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They wouldn’t stop whispering.
The triplets were such a nuisance that way— the way they never ceased whispering amongst themselves, even while Alois was simply enjoying his morning tea. Bothersome indeed.
The grandfather clock continued ticking away.
The triplets whispered.
The fried egg on his plate gazed back at him.
From their view, he was sitting at the table, his posture fairly poor, one hand resting on the table, the other on his thigh.
The lace tablecloth was slightly rough under his fingers. The back of his coat looked crumpled from how he was sitting. His legs would look prettier if he sat up straight. They were long and slender, after all. Pretty legs.
Long like a spiders.
Alois found himself rather unable to move, however. He could picture that back view of himself from where the triplets were standing, he could see the fried egg and toast on his plate, the steaming cup of tea that no doubt tasted like dishwater. He never cared for tea. The carving on the back of his chair, the way his arm was awkwardly propped so that his hand could rest in his lap, the intricacies of the rug on the floor.
The grandfather clock kept ticking away the seconds.
The triplets were still whispering.
What could they be talking about? He never knew, could never read their horrid faces. Was it about his appearance? Did he look tired? No, Alois knew that wasn’t it because he had looked in the mirror this morning, making sure he was immaculate.
And Claude would tell him if he looked bad. Claude was honest— he had to be.
He had even asked him.
But as always, the reply was dry as ever.
“You look perfectly fine, your highness.”
Not a compliment. Not a gentle brushing away of a stray hair. No praise for how pretty he looked. Never a word beyond adequate.
The smell of the egg sickened him.
The face that stared back at him in the mirror was tired. It didn’t look it, but it was. Tired of that clock ticking and the triplets whispering and that damn tea that surely tasted of dishwater that he would drink because that’s what nobles did, and the odd angle of his arm and his long spider legs perfectly crossed and those eyes like murky rainwater staring back at him like an egg—
And he should be able to move, to just eat his breakfast and drink his dishwater and move on.
“Your Highness.”
His body stiffened involuntarily, head jerking to the sound. Claude was standing in the doorway, a letter in hand.
“What is it?” He asked, leaning forward in his seat. “A love letter? Finally confessing your undying affections? Pretty pathetic to write it out in a letter like that. Be a man and confess to my face! After all, who could resist me?”
Claude didn’t comment. Of course he didn’t.
Alois frowned.
“It’s a letter from the Viscount, inviting you to a ball at the end of the month. He looks forward to seeing his cousin there.”
“His… cousin?”
The triplets seemed to whisper louder.
“You, your highness. He was the late earl’s nephew, after all. Making you cousins.”
They were laughing at him.
“…right.” His lip curled. “And would you three beat it! Your incessant whispering is going to drive me mad! Go on, get out!”
The one in the middle raised an eyebrow, but they all hurried out of the room. They were still laughing at him— he just didn’t know where they were anymore.
He felt sick to his stomach.
“Claude, get the things together for a letter— it seems I must attend that wretch’s party… even if I don’t want to.”
He bowed, face black as ever. “As you wish, your highness. Shall I draft it for you as well?”
“I can write my own damn letters.” Alois pouted. “Besides, aren’t I annoying you enough? Don’t you hate the very sight of me as is?”
Claude merely blinked. “I will fetch some paper, then. Do you want me to prepare the things on your desk, or bring them to you here?”
He could still feel their eyes on him, still see from that point of view. His back straight, his hands on the edge of the table. The intricate rug.
“My desk. I’ll be there in a moment, as soon as I finish my breakfast.”
“Most certainly.” He turned to leave.
Alois watched as he left, walking through the door and headed to fetch the things for a letter. He could see him on his task, going to grab the paper, the pen, the wax for a proper seal…
Maybe he did consider feelings. Maybe he just thought about his soul, and how hungry he was getting by this point. Maybe he showed emotion on his face when Alois wasn’t around, just afraid of being vulnerable. Maybe the smell of his soul nauseated him. Maybe Alois was repulsive in his eyes and he truly did detest him, willing to get the contract over with as quickly as possible so he could be rid of him.
The twins whispered. The clock ticked by the time.
His breakfast had gone cold.