The night had been restless, but fatigue did not claim him. If anything, Napoleon felt invigorated as the first rays of dawn spilled across the horizon. He cast off the lingering remnants of sleeplessness and dressed with meticulous care. Though he often favored the stark authority of his military uniform, today called for a princely attire—a tailored ensemble that whispered of both power and refinement.
He rode his carriage with his family emblem. A griffin holding a torch embellished in red and gold. The scenery changes from grand manors, bustling towns and taverns to farms.
An hour has passed, the carriage ride became smooth as the streets were paved as they went near Marindu. The streets are paved with concrete and the streets are lit by lamps three meters apart. He sent someone ahead using the fastest horse to inform his arrival.
When he arrived at the grand Lovardi estate, the vast distance from the gate to the door was half a mile. The heavy oak doors were opened promptly by the butler, Sebastian.
"Welcome, Your Highness. My name is Sebastian. I am the steward of Lovardi household." he bowed.
Napoleon's sharp eye caught the man's appearance—tall, well-groomed, with a quiet confidence in his movements. The butler's polished demeanor was a rarity among his kind. He looked to be in his late twenties, a man in his prime, and his features were uncommonly handsome for someone in service. Lean and pale, his face is androgynous. With long hair, no one would notice he is a man.
"Lucky fellow," Napoleon mused silently, his thoughts taking a darker, wry turn. If he served in another household, he would likely invite scandal. His presence alone could ignite jealousy between husbands and wives or tempt lonely nobles into unsavory arrangements. In the wrong setting, he'd undoubtedly find himself to the role of a boytoy—a bedwarmer rather than a steward.
Napoleon smirked at the notion, shaking his head as if to clear such idle thoughts. From Balmir and this servant, Lovardis are clearly dilettantes. His steward, Neil, who was with him is very different. Tanned skin and dark brown eyes. Muscular and tall. A few inches shorter than him. He looked more like a guard than a steward.
They followed Sebastian down the polished corridors, their footsteps softened against the carpeted floors. The butler led them to the salon, a stately room drenched in soft morning light, where an intricately carved mahogany table in its centre. Candles were lit to brighten the room. He sat like he owned the place like the prince he was.
The prince noticed immediately that the hosts were absent—a minor breach of etiquette, though understandable, given the hour. It was, after all, the crack of dawn, and his arrival had likely caught them mid-preparation. To fill the time, tea and sandwiches were promptly served. There is not enough time for a fresh batch of pastries. Yesterday's desserts were wisely withheld.
Sebastian remained close, to attend to any of Napoleon's needs. The prince found his ever-present vigilance both amusing and intriguing. As he lifted the teacup to his lips, the faint aroma of unknown tea wafted upward.
"How long have you been working here?" Napoleon asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Sebastian blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the casual tone of the question. His own steward is also surprised. This question usually ends up in recruiting someone.
"Pardon, Your Highness?"
Sebastian was surprised with the sudden question. It wasn't every day a prince engaged a servant in small talk.
"Thirty-five years, Your Highness," he replied with measured precision. "I've served the Lovardi family since I was but a boy."
Napoleon set his teacup down gently, his gaze lingering on the steaming liquid. It has a warm, toasty smell, and a nutty flavor. He didn't know what tea it was. He is not curious enough to ask.
The dandelion tea was soothing, its herbal notes cooling his restless thoughts. Little did he know the meaning behind it. Some people view dandelions as weeds and unwelcome in the garden like he was. This is not a known meaning for dandelions.
"Three and a half decades," Napoleon mused aloud, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his lips. "A lifetime of loyalty. I wonder if that's a choice or a circumstance. Serving them before their title, huh."
Sebastian nodded his head slightly, as if weighing the remark, but said nothing. The room lapsed into a quiet lull, broken only by the distant ticking of an ornate clock on the mantle. Napoleon leaned back in his chair, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his teacup, his thoughts far away even as he remained keenly aware of the butler's presence.
The Lovardis had yet to appear, but Napoleon was in no hurry. Patience, after all, was a skill he had mastered in the battlefield and schemes in politics.
Sebastian asked him if he would like to tour the manor while waiting. He refused the offer and watched the sunrise by the window in silence.
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Benedict Lovardi and his wife Maria were fast asleep in their boudoir. He has his arms wrapped around his wife. He has straight ginger hair and freckles on the face while she has porcelain skin and curly black locks spilled over the pillow. He could feel a persistent shaking of his arm. He groggily opened his green eyes, a sharp sensation of discomfort flooding his senses. The hand on his arm was too large to be his wife's. He groaned in irritation. The couple had arrived at their manor in the early hours, and Benedict had given strict instructions to his household that they were not to be disturbed.
"Milord, please wake up. It's an emergency. A prince has arrived," a voice said, urgent and insistent.
The voice belonged to their footman, Ethan, who was visibly anxious. Benedict, still half-conscious and disoriented, attempted to ignore the words. It was far too early, and his body longed for the embrace of sleep. Who would come at this ungodly hour, he thought.
Ethan, undeterred, raised his voice a little louder. "Milord, you need to hurry. Prince Napoleon of Thrace is here."
The name cut through the haze of sleep like a sharp blade, and his eyes flew open, his body immediately jolting upright in alarm.
He moved quickly, his body stiff from the night before but propelled by the urgency of the situation.
Lady Maria stirred beside him, her eyes fluttering open at the sudden movement. Benedict, already out of bed, hastily began splashing water on his face, attempting to wake himself. His servants quickly surrounded him, assisting him with the duties of dressing and grooming him. He scoured his teeth with care, not allowing the servants to tend to this personal matter. Despite the ministrations and perfume, the faint scent of alcohol still lingered on him from the night before, the remnants of a celebratory glass of wine from the ball.
It took nearly an hour and a half for him to be presentable, his servants working furiously to help him look the part of the nobleman he was. At last, he was ready.
He strode down the hallway, the tension in his shoulders palpable. His thoughts raced, but he tried to steady himself as he approached the salon.
Ethan knocks the door and announces his presence, "Marquis Benedict Lovardi of Marindu arrives." With that, he swung the door open.
Benedict's anxious face lit up when Prince Napoleon greets him with delight and rises from his seat. "Good morning, Marquis Lovardi. What a pleasant day we have today, don't we? Apologies for the intrusion."
As a prince, he had no need to stand in respect for a mere marquis. It was a gesture of his own making, an act of courtesy that was entirely optional, yet one that Benedict could not help but notice.
Benedict's mind was already whirling with questions, but he kept his expression neutral, offering the prince a courteous bow in return.
"Your Highness, I am honored by your presence. However, I must admit, I find myself quite perplexed as to the nature of your visit at such an early hour."
Napoleon chuckled lightly, a sound that echoed through the room like a soft wind.
"So do I. Sleep has not visited me last night and that is why I'm here." he replied.
He waited for the prince to continue. He was aware that this encounter would change everything.
Napoleon gestured for Benedict to take a seat across from him, his expression turning slightly more serious. He gestured that the servants leave. The room was quiet aside from the faint crackle of the fireplace.
"Marquis Lovardi," Napoleon began, his tone measured and deliberate, "I must commend the elegance of your household."
Benedict nodded, unsure of where this was leading, though he remained attentive. "You honor me with your words, Your Highness."
The prince leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Benedict's. "I did not come here lightly, nor did I wish to disturb your peace without reason. My visit concerns a matter that is both personal and of significant consequence."
Benedict's brow furrowed slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Please, Your Highness. Speak freely."
Napoleon hesitated for a brief moment, then exhaled softly, as though preparing to lay bare a carefully guarded thought. "It is your daughter, Lady Amanda. ------ It is for this reason, Marquis, that I humbly seek your permission to court her—with the ultimate intention of asking for her hand in marriage."
The words hung in the air heavily. The gravity of the request was clear, and it demanded careful consideration.
He returned his gaze to the prince, his expression a careful blend of gratitude and somber resolve.
"Your Highness," Benedict began, his voice steady but tinged with an unmistakable gravity, "I held my daughter in high regard and it is a great honor as a father to hear that someone of your stature to seek her hand in marriage."
He paused for a moment. "You are a reliable man, My Lord. I am not worried that you will not cherish my daughter. But I must confess,
Benedict hesitated, the weight of his love for his daughter evident in his eyes. "Amanda... she is blind, Your Highness, I am afraid that life as a royalty does not suit her. She will be your weakness and she will be the center of ridicule in Ajia. I beg of you, Your Highness. My daughter will wither like a flower if she follows you in Ajia. She is betrothed to my adoptive son, Balmir, who I groomed to be my successor."
"Impertinence." Neil raised his voice.
Napoleon held his hand to stop him from speaking and said, "What will you do if I wage a war with Periya, then?"
Benedict's eyes widened at the response of the prince.