Aspen's mood lifts just slightly at the comforting words of the marquess.
Marquess Rencalle's acknowledgement of his position and understanding of his shortcomings are more than valuable. His words hold enormous weight in this meeting, considering the fact that he has always kept a neutral stance in preceding council meetings.
Already, most of the nobles in the room seem prepared to accept the situation as is because Marquess Rencalle has extended his blessings.
"Thank you, for offering your sincere guidance. It would be wise for certain individuals to learn from your impeccable example. Wouldn't you say so, Viscount Cliden?"
Aspen can't resist toying with the man again, watching the way he squirms in his seat with a false smile.
"Yes..., of course, Your Highness. I shall learn from my mistake and never again step out of line." is the viscount's dejected reply.
"Wonderful. Now, are there any other concerns to be made known? I assume that no one here will be bringing up new stories about my character or ability to lead?"
When no one speaks up, Aspen is about to declare the conclusion of the meeting until a voice cuts through the air.
"If I may, Your Highness. I have just one more inquiry to make."
All heads turn towards the person who spoke, and to Aspen's surprise, it is Marquess Grisel who has his hand raised this time.
Ignacia and Ignes both stiffen slightly on either side of him, and Aspen eyes him suspiciously.
"What is it, Marquess Grisel? Do you have anything more to add?" he settles back into his seat, annoyed at having to entertain what must be another attempt at undermining his worthiness.
Marquess Grisel produces a thin-lipped smile, his narrow eyes turning into slits that are reminiscent of crescents. His kind expression appears as genuine as can be, but what Aspen sees is a nest full of wriggling, poisonous vipers.
There is simply no other reason why the marquess would open his mouth other than to get in his way. And he's right.
"Pardon me, but even with the problem of Your Highness' non-existent mate resolved, there still remains an obstacle you might want to look into."
Marquess Grisel pauses, as though to emphasise the gravity of what he is about to reveal.
"With all due respect, Your Highness, you do not have the support of your maternal family. Perhaps it is due to the lack of a nurturing figure in your life, but your demeanour and character has constantly been called into question over the years. I am afraid that the noble faction simply does not see you as a viable candidate for the throne. As I myself am part of the imperial faction, I would like to offer a word of advice to you, Your Highness. If you wish to quell their worries, it would be wise for you to recapture the support of the late empress' family."
Aspen raises his eyebrows, not at all bothered by his sharp words.
The insinuation that he is inadequate because he never had a mother is something that has been whispered about in high society for as long as he has lived in the palace.
It is clear that the marquess is trying to provoke him into answering rashly, but Aspen has long since known the disadvantage he's at because of the decline of his mother's family.
"And why would I? The house of the late empress has nothing to offer me now. Despite their once illustrious name, they are hardly more than a family on the edge of receding into obscurity. The phantoms of their past glory hold no sway over the actions of the noble faction today, as I'm sure you know."
What good will it do for him to harass his maternal family for support when they have remained in decrepit ruin since his mother passed away?
Regardless of the blood he shares with them, he never got to know them or the person who birthed him. His family is, and always will be, the three people he still wishes he could bring back today.
At age twenty-nine, he feels hardly a connection with his relatives or his dead mother, and there's nothing he can do for or want from a house that neglected its own prosperity in favour of drowning in grief.
He can't understand what the marquess is trying to achieve with his poisonous tongue and thinly barbed words.
Where is this buffoon going with this?
As though he was waiting for Aspen's disinterest in the topic to surface, Marquess Grisel's smile turns smug, and Aspen can see the acidity in his eyes before he opens his vile, slippery mouth.
"Ah, my apologies, Your Highness. I seem to have made a mistake. Of course, you would not turn to House Samior. After all, they were part of the reason that Your Highness was brought into the palace against your will."
Aspen's eyes grow cold and steely immediately. And there are several nervous remarks from the nobles around the table.
Ignes, who is usually a silent figure of support during such meetings, speaks up from beside Aspen on his behalf. "Marquess Grisel, I would advice you to choose your words carefully. His Highness has been especially forgiving today, all things considered. Do not take his kindness for granted."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare. However, there is no doubt that the noble faction has been trying to seek an audience with His Majesty to contest his decision to make Your Highness the crown prince. In fact, a little bird informed me not too long ago that they have brought up some unpleasant details about your past as an excuse to call into question your worth as His Majesty's successor."
Aspen taps his foot on the marbled floor, his impatience brewing within him like the calm before a storm.
The nobles sitting near him eye him with apprehension clear in their faces.
"Well? What about me has the noble faction been blabbering about? Spit it out." he snaps, beginning to lose his temper from the deliberately drawn out conversation.
Marquess Grisel appears wounded by his harsh tone, but only a fool would fall for his act.
Aspen knows that he is secretly overjoyed at being able to agitate him so, but he doesn't care. Having to jump through hoops to get this damned title he rightfully deserves is infuriating. This meeting has gone on long enough, and only one person has been genuinely concerned about the problems he might face.
He's had enough of listening to this ridiculous drivel.
Marquess Grisel obliges his command with a dip of his head, speaking clearly for all to hear.
"A certain family from the noble faction has been steadily spreading the word that Your Highness is unworthy of the title of crown prince. They are saying that you have brought strange ideas of social mobility from the slums into the palace, and that your noble roots have been tainted by the teachings of the lowly commoners."
Aspen's hands curl into fists in his lap, and his foot stops tapping on the ground as he detects the haughty undercurrent veiled beneath that purposefully grim tone.
His gums ache as he feels anger build in the back of his mind, and he just barely manages to suppress the instinct to bare his fangs.
But the marquess isn't done.
With a final, falsely distressed expression, he drops a heavy bomb.
"They also say that Your Highness is an ungrateful child who should have remained hidden in the slums, and that it was fortunate that the gutter rats that raised you into adolescence were slaughtered before corrupting you completely."