The sky was beautiful as ever, serene and calm as the mirror of a lake.The sun shone with all of his radiance almost as an attempt to cradle the baby of his heart, so that he could dream as he once did in his mother's arms. He never knew her name , nor how she looked like, yet many times a she went to sleep he would dream of long arms stretching over his curled up body, he did not know if they were of his mother, but he liked to think they were.
He always liked to mutter one or two poetic words whenever he felt like.He liked to think that her mother was a poetress and her blood was in him. The blood of emperors and of poetry flowed in his veins .
''Daytime arrives as poetry and fades as as the last words of a lullaby.Yet I sleep and sleep and yet never dream, is that a curse or a jest made by the dread-''
he immediately stopped as he heard the door opened, he knew there was only one person that would deign the enter his door.
Claria had the brownest eyes he had ever seen. Whenever he smiled at her, her eyes seemed to light up;when he was with her it was like nothing else mattered. He believed that she always saw him as her son, yet did he look at her like his mother?That he did not kow.
Her lips were thin, small, and the top one came together to make a perfect M. Sometimes when he caught him playing gloomy she would always tried to copy him.
A stupid game it was ,and yet he loved as she always played along. Her fingers were slender, nails cut short. Her skin was tanned and yet in her shoulder there were some points of the palest hue he had ever saw. Like salt falling on a plate of brown mushroom. His eyes traveled along the path of her long black hair back up to her eyes. Her eyes was what he liked best about her, she could gaze at them for a full day and never get tired.
She bowed gracefully, her ebony hair cascading down her back before she straightened, her piercing black eyes fixing on him.
"Tibianus, I suppose you know why I am here?" she queried, her tone tinged with a hint of disappointment.
He feigned ignorance, attempting to lighten the mood with a jest. "I would like to say it was to gaze at the beautiful weather alongside me," he replied with a wry smile.
But her gaze remained stern, her disappointment palpable. "I was told of what you did, the priest made sure of that," she stated matter-of-factly.
Tibianus gritted his teeth, he always like to run his mouth around that shit-eater, he thought . He avoided her gaze, unable to meet her eyes when disappointment was in hers.
"Do you know that what you did was wrong?" she questioned, her voice gentle yet firm, like a mother reprimanding a child.
"Perhaps..." he trailed off, turning his gaze to the window, unable to meet her eyes.
Claria approached him, her arms enveloping his head as she drew him close to her bosom, just like she used to when he was a child. It was a comforting gesture, one that made him feel safe and loved.He needed that
"I know why you did that," she murmured softly, her breath warm against his skin.
His heart skipped a beat as he looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers. "You do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You don't want to enter the church, right?" she inquired, her finger tracing his jawline as she studied his expression.
Tibianus nodded, a sense of relief washing over him as he admitted his fears. "I don't," he confessed, knowing deep down that the path of the faith was not for him. He shuddered at the thought of the sacrifices demanded by the church. There was a reason why sons of rebelled nobles chose death over church and though he was tempted to choose death over submission, he couldn't bring himself to embrace such a fate. He was a coward, and he knew it.
She said nothing , she was aware of his fears and yet she also knew he had no choice. Bastards always had two roads, church or being sent to die on a war. Everybody hated bastards and yet everyone always had one or two.
He hated his mother's blood, yet when he had such thought he always thought back to her hands ,on those dreams. He always felt pain after that.
''Want to walk with me?'' She asked not knowing any other way to calm the boy.
He nodded , she walked and he followed.
The halls of the palace stretched out before Tibianus as he walked. Marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers. Portraits of past emperors and empress adorned the walls, their watchful eyes seeming to follow his every step almost as if mocking him to think they share the same blood.
Servants bustled about, their movements purposeful and efficient. Some glanced at Tibianus as he passed, their expressions briefly registering recognition before returning to their tasks. It was a familiar sight, one he had grown accustomed to over the years. As a bastard son , he was often met with indifference or disdain from those around him.
Though as long as he had her, it mattered not.
At the end of the hallway, sounds of voiced echoed through the grand corridors of the palace. The sounds were not the usual echoes of conversation or the bustle of servants; instead, they were cries of pain, sharp and piercing. Tibianus halted in his tracks, his heart pounding in his chest as he exchanged a concerned glance with Claria.
The shouts emanated from the hall throne chambers, where the consort empress must have been sitting.She after all was the regent working alongside the a small council of nobles.
The shouts echoed off the marble walls, carrying a weight of anguish that could smash mountains .
Despite the distance, the cries were unmistakable, resonating with a rawness that sent a shiver down Tibianus's spine. He could feel Claria's grip tighten on his arm, her expression mirroring his concern. Whatever was happening behind those closed doors,he knew something horrifying must have happened.