André looked to his father with a startled expression, before blinking out of his haze and jumping to his feet. "Yes, father." He replied, before stepping around Arno and towards Béatrice.
Stopping before her, André reached out his hand, his fingers trembling as a feigned smile was plastered on his lips. "Lady Béatrice, If I may?" He asked, his tone warm and respectful.
Béatrice studied André closely, her yellow eyes catching every nervous tremble, the awkward averting of his eyes, his forced smile of confidence.
It all pointed to André being not being prepared for the burdens his brother left behind. Unfortunately for André, his father seemed all too eager to push him into his brother's shoes.
Béatrice, though she didn't reveal it, felt pity for André. Still, despite her feeling she understood how the game was played.
She gracefully extended her hand to André, a small polite smile crossing her lips. "Thank you, André." She replied, placing her hand lightly in André's palm.
André gulped as he wrapped his hand around Béatrice's, his red eyes darting towards his parents briefly. He then led Béatrice to a seat at the head of the table near Arno, pulling out a chair for her to use.
Arno watched closely as André helped Béatrice settle into her seat, his stern gaze scrutinizing André's every moment. Céline meanwhile looked distressed, like she couldn't believe what was happening, yet she held her tongue.
André awkwardly stood next to Béatrice, his hands to his sides, and expression unreadable. Though it was obvious he was attempting to suppress his nerves.
"Are you not going to sit?" Béatrice asked André, looking up to him with a firm expression of curiosity.
André turned to look at her with a hesitant smile, "Do you wish for me too? Next to you or…"
"André," Arno called to him, his tone serious.
André turned to face his father, "Sir?" He replied, his voice holding a tinge of panic.
"Conduct yourself properly," he ordered, "and take your seat beside Béatrice."
André quickly nodded, his movements stiff as he pulled out the chair next to Béatrice. His eyes stole a glance at Béatrice, who returned his gaze with a practiced smile.
Béatrice inwardly shook her hand at André's behavior. His inexperience would be the death of him if Arno got his way, that was almost certain.
With André settled, Béatrice adjusted her posture, folding her arms neatly on the table. Her yellow eyes scanned the room, it was neat and small, with a large stained window on the back wall.
"Béatrice, I'm sure you are well aware of our current situation." Arno began, leaning forward as his large frame cast a shadow over the table. "Regarding Napoleon and his successor."
Béatrice nodded as she met Arno's worn yet determined gaze. "Of course, it's quite hard to miss the death of my husband." She replied, her expression calm but respectful.
Céline winced as she quickly looked towards Arno, who had a remorseful expression. "My apologies, have you taken time to mourn?"
Béatrice gave a subtle nod, her polite smile remaining ever present. "As much as time would allow Lord Arno." She replied, her tone diplomatic, "But please don't hold on to my account, duty calls, right?"
Arno nodded in agreement, "Absolutely, in times like these, staying true to your duty is necessary." He answered, "And to that regard, House Nova must continue with its duty, now with Napoleon's absence, there is a void to be filled, one I need your help in plugging."
"I assume you mean Lord André?" Béatrice asked, glancing at André, who sat stiffly beside her, his hands fumbling with the sleeve of his suit jacket. Upon noticing Béatrice staring at him, his eyes flickered with unease.
"Forgive me," Béatrice said as she looked back towards Arno, "but are you sure this is the wisest course of action, Napoleon's mantle isn't something one can easily inherit."
Arno sighed deeply, "Indeed, Napoleon's legacy has gone far beyond what anyone expected," he conceded, before turning his gaze onto André, "but it's not out of reach, not for André."
"With all due respect," Béatrice began, her carefully crafted diplomatic tone rolling off her tongue. "Napoleon's shoes cannot be filled with mere determination and eagerness alone, Napoleon walked a path of experience, patience, and above all else, preparation."
Arno nodded at Béatrice's words but remained silent for her to continue.
"One cannot simply step into Napoleon's boots, it's a process and not one to be skipped by simply marrying me."
Arno allowed for a moment of silence to follow Béatrice's words, his jaw shifting as he adjusted his stance. "All wise words Béatrice, truly," he began with a subtle nod, "but I don't think you understand André, not how I do."
André physically tensed at his father's words, his expression becoming hardened as his fists tightened. There was something in his eyes, a flicker or flash, but the emotion was unreadable.
"You believe André is weak, inexperienced, perhaps even naïve." Arno continued, "Your assessment is mostly correct, but there's something André has that not even Napoleon had… "
Béatrice curiously raised an eyebrow as she glanced at André, her expression grew softer as she looked upon him, clearly not expecting much, but she was still intrigued. "And that is?" She asked, turning to face Arno.
"Unrivaled adaptability," Arno said with a confident smirk, "you may think André cannot survive the forge of Napoleon's path, but I assure you, André will walk it through to completion."
Béatrice subtly pulled back from the table as she processed Arno's words.
Unrivaled adaptability, in what context?
Béatrice narrowed her eyes as she examined Arno, his wide confident grin, the glint in his eyes, the soft chuckle that escaped his lips. All signs point to Arno genuinely believing in André.
But the question remained, was Arno's confidence rooted in truth, or desperation?
Whatever the answer, Béatrice was about to force it out. "Unrivaled adaptability," she echoed, her tone contemplative, "an interesting concept, but what does it mean exactly?"
Arno's grin widened, "it's simple really," he began gesturing a finger towards André, "any situation most would deem dire, André will adapt to it."
Béatrice gave Arno a challenging smirk, "And how confident are you in this… unrivaled adaptability?" She asked, mimicking Arno's earlier finger tapping.
"Very," Arno replied.
Béatrice nodded, preparing to break the conversation and put it in her favor, "if that's the case, then why not make André the head of the Nova household," she suggested, "I'll happily step down, allowing André to put his unrivaled adaptability to the test."
As the suggestion left her lips, the room grew cold with a sharp tension. André's eyes went wide as Céline gasped audibly, while Arno was left standing in silence.
See, Béatrice had already put together where this conversation was headed, what Arno hoped to get out of her for André.
She was to be the sculptor, the person who molded André to become the next Napoleon.
But Béatrice wasn't interested in that, she didn't want another Napoleon, another militant hot head with a heart of gold.
Béatrice sighed softly as she leaned back on her seat, placing her hands in her lap as she turned to face André.
André stared back at her, his crimson eyes wide with something primal, challenging, an overwhelming emotion that had his breath caught in his throat.
His lips twitched as if they had something to say. Though there was something subtle, a smirk of some kind, one Béatrice missed.
Suddenly, the sound of chuckling echoed through the room, a deep, admirable sound. "Napoleon told stories about you, how you could with the snap of a finger."
Béatrice turned to face Arno, who was softly chuckling to himself, his large shoulders shaking as his eyes filled with intrigue. "I see what he meant, the demon he chose as a wife."
Arno then turned to meet Béatrice's gaze, "you're sharp Béatrice," he further remarked, "André could learn a lot from you if you'd take him."
Béatrice stopped herself from outwardly scoffing, she knew better than to fall for such an obvious trap. Still, she held a powerful position currently, Arno and André needed her far more than she needed them.
However, she also knew that she didn't have many options when it came to running House Nova, at least not without her being a Nova in marriage.
So, she was willing to compromise, but on her terms.
"Your words are noted, Lord Arno," Béatrice replied smoothly, "but if I am to remarry, I'll do so on my own time." She further explained, "After an engagement of course, which could take years."
Arno nodded, his earlier chuckling now replaced with a contemplative expression "An engagement, with an unspecified wedding date." He muttered, his tone hallow.
"Precisely." Béatrice replied, "And during that time, my fiancé will prove his worth to me, and only when I deem him ready, can he call himself my husband."
Arno remained in contemplative silence, giving Céline the perfect opportunity to interject. "Oh, that sounds perfect!" She replied with a tone of relief and satisfaction. "André and Béatrice can grow to accept the other's presence, while Béatrice can operate freely, and André can grow without pressure," Céline reached to grab Arno's arm, "and with the engagement, they're still committed to each other!"
Arno groaned, but before he could respond, there was a knock at the door. "Sorry to interrupt my lords, but the ceremony is about to begin!" It was the firm voice of a pathfinder.
Arno's expression quickly shifted to that of duty as he stood tall. Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned his attention towards Béatrice. "We'll discuss this later," he declared his tone firm. He then turned his attention towards André, " fix yourself up, and stop pulling on your coat."
André immediately strained up, a wry smile crossing his lips as he. Patted down his coat. "Yes, father." He said softly, a hint of relief in his voice. He didn't look as nervous as he did before, perhaps because he was no longer pressured to marry Béatrice.
"Come, André," Céline called to him, her tone gentle as she outstretched her hand. "I'll help you."
André beamed as he quickly jogged towards her.
Arno sighed at the sight but remained silent.
The conversation was effectively over for now, but as Béatrice rosé gracefully rose from her seat, she locked eyes with Arno once more, both knowing another game had just begun.