"Your opinion doesn't matter to me," Eveloria snapped back, frustration evident in her voice. "Everyone here sees me as an outsider."
"And you already made it clear from the beginning that you didn't see me as part of this family by ignoring my existence," she glared angrily.
As Ambrose watched her face contort with hurt and anger, his gaze softened. He realized the depth of Eveloria's pain and took a deep breath, trying to calm his own emotions. "Just teach me how to wield a sword properly. That's all I need you to do. And please, don't try to act like a brother to me. It's uncomfortable," Eveloria added, standing up and placing her wooden sword back where it belonged.
Ambrose felt a pang of regret as he listened to her words. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't realize how much it hurt you. I may not have shown it, but I do consider you part of this family. I never wanted you to feel like an outsider."
Eveloria didn't turn back to look at him. "I don't need your apology," she muttered, continuing to walk away.
Ambrose's heart sank as Eveloria started walking away.
***
Tristan awakened, his eyes fluttering open, only to find himself lying in a familiar bed. As he took in his surroundings, a surge of nostalgia washed over him. This was his childhood room, preserved in time, with its matching wallpaper and open window inviting a gentle breeze to brush against his face, reminding him of the comfort of home.
Beams of golden sunlight streamed through the parted curtains, illuminating the room in a warm glow. The delightful melodies of chirping birds danced in the air, their cheerful tunes filling Tristan's ears, reminding him of simpler days.
A soft knock broke the serenity of the moment, drawing his attention away from the window and back into the room. "Come in," Tristan replied, his voice hushed. The door creaked open, revealing the butler standing in the doorway.
"Sir Kord?" Tristan called out, his voice filled with anticipation.
Approaching him with a graceful stride, Sir Kord greeted him, "Good morning, Sir Tristan. Are you feeling better?"
Tristan nodded gratefully and replied, "Thank you for taking care of me."
A small chuckle escaped Sir Kord's lips as he shook his head. "It's my pleasure, Sir Tristan. I apologize for the behavior of Lord Gavriel."
Tristan waved off the apology dismissively. "No need. How long have I been unconscious?"
"Two days, sir," Sir Kord answered, his tone still laced with regret.
Tristan fell into a contemplative silence, absorbing the information. After a moment, he turned his gaze toward the floor and posed a question that carried the weight of his emotions.
"Sir Kord," Tristan's voice quivered with a tinge of sadness, "when did things change so much between I and Gavriel?" He couldn't help but avert his gaze towards the floor, unable to hide the weight of his emotions. The question lingered in the air, begging for answers.
Sir Kord, taken aback by the sudden inquiry, hesitated for a moment before responding, "I don't know, Sir Tristan." His voice carried a hint of regret, as if he too wished to understand the turning tides between them.
Tristan nodded, acknowledging the lack of clarity in their situation, and fell into a heavy silence once again. Minutes slipped by like sand through an hourglass, their presence punctuated only by the distant echoes of their thoughts.
Then, breaking the stillness, Sir Kord's voice cut through the air. "Lord Gavriel instructed me to tell you to leave once you regain consciousness," he informed, his words carrying a solemn weight. With a slight bow, Sir Kord turned on his heels and departed, leaving behind an empty void in the wake of his departure.
Tristan's brow furrowed and blinked, trying to process the words that had just been spoken.. As he sat there, the weight of the past pressed upon him, memories flooding his mind like a torrential downpour.
He reminisced about the days when he and Gavriel were inseparable, sharing laughter and camaraderie beneath the mighty oaks of their childhood. They had dreamed of great adventures together. But somewhere along the way, their paths had diverged, leaving their bond fractured and forgotten.
Tristan couldn't help but blame himself for everything.
***
Located on the upper floors of the manor, the chamber of learning boasts tall windows that invite streams of natural light to illuminate the room. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting scenes from fables and legends.
At the center of the room stands a sturdy oak table, polished to a gleaming finish. Surrounding it are wooden benches, worn smooth by countless hours of study. The table is strewn with scrolls, books, and writing implements.
Seated on the benches were Eveloria, Briana and Ambrose.
They were overseen by a knowledgeable tutor, well-versed in the realms of literature, mathematics, etiquette, and the arts. This person was none other than, Countess Julianne Del Rosal, a trusted confidante of Beatrice. Julianne possesses a remarkable and graceful figure, standing at a moderate height with a posture that exudes elegance. Her mane of chestnut brown hair flows down in loose waves, framing her face perfectly and cascading gently over her shoulders. As the sunlight dances among her locks, it reveals subtle hints of copper and gold, adding a touch of enchantment to her appearance.
But it is Julianne's eyes that truly captivate all who meet her gaze. They possess an entrancing shade of hazel, reminiscent of a lush forest, with specks of green and amber that radiate both warmth and intelligence. When she fixes her gaze upon you, it feels as though she can peer into the depths of your soul, unraveling its mysteries in an instant.
Julianne's complexion is fair and radiant, with a natural blush that imparts a rosy warmth to her cheeks. Her features are delicate and refined, graced by high cheekbones and a softly curved jawline. And her lips, adorned with a gentle smile.
Draped in a flowing gown woven from luxurious fabric, Julianne radiates an air of sophistication and elegance. Her attire mirrors the vibrant hues of blossoming roses: deep reds, soft pinks, and delicate hints of green. Intricate embroidery and delicate lace embellish her garments, a testament to her refined taste.
With each step she takes, Julianne moves with the composure and self-assurance befitting a queen.
"Translate the entirety of this English text into the ancient language," Julianne instructed.
Briana's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she eagerly embraced the challenge. "Lady Julianne, we shall dedicate ourselves to translating this text to the best of our abilities," she responded, offering a respectful nod.
A smile graced Lady Julianne's lips as she acknowledged Briana's determination.
"You have thirty minutes," she declared.
The three began to write as their fingers delicately caressing the parchment . As they immersed themselves in the profound mysteries of the ancient language, the room's atmosphere shifted, embracing the weight of forgotten knowledge.
Lady Julianne, ever watchful, glanced at her pocket watch, keeping time for the group. They toiled tirelessly, their keen eyes scouring each intricate symbol with meticulous attention to detail.
After thirty minutes, Lady Julianne abruptly brought her hand fan down on the desk, signaling the end of their translating session. The group paused and assembled around her table. Briana and Ambrose had completed their work, while Eveloria struggled with the final few sentences.
Lady Julianne's gaze fell upon Eveloria, and she issued a command. "Thirty minutes have passed; I expect you to remove your hands from that parchment."
Eveloria let out a weary sigh and placed her pen beside her unfinished translation. "Yes, Lady Julianne," she replied, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
Lady Julianne carefully examined Briana and Ambrose's work. Their handwriting, though neat, bore slight imperfections. However, her excitement grew as she read the final paragraph, penned collaboratively by both Briana and Ambrose. Pleased with their efforts, she exclaimed, "Goodness, it appears you both have done an incredible job deciphering all that text."
Briana's smile beamed brightly, and Ambrose simply nodded in response. Lady Julianne then approached Eveloria and inspected her work as well. As her eyes scanned the page, her lips tightened, realizing that Eveloria's translation of the ancient text surpassed what an average person could hope to achieve. Unlike Ambrose and Briana, Eveloria's handwriting was elegant and precise.
'This is why I warned Beatrice against allowing Eveloria to study alongside Ambrose and Briana. She far surpasses the both of them,' Lady Julianne silently lamented while continuing to examine Eveloria's transcription of the ancient text.
Looking directly at Eveloria, Lady Julianne dryly remarked, "Yours is nearly perfect, though incomplete."
Ambrose glanced at Lady Julianne and thought, 'That means Eveloria's work is superior to ours.'
Meanwhile, Briana's eyes widened in disbelief, wondering why Lady Julianne was suddenly praising Eveloria.
Eveloria bowed her head slightly, acknowledging Lady Julianne's words, and replied, "Thank you, Lady Julianne."
A praise from Lady Julianne was a rarity. Her comment are often accompanied by scathing remarks such as, "Yours is too messy. How could someone be so clumsy?" or even, "Your hand is cramped. Can't you hold any tighter?"
A slight smirk graced Eveloria's face as she thought, 'I studied diligently to attain this level of perfection, so you wouldn't find fault in everything I do again.'
Briana was on the verge of retorting when a sudden knock on the door drew her attention away from Lady Julianne's comments. The room's focus shifted toward the maid stationed at the entrance.
"Lady Eveloria, there's an important visitor waiting for you," the maid announced.
Puzzlement flickered across the faces of those present. Inquiring, Eveloria asked, "Who is the visitor?"
"It's Lord Gavriel," came the reply.
"I have no interest in seeing him," Eveloria responded, her tone direct.
"He insists on staying until you agree to share tea with him," the maid relayed.
This unexpected development caught Lady Julianne off guard; Lord Gavriel's impending visit was news to her. Meanwhile, Briana let out a less audible scoff and settled back into her seat.
'A lack of courtesy to forewarn us before his arrival to see Eveloria,' Ambrose thought, his demeanor revealing his dissatisfaction.
Seated in contemplative silence, Eveloria weighed her options. Annoyance colored her thoughts as she contemplated Lord Gavriel's unexpected appearance. Eventually, she stood and declared, "Very well, I will meet with him."
Eyes widened in the room as everyone registered her decision. With determined strides, Eveloria left the chamber, heading directly for the parlor .
Approaching the stairs leading down towards the palor, Eveloria paused momentarily before climbing down the stairs . The scene that greeted her widened her eyes, leaving her aghast.