Miniarc-Villains-33
“Do you miss it?”
A week and a day after the attack, Samuel found himself once more seated across from Cecilia in the Gold Dorm’s dining room. He’d kept the promise he made to himself and didn’t return to the camp the weekend past and was glad for it, the extra rest having left him with a good mood and refreshed body. He’d even managed to keep the refugees and rebels from his thoughts, pondering nothing grander than the mysteries of the sky.
While he agreed that joining the weather makers of the Rosefield duchy was a terrible idea, it remained a fascinating field of study. If mastered, the power and versatility of the magic would ensure that whatever path he decided to walk in the future, he could walk it with confidence. It was a complicated field, and the spells were closer to abominations than legible equations, but even the challenge was appealing. Frustrating, undoubtedly, but he was comforted that his pondering on the natural laws of the world wouldn’t shake the future or ruin lives.
“Not a single mont,” the prince replied with a smile. “And you? You haven’t grown weary of tending to the unfortunates yet?”
She humd over the rim of her wineglass. “Do you think you’ve seen the world?”
“It’s rude to answer a question with a question.”
“Indulge .”
“Don’t I always?” Samuel held back a grimace. He constantly reminded himself that it wasn’t proper to flirt with her after her clear rejection, but the thought kept slipping his mind. It was so easy, what with their new candid policy toward their interactions. Cecilia also found amusent in it. Even now, she was smiling at him, a relaxed expression quite different from the polite smile she used to always give him. The two were so obviously different, he felt like a fool for not being able to distinguish them in the past. “I suppose so. I’ve traveled rather extensively.”
“So have I. But what have you seen of the world? Think for a mont. What mories have you made that will stay with you for the rest of your life? What mories would you want to share with others?”
“Hm. My manservant plotting my death is certainly morable, but I don’t know how much of that journey I’d want to share with others.”
“We’ve never talked about it.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to talk about.” Sches and betrayal ca with status. Saints, even common n had to deal with the envy of others. So long as he owned anything, including himself, there would be soone that wanted to take from him. “Aside from that…I suppose the royal balls? They can get tedious if you have an agenda, or have to deal with an agenda, but they’re quite beautiful.” n and won dressed in their best suits and dresses dancing in the lap of extravagance; if Samuel wanted to impress soone, that was the mory he’d share. His first ball at that, when everyone and everything was so large and new. A gut-churning barrage of sensation that slowly llowed into wonder with enough ti and wine.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all. I suppose my life is sad and unremarkable.”
“Please. Our lives are wonderful. Wonderfully comfortable, that is. I love it and wouldn’t give it up for anything. People would kill to be sitting where we are now. But…I don’t know. I live a good life but, sotis, I don’t think I live.”
“…I don’t understand.”
“Yesterday, a grandmother ca into the clinic.” Cecilia reached for the bottle they shared, wincing when she felt its emptiness. Samuel didn’t wait for her to debate with herself on if she wanted to continue drinking, catching a server’s eye and motioning for a refill. She shook her finger at him, but her smile was grateful. “It was nothing serious, she’d twisted her ankle in a fall, but we lent her a bed for the day. I checked in with her when I could, a few tis throughout my shift. Amazingly, she had a new story to tell each ti.
“Did you know that there are mushrooms that have an intoxicating effect when consud? She picked a basketful mistakenly as a girl and served them to her family in that night’s dinner. Her parents scolded her sothing serious but then it beca a tradition. During festivals, everyone wanted their famous mushroom soup.”
“I hardly think taking drugs ans they’ve lived a more fulfilling life than us.”
“She told how she t her husband. She stole him away, you see. From her best friend, no less. They’d been engaged as children, but they weren’t in love. anwhile, she knew from the beginning they were ant for each other. He was hesitant to do sothing dishonorable by breaking the engagent…until she snuck into his room one night and changed his mind.”
“…I think that sabotages your point more.”
She chuckled, pausing as the wine arrived to refill her glass. “Stop focusing on the sordid details. I’m talking about the passion, Samuel. She told that she felt terrible that night but that sothing greater than the guilt and the fear carried her forward. I think…I think that’s what destiny is. Sothing that supersedes reason and emotion, sothing that takes control of you in those critical monts and guides you down the road you’re ant to travel. I’ve never felt that. I don’t know anyone that’s ever felt that. And I’m starting to think it can’t be found lounging in luxurious beds or feasting on extravagant als.”
Samuel pondered her words as she sipped her drink. In a way, they rang true. The prince didn’t know anyone of status that he would say had lived a full life. His father, the most powerful man in the kingdom, was mired in dissatisfaction, forever tornted by diocrity. Every luxury humanity could create sat at his fingertips and Samuel couldn’t recall a ti he’d seen the man smiling with unrestrained joy.
The sa went for his mother. Dowager had found his passion but, as Cecilia said, it had nothing to do with the glamorous lifestyle he could afford to live, rather the opposite. Perhaps the only one in his family he could say was truly happy was his younger sister and she spent all her ti in her delusions.
But there was a price to pay for that passion. Samuel was looking forward to the day his brother realized that war was not all about glorious conquest. His sister had an addled mind. And the grandmother Cecilia talked about. Perhaps she’d lived an eventful life, but was it worth the suffering that ca with every decision? The suffering she was enduring now? So what if she’d found the love of her life? He was probably dead now. If she had descendants, they were probably living like rats in the camp.
“It’s not worth it,” Samuel concluded. An easy life without passion was fine with him.
“Don’t be offended but I expected that answer from you.”
“Why would I be offended? It’s good that you can rely on to be rational.”
“Rational, sure.”
He frowned but before he could ask what she ant by her tone, his eyes were drawn to the entrance of the room; specifically, to the man that had just entered. It was Ewan, moving with quick, asured steps. Moving with purpose. Samuel reflexively straightened, a habit when receiving news of relevance.
“Forgive for the interruption, your highness, Lady Rosefield.”
“No need, Sir Reed,” Cecilia replied amicably. “Would you care to join us?”
“No, thank you. I rely ca to deliver a ssage to Prince Samuel.” The knight passed him a small, rolled up parchnt, the kind of ssage tied to the feet of ssenger hawks. The magical birds were only used when a ssage needed to be delivered urgently. The parchnt also felt expensive. Samuel’s gut clenched as he accepted it, as well as a thin blade to cut the red string that kept it closed. He could only think of one powerful person that would want to contact him.
“Samuel?” Cecilia asked as she noticed his expression worsening, but he didn’t respond, too absorbed in the ssage. It wasn’t long but his eyes were slow to move from word to word, each one so heavy he struggled to lift his gaze from them.
When he finished, his broad shoulders sagged from the force of his sigh. “Thank you, Ewan. You can go.” He gave the knight a look that said they would discuss the contents of the ssage later.
“As you wish.”
“Can you talk about it?” Cecilia asked, dropping her voice to a whisper, his deanor an obvious clue to the seriousness of the note.
“I suppose so. It won’t be a secret for long.” Despite that, Samuel also found himself whispering. “My father is sending The Butterfly to take command of the city until order is restored.”
The noblewoman’s eyes widened to an almost comical degree. “Her? She’s coming here? Alone?”
“With the full weight of the crown behind her.”
“Saints save us. Is it treasonous if I ask if your father has gone mad?”
“If it is, everyone in the kingdom will be traitors.”
“I suppose I see the wisdom. She gets results even if her thods are…radical.”
“And the city certainly needs results.”
“What else? That’s sensational but it’s not enough to put that look on your face.”
Despite the dread pooling in his gut, Samuel chuckled. “My polite mask is made of sturdier stuff, yes. It seems Lady Butterfly has requested that I aid her in her duties. I’m to make myself available to her when she arrives for as long as she pleases. Father has also made it very clear that I will not be accompanying her as a prince, but as a subordinate.”
“Oh.”
That was a succinct summation of Samuel’s feelings on the matter. He was a fly, buzzing about the ruins of Quest, and had the misfortune of being caught in a spider’s web. He’d been noticed, the exact thing he was afraid of.
He didn’t know what the most notorious “fixer” in the kingdom wanted with him, but he knew for sure that it wouldn’t be good.
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