weapons, firearms...
What was going on? Weren't they experiencing a situation of peace? Weren't they well, there, in Paris, where they were appreciated and acclaimed by everyone?
What was his father's idea? Did he want to destroy everything? Their life, their well-being, the calm, the tranquility that the little one loved so much?
-Philip...- a voice broke the silence, a hand, cold, icy, pale grabbed him from the shoulders.
The young lord looked up, saw his mother, he knew her voice, worried and full of anxiety, she looked at her son with her big and beautiful eyes.
Kara caressed his numerous and wavy hair, Philip felt his mother loved him, she loved him more than anything else in the world, as her son and as the son of her husband, but at that moment she could not help but forget invariably anxiety.
He knew everything, she was his mother, she was aware of it, yet she hadn't wanted to reveal anything to her son for his own sake.
-Come, Philip, this place is not for you...-.
-Are you crying mother?-.
-No, really, it's nothing...-.