Chapter Text
The temperatures at south of the continent were warm during most of the seasons of the year, to the point that one could normally make it through even winter without bothering about axiomatic thick mufflers and hats, or so Lux Sibyl had heard. Having spent her fourteen years of life in the rainy region that she had been born, she had bordered certain doubts about the credibility of the information, yet her designated caretaker and mentor would probably not lie to her about something so mundane. She, however, had failed to mention how dazzling the southern sunlight could be when pouring over the ocean from the rifts between the clouds. As the ship that they boarded crossed the line between the west and south coasts, the young girl was able to witness it herself.
It was perhaps the most stunning sight she had ever seen.
As it would seem, they would soon arrive at the port of Leiden – the proud capital city of a prospering nation. Her accompanier had commented on how great it was that they were finally about to reach her destination, yet the lack of luster in her pupils betrayed the absence of excitement within.
The old Lisbon had since always been a woman whose smiles never extended to her calculating eyes. Removing her cape as the change of weather started to grow smothering, she did not notice Lux’s observant gaze upon her, nor how the latter did not miss the way with which she briefly glared at the blissful sunrays. It appeared that the elderly tutor found the golden glow of daytime a little too exaggerated and deemed the cloudy mantle looming over their homeland for the largest part of the year as the natural state of the skies.
Her cape, now resting on her folded arm, revealed black a robe and a white wimple – the standard outfit of a nun, which only differed from occidental defaults by the crest embroidered on the robe’s heart. Her grave figure was the same as every other lady-in-waiting of the northernmost country of Rohand, if not slightly weightier. Due to being the administrator of its religious affairs, as well as the one responsible for the wellbeing of the nation’s high priestess, she carried an air of authority over her peers, and even over the priestess herself. Nevertheless, not in any moment did she falter in displaying her respect for the person of upper status, as honorifics were ever-present in her manner of speech.
“Lady Lux, please be careful. Do not lean forward too much,” her hoarse voice advised calmly.
The unexperienced priestess, who was aboard her very first cruise, tamely did as told and took a step back from the capped rail. “Sorry, Lisbon,” she replied quietly. Although she was informal in her treatment, a certain sense of intimidation was notable in her attitude.
Just as the words left her mouth, a chilly stream blew by the main deck. Not yet having taken off her p-coat or scarf, Lux did not spare a single shiver under the influence of the breeze, instead worrying about her fluttering hair and fixing the golden berretta on her head.
The strands of gray with a touch of lavender only settled down after the wind subsided. However, the girl could still hear a feeble rustling of raw fabric from behind her back. Turning around, she found a young woman standing on the other side of the deck.
Said woman was a sight to behold.
As if to complement the most beautiful landscape Lux had ever witnessed, the most beautiful person she had ever met stood in the same spot as herself on the contrary direction. Like a mirror, her stare also aimed at the opposite way, observing a flock of migrating birds flying a bit too close for the comfort of most people, but that she did not budge an inch at, seeming as familiar and acquainted with them as could be.
The Sun showered upon her golden hair, causing part of it to glow white, as though it were actually made of light to begin with. Her skin was fair and spotless – the type that would not burn no matter how long it were exposed to hot weather. Her figure was slender and neither too short nor too tall, easily recognizable from any distance, regardless of how unobtrusive and reserved she was.
“Is that not Miss Evergarden?”
“Yes,” Lux nodded as a smile formed on her lips. It was most likely the first one that had lit up her face since morning, born from the odd recipe of excitement and relief that churned along with the wariness inside of her.
At that moment, Lux realized, she wished that the other girl would notice her presence. Surprisingly enough, it was exactly what she did. As the birds distanced themselves from the ship, she turned on her heels, most likely ready to take her leave when her gaze fell upon the other two.
Her hair, as lengthy as Lux’s own, was styled in a braid and hung leisurely from her left shoulder, enveloped in a black ribbon. Trimmed to perfection, it was curly on the ends, with forelocks almost obstructing her eyes and long side-bangs framing her cherubic face. Her lips were naturally rosy in spite of her overall paleness, her golden eyelashes long and feathery. Her large orbs were of a gemstone-like shade of blue that was darker than the cerulean of the sky and brighter than the azure of the ocean. They reflected the world like polished glass, peeking into the very soul of whoever could muster enough courage to talk to her and stripping them naked with a single look. She was that much of an allusive beauty – delicate and reticent, but also aloof and detached, prone to making anyone uneasy at first.
Strangely enough, Lux did not feel any hint of intimidation from her. On the contrary, she found in the stunning woman, who was only a couple of years older than Lux herself, enough comfort to have unguarded and unpretentious conversations, despite only having known her for no more than a day. Such commodity was too much of a rarity in her routine, and that was most certainly the reason why Lux could barely contain herself whenever she saw her.
“Violet!”
Before even gathering her thoughts, Lux broke into a stride toward her with a wave of hand. Lisbon’s words of protest at the danger of tripping were like whispers in her ears. The closer to the blonde she stepped, the harder it was to pay mind to anything else.
Much like Lux, she had yet to undress from her wisteria-mist nude coat. On top of it, she had on black gloves of a flowery lace pattern that matched her tights, and her wood ash-colored boots went up to her shins. Under the coat, she wore a raw organdy lilac skirt and a black high-neck knitted jumper. Taking one of the skirt’s layers in-between her fingers, she bowed in a classy manner, her right leg bent behind her and her back inclining to a specific angle.
“Good afternoon, Lady Lux. We meet again,” she greeted politely. Her voice was calm and soothing, with a sweet ring to it. It was flawless, just as everything else about her.
There was no hint of false cheerfulness in her facial traits. She was expressionless and transparent, her fine features bearing scarce traces of life. Her glossy eyes seemed like crystals and her skin to be made of porcelain. If she stood completely still and held her breath, she could probably be mistaken for an extremely realistic gallery artifact.
She was as charming and alluring as a living doll.
“Yeah. Are you, hum... cold, by any chance?” Lux asked with a tint of awkwardness. The air was indeed chilly, yet Violet’s outfit appeared slightly excessive of protection against it.
“Not at all,” she responded plainly, her tone devoid of lies.
“Lady Lux, where are your manners?” Lisbon sighed, finally catching up to them in a slow pace. “Please excuse her, Miss Evergarden.”
“No need. I do not mind it,” Violet responded nonchalantly. “In fact, I was looking for the two of you. My mother wishes to have you for afternoon tea today as well.”
“Really?” Lux visibly beamed.
“My, my. Such a kind invitation. There is no way we could turn it down, but I feel we will be in your family’s debt if you take on the expenses twice in a row. We will be the ones paying for everything this time, if it is all right with your parents,” Lisbon reasoned, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes creasing further as they narrowed amicably.
“They will surely be pleased,” Violet affirmed. “Shall we, then?”
“Yep!” Lux chirped, covering her mouth with both hands once she perceived her way of speaking crumbling again.
She and Lisbon followed Violet into the ship’s main eatery, which worked as a buffet at morning, café in the afternoon and restaurant at evening. With two floors and no walls in either side, it only counted with ceiling-to-floor windows. There was a stage at its far end, used for special occasions, such as dinners with the captain himself. A burgundy red carpet spread over the entirety of the establishment and round tables with several seats placed everywhere in an intermittent fashion. The center of the first floor had an arrangement of tropical plants surrounded by a counter, where the breakfast dishes were normally served. Directly above it was an enormous crystal chandelier, protruding from the whole on the second floor, which allowed a full view of down below.
The Evergarden couple had been awaiting the arrival of the three on a table next to the windows that overlooked the west, where they intended to watch the sunset. Clad in a sapphire-blue long dress, Tiffany Evergarden signaled at them with her hand as soon as they passed the double doors of the restaurant’s entrance. Hair already completely white and face marked from the many years of smiling, she seemed already at the age of being a grandmother. The same applied to her husband, although the debatably senile Patrick Evergarden would at times act like a little boy rather than a senior. Regardless, the couple was unarguably the parents of Violet, who had recently completed eighteen years, as Lux had heard.
There were no tables in the eatery with less than six seats, so the waiters obeyed a rule to introduce guests who were in few numbers to already occupied tables that had space available. That was how Lux and Lisbon had ended up in the delightful company of the Evergardens for the first time, who had boarded the ship on the previous day, when it stopped by the Kingdom of Enciel.
The group’s greetings did not last too long, and soon, the merry chitchat of the day before resumed as though never being interrupted by the late hours. While Lisbon engaged in a more serious exchange with the elders, the teenage girls immersed themselves in lighthearted talk.
“Huh? There’s a flower in my cup... It doesn’t seem like it was put here by accident, though.”
“Roses are edible, Lady Lux. You can drink it without problems.”
No matter what sorts of random questions Lux muttered to nobody in particular, Violet would offer explanations to her commonplace doubts. Although Lux was the one who belonged to a supposedly higher-ranked social position, Violet was far more well-versed and informed about the world. Any and everything about her was worthy of her status as the daughter of a noble family. She was gifted in every aspect to the point of eeriness, yet Lux found in her something akin to a solace – Violet’s knowledge sparkled in her a mostly dormant will to learn. Lux was aware that such fact stemmed from how harmless and interesting Violet’s elucidations were, but she could not help concluding that there were more reasons involved.
Whenever Violet spoke, it was inevitable that one would contemplate for a moment how detached she seemed from any type of standard, even those that applied to aristocrats. She was indiscriminately impersonal and humble, and her conduct would cause anyone to think that she was closer to a puppet than to an actual human being. The essence of her existence seemed rather artificial and inorganic, as if manufactured in a laboratory, except for a saving something that suggested a twinkle of vivacity.
Lux could not quite place her finger on what it was, but if she had to give a wild guess, she would say it had to have something to do with the object shining on Violet’s chest.
During her first meeting with Violet, the only thing that had enraptured Lux’s attention as much as Violet’s sheer exquisiteness was the brooch she had on her collar. Clasped over her flowery white dress, it had acted as a button for her blue cardigan. Since the brooch was green and adorned with gold, it sat rather conspicuous and mismatched before Violet’s pieces of clothing. Hoping to be of help, Lisbon had offered her an agate cameo brooch that was more fitting of the get-up. The oval object had the image of a deity revered in their homeland at its core, and as such, it was an item much treasured by Lisbon herself. However, Violet had declined the gentle proposal.
“I already have this. I do not wish for any other brooch,” she had argued simply, yet the last sentence had been just about enough to convey her deep fondness for that particular accessory.
Stubbornness coming from someone who appeared so indifferent was quite surprising. Even more so was the way that Violet occasionally dropped her gaze to the brooch or caressed it with her fingertips, as if to confirm its presence. She seemed to take great care of it, afraid of losing it somewhere. Lux had come to believe she had inherited it, hence its importance. However, it clearly had a sentimental value for Violet herself beyond the mere duty of keeping it safe.
The brooch now lay fastened around Violet’s neck by a black string. Her brows would furrow almost unperceptively and her orbs would quiver as a green luster seeped into the blue of her eyes whenever she stared at it. The peculiar behavior gave way to suspicions that beneath her diligent composure were secrets of warmth and infatuation.
Those were but Lux’s assumptions – the most she would be able to grasp through mere observation. But even without that tinge of humanity, just having something as foreign as someone close to her own age interacting with her while bearing none of the stuffy stiffness of obligation that Lisbon and the other nuns that had raised her would accidentally let slip was already enough to make her happy. She wished to indulge in becoming more intimate with Violet in the little time they had left together, even if they never saw each other again once they stepped onto firm land. That was why she started risking questions more personal.
“Violet, do you wear this all the time?”
“Yes. Except when bathing or sleeping.”
“Are you serious? You must really like it...” Lux breathed out. It was quite difficult to conceal her surprise, although her face melted into slight bitterness as she commented, “Miss Tiffany is very nice. She lets you wear whatever you want.”
The jealousy in her remark might have been too obvious. However, she had not aimed it at Violet – or anyone, for that matter. She was simply envious of anyone that possessed a freedom she did not, no maliciousness involved.
Hesitantly, she spared a discreet glance at Lisbon, checking whether the latter had overheard what she would probably have considered a rebellious reaction. Lux had made a point to speak lowly and turn her head to the side, but since nearly nothing ever escaped Lisbon’s firm and controlling grip, she could never be too sure. Luckily, it seemed that the Evergarden couple was doing a great job keeping the old woman busy. In fact, she even looked more concerned than necessary about whatever it was that they were discussing.
Nevertheless, Lux did not have time to dwell on it as Violet replied, “The one who chooses my clothes is my mother, but because it appears she enjoys it. I myself have never attempted to put my fashion sense to use. The only thing I maintain is this brooch.”
Lux blinked a few times, dumbfounded. Her presumption about Violet’s excessive attachment towards the brooch had proved itself false. It was no heirloom. Then, perhaps...
Lux’s cheeks grew roseate as she trailed her thoughts off.
Violet’s parents provided her with everything, from what she had seen. Most likely, so did the rest of her relatives. There would be no reason for her to be expressly doting toward one specific belonging amongst the many others they had probably gifted her. If so, Lux could only conclude that the brooch had been a present from someone special aside from the nest of her family.
“I-Is that so?” Lux stammered, unable to hide her fluster.
It would be the first time she had ever asked anyone about their love life. She could not help her nervousness from rising. What she could do was attempt to venture into the uncharged territory as carefully as possible. Although Violet’s impeccable etiquette gave away that she did not lose posture so easily, the subject was intrusive enough to break any barrier.
“You’re the one who picked it?” she inquired subtly, deciding that it would be the best approach.
“That is correct.”
At Violet’s quick response, Lux could hear the sound of a door closing. The brooch had been her own choice and not the one of a significant other. Regardless, she redeemed, perhaps Violet’s favoring of the brooch was a product of exactly that. Perhaps she would rather hold firmly onto something that she herself had chosen than the infinite other articles that replicated the tastes of someone else or that followed the fashion rules of the elite.
Lux could understand it keenly, for it applied to her as well.
“I see... And that stone... I’d never seen it before myself, but I’ve read about it. It’s emerald, isn’t it? Is this your favorite gem?” she asked, her tone becoming lighter. As she did so, she did not miss the split second in which Violet’s elusive features almost twitched.
The corners of Violet’s lips curled downward thinly. Her head also slanted, her eyes stopping on her slice of cake. However, she was not looking at it or at anything on the table. Her aquamarine eyes were unfocused and appeared to be staring straight into something far-off and unattainable. A wobbly gleam danced within them, and inexperienced as Lux might have been, it stroke her as an exposed sign of longing and loneliness.
“Yes, and... I suppose so.”
~o0o~
Within Leiden, the capital of the most thriving country in the southern region of the continent of Telsis, were located the most important placements of the country, including the royal palace itself. Situated in the outskirts of the city, the palace sat by an affluent of the great Temis River. Amongst the lush vegetation in the surroundings, the area around the palace was abundant in colorful variations of beautiful flowers that bloomed from a certain type of tree – the same type found planted all over Leiden, both in the streets and in people’s homes. Native of the country and appreciated by the whole world, said tree and its blossoms had long turned into a symbol of the nation itself, as well as of the royal household.
Leidenschaftlich was the renowned homeland of bougainvilleas, and its court was no different.
The palace itself was not the main residence of the royal family. The king and his relatives lived in a separate manor, undisclosed to the public and concealed within the woods next to the palace’s premises. Albeit much smaller than the palace, the manor counted with far heavier guarding. Its very existence was a safety measure against invaders and war outbreaks, normally accessed solely through a complicated road, concealed by dense flora.
The manor was, unlike the palace, devoid of overly decorative details on the outside except for a rich garden. Its architecture was sophisticated but considerably unobtrusive. Encircled by an iron fence, the house was rather modest in size, made of paint-less orange and pale brown bricks. The tiles of the roof were of a bright blue that matched the front door and the windows were stained glass that obligatorily stayed closed every night. It was the most unassuming design possible for what truly lay inside, made to be mistaken for an aristocratic mansion instead of the actual royal household, if any by-passers ever spotted it.
The inside was a different matter altogether. Hardly any illumination made its way into the corridors through any tiny gap it could find whenever the wind blew, yet the environment was as cozy and convenient as any home. Paintings adorned the walls along with vases containing flowers of various species. The flooring was carpet-less hard wood in order to make the presence of people around the residence known. The rooms counted with moderately fancy ornamentations and wallpapers, all of unquestionably excellent quality, yet none unnecessarily exaggerated, as to not make waste of tax funds. Amongst them, the third largest bedroom belonged to the royal heir himself.
The crown prince, Gilbert Bougainvillea.
“Been a while, Gil.”
The voice of a young man echoed fuzzy through the room. It buzzed slightly from the speaker of a communication equipment – the latest model, presumably impossible for eavesdroppers to break into.
An acute noise ensued once the owner of the room connected a pair of headphones to the equipment, bringing the speaker close to his lips and testing out a reply, “It sure has, Brother. You sound lively.” As he spoke, he could not help a smile.
Already four years had passed ever since the royal household’s biggest scandal to date. The first prince and originally rightful heir of the throne, Dietfriedt Bougainvillea, had forsaken the crown and exchanged a life in the court for one on sea. Claiming himself as disqualified for taking over the title of king, he had abandoned royalty in order to follow his life-long dream of becoming a member of the navy, living as a commoner until he was able to raise his once decayed social position and accumulate wealth through sheer hard work. He was now the captain of his own ship, commanding a crew of people who were as loyal to him as they were to the court, mostly administering cruises and overlooking the coast for possible raids and trade frauds in the main ports – things not at all uncommon in a country that had its main cities sitting by the seashore.
As of late, the only family member he chose to keep in touch with under the wraps was his younger brother alone.
“It’s the last day on sea, so there’ll be a banquet tonight. I gotta take part as the host. That means I’ll finally get to meet my future sister-in-law,” Dietfriedt grinned. His enthusiasm was palpable despite the conversation not being a face-to-face one.
While talking, he was also adjusting his garment of choice for the night, which consisted of the fully geared captain uniform. Golden stripes, shoulder pads and cufflinks adorned the white pants and high-collar suit. A white sash hung from his left shoulder to touch the grey-stripped white belt around his hips. Up to that point, Dietfriedt’s figure was presentable and would be noted as worthy of respect at first sight if it were not for the fact that the collar of both his suit and dress shirt were sloppily unbuttoned, displaying the gold necklace underneath.
The young man that was about to reach his twenties had as little care for his hair as he had for his clothes, growing it long and braiding it with a light blue ribbon. The streaks of jet-black, which were an outstanding trait in the Bougainvillea bloodline, outlined his pale face and slightly softened his prominent cheekbones. Under thick inky eyebrows were sharp lime-green eyes that normally bore a flirtatious glint.
“Hey, no contact. You know we can’t risk anyone to suspect her connection with us,” Gilbert apprehended immediately from the other side of the line.
In contrast with his older brother, his shirts were always diligently buttoned even at home, his hair kept short save for his bangs and properly combed. Despite him being in the solitude of his own bedroom in a rather uneventful day, his posture was flawless.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I didn’t mean I’d meet her in person. But if Aunt Tiffany really managed to go through with that favor you asked, she and Uncle Patrick will be with her, so I’ll know who she is if I spot them in the crowd. That’s enough for me.”
“If you say so,” Gilbert dismissed in monotone.
“Heh. Not even fazed, are you? Even though you’re getting to know your fiancée tomorrow.”
“Not at all, Brother. I’m actually quite agitated,” the younger one asserted, his tone tired rather than anxious. Imperceptible to the person on the other side of the line, his back had flinched pronouncedly at the word “fiancée”.
There was a pause before Dietfriedt stuttered, “You... what? For real?”
“Why would I lie about this?”
From the seriousness ever-present in Gilbert’s statements and the latter’s characteristic disdain for falsity, Dietfriedt could tell he was speaking the truth. There was, in fact, no need for confirmation, yet Dietfriedt’s brain had blanked out for a second at the rare display of faltering confidence. His laughter burst from the earchambers stridently, causing Gilbert’s deadpan to morph into a grimace.
“So loud...” Gilbert commented, hoping that it had been audible even as he removed the metallic headphones and kept them at a certain distance.
“My bad. I just... wasn’t expecting that honesty,” Dietfriedt admitted as he struggled a little to catch his breath. “I see. I thought you wouldn’t be looking forward to it at all. I mean, I know you normally go along with everything Mom and Dad would say, but everyone has their limits, and an arranged marriage sure as hell doesn’t seem like a ride you’d want to get on.”
“It really isn’t. And I’m not looking forward to it at all. But I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Dietfriedt’s movements froze at the question. It soon hit him that his brother’s nervousness was not due to expectancy but to rejection. A pang of guilt followed the wish to take his observations back.
“Maybe I would if you were here,” Gilbert added mercilessly, and despite relying only on deductions, Dietfriedt was certain that the younger one would be giving him “the look” if they were face-to-face.
He was quite weak to it.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. I accept the responsibility. And that’s exactly why I won’t attend the wedding.”
“Is that also your reason for not attending Dad’s funeral?” Gilbert asked almost accusingly, as if he had been waiting for an opportunity to do so.
“Actually, no. I just didn’t want to see him ever again when I left home, and that hasn’t changed even now,” Dietfriedt answered plainly.
Perhaps because of the brief shock from such brutal frankness, Gilbert had to take a moment to find his voice again. Once he did, his next words came out in intervals, “What... are you saying...? It’s almost as if you’re completely fine with... being stranded for the rest of your life.”
“Look, Gil. Dad might’ve been a fine Old Man to you and our sisters, but to me, he was the worst. Simple as that,” Dietfriedt clarified with a rather uncommon amount of severity. “Plus, if I hadn’t left, I’d have to take the crown.”
“You talk like it’s an awful idea.”
“It’s a pretty damn horrible one, though. I’m not fit for being king. You’re much better for the role, for a ton of reasons.”
“Care to explain what you mean by this?” Gilbert arched a brow.
Before his brother had left the family behind, anyone in his shoes would have done the same. Albeit giving off an impression of carelessness, Dietfriedt was a highly competent individual – enough to be able to carve a path for himself both professional and socially without the support of their ancestors’ success and glory. He was also a charismatic man by nature, having gained the favor of many throughout his childhood and teenage years. However, it appeared that having his fate sealed by his lineage was to him a bundle of chains.
One that he had had to break free from, no matter what.
For the sake of his own ambitions and prospects of liberty, he had convinced himself that his brother, who had always obediently listened to superior figures, was a much better example of ruler. Due to a number of events that had taken place before his departure, neither their family nor their country had been able to object to the fact that, for the first time in history, the one who seemed most fitting to be king was not the original heir, but the second son. Regardless, Gilbert remained rooted in his belief that his brother was merely terrible at accepting reality the way it was, continuously envying him for possessing all sorts of skills that he himself did not.
All the while training to take over the enormous burdens indirectly pushed onto him.
“I mean what I said,” Dietfriedt uttered firmly as faint noises similar to the overture of an orchestra surfaced in the background. “And I gotta go now. It’s starting.”
“Wai—”
“It was great talking to you again, Gil. I’d hate to show up home and have to deal with faultfinding from Mom and everyone else, but I might change my mind about the wedding after tonight. If you want me to go, that is.”
Gilbert’s features softened. “Of course I’d want you to.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say. I’d have you come see me on my birthday either way, though.” Dietfriedt grinned. “I’m hanging up now. Love ya.”
The line cut off without any further warning before Gilbert could say anything else. Enveloped by audible silence, he let out a deep sigh. Rubbing the bridge of his nose in an act of exasperation unexpected of someone in his age group, he turned around while still seated, his chair moving along. Expression lined with long-standing distress, he faced the only other person in the room.
A beautiful woman of lengthy blond hair and unclouded blue eyes.
“It’s almost time,” he spoke quietly while still with his gaze fixed on her, almost as if whispering a secret, unable to shake off the feeling that he was saying so mostly to himself than to anyone else.