(The next morning)
- - - • - - -
Knock, knock.
A steward enters the personal office of Duke Azuarli VIII only to find him bent over stacks of papers, working mode ON. Pale light fell on his dashing features, making him look almost ethereal.
For the moment, this ethereal being was in the process of sending away his royal wife as well as searching for a new one.
And speaking of royal wives, the steward remembered what he came here to announce in the first place, before he got sidetracked by otherworldly beauty. Ignoring the small 'badump' in his chest, he spoke up:
"My Lord, My Lady is to be departing soon."
"I see," is all he says, without glancing up from his work.
"You... My Lord, you will not be seeing her off?"
"No." He curtly says, then halts. "What makes you ask?"
The steward fidgets like a fish flailing in a net. "Her Highness has laid a demand. She says she will not leave without her son."
The Duke's eyes narrow. "The Azuarli Heir will remain in Azuarli where he belongs. Tell her MY son will not lack anything here and she need only worry for her own recuperation. That will be all."
The steward bows and turns to leave.
"... How-?"
A faint whisper reaches the steward, would not have if it weren't for his well-trained ears.
"My Lord?"
'How is she?' - he struggled to ask. In the end, the Duke rephrased himself.
"Has she said anything else?"
"No, sire... In fact, the maids worry she has not spoken a word."
The Duke's slender fingers tap incessantly on his desk. 'There has been too little word from both her and the emperor, worringly little... What are those siblings thinking? Playing victim? It'd certainly gain them the court and public favour.... But then what? Painting me the villain does no one any good when Ruisaaq has Mereis in its claws now and I am the ONE who'll have to free our vassal state, lead our armies, save their royals.' He rubs his forehead.
'Or.. . Has it rattled her? Truly rattled her? The loss of our baby twins? The entire empire is shaken, but as a mother perhaps...'
Mulling over these thoughts, he stands up, walks to the cradle where his son sleeps.
He scans over the soft chubby shoulders upon which will one day fall the weight of entire Incasire, and whispers, "Guardians of the empire, so fragile we start."
'Should I take him to her, let her see him one last time? Or would it break her resolve to leave and she might throw a tantrum to stay here? That cannot be. The spot beside me has to be emptied for my beloved to sit.'
In his memories flashes out a warm summer afternoon. Budding green leaves and soaring water fountains. A bright and childish - 'Hey, our names kinda match!'
'A little more and I will marry you. As we promised all those years ago.'
He gently takes the baby in his arms, "Should we go bid your mother goodbye? I be-"
Before he could finish, the door bursts open. Guards scamper back as a man mirroring their Lord Duke stomps in.
They stare eachother in the face.
"Lucaon Azuarli, is THIS any way to enter?" A gust of wind blows, letting the Duke's cold voice send shivers down every spine in the room.
"I bring dire news, brother. Regal tried to stop me, but I couldn't stand you not knowing. ..
A wounded spy of ours rushed back from the invaded state of Mereis two days ago. He reported.. . she-"
"She.what?" asked back the Duke, jaw clenched.
His brother heaves a sigh. "The last surviving royal of Mereis had been handed over to foot soldiers by the Mad Monarch," he watches the colors shift in the Duke's face, "She passed away last week, and was thrown out in the open, declared not to be buried, so as to paralyze the populace with fear. Only then could our spies recognize her. Brother.. .
... .. Azuraine now rests in the wastelands of Shurro."
Deathly silence ensues, shattered only by the lightning making cracks in the sky. The noise woke up the little ducal prince to a fit of crying.... a privilege his father wishes he could afford.
A ghostly sussurus - 'Hey, our names kinda match!' - rings by his ears once. And yet the perfect Duke could not summon a tear.
***** ° *****
The steward stumbles back to the entrance gate where Her Ladyship is to be waiting at the carriage. It appears the Duke will not be granting an audience to ANYONE for a while.
He arrives at the long road to the outside and freezes to see the Lady with.. . the Lord..?
'Eh? Wasn't My Lord Duke in his office just now?'
As he enters their vicinity, the two move away from their close proximity and he recognizes the man's robes.
"Steward, where is Lucaon?" the man beckons him.
"With this Lordship in his study," he answers, "Lord Regal."
Regal studies his expression with blue orb-like eyes; in two heartbeats, it's as though he read through him, like a transparent paper, the entire conversation that just transpired in the duke's office.
"As I said," he mumbles to his sister-in-law, "... Too late." His calm face is distorted by a flicker of irritation.
"Lucaon, that idiot.. ." he mutters, brushing past the steward towards the office, grumbling angrily, "... Nothing but hot-blooded idiots here."
"..."
The steward inches towards the Duchess, "Your Highness, the Lord is a bit preoccupied now-"
"I heard." Her voice was raspy, and so faint he would doubt his ears were it not for the firm affirmation in her eyes. She gets into the carriage without another word, let alone struggle.
Only yesterday she lost a ton of blood. Would such an arduous, long journey right now really fare well for her? The steward felt, in his conscience, the pricks of sympathy.
As the carriage started moving, he got up on his horse and accompanied the Lady with his band of guards. He noticed a pale face frequently peeking out from the window of the carriage to watch the manor she's leaving behind.
A look of longing shaded her eyes like a veil; he'd seen it before on his mother once he left for a campaign to some faraway land. The sorrow of separating from one's child with no assurance you'll ever see him again. At that moment, his heart gave out to her.
"My Lady," he addressed her lightly, ".. there's a threaded ring above you which, if you pull, will open up a square in the carriage roof. You could stand, if it pleases you, Your Grace." He said what he had to and rode on ahead. He hoped it'd give her some solace, and much less neck ache.
..
When he crossed the curb in the road after traversing which distance, the Azuarli manor cannot be seen anymore, he finally looked back.
But could not find the helpless princess.
Instead, she stood upright like a gallant naval warrior riding the delinquent winds and tides.
Cold stormy winds slapped her bare back and curls of her hair fell like waves. In the shivering cold, her eyes burnt with a subdued golden fire that spoke of a steely resolve.
And of an oath sworn in silence.