Chapter Text
The rain outside was falling steadily with no signs of stopping anytime soon. A kind of heavy precipitation that would soak you to the bone if you so chose to venture outside for more than ten seconds. Still though, the sound of birds chirping outside was faintly audible through the closed window, cheerful in their morning song. The very top of a cherry blossom tree was visible through the glass, its pink blossoms contrasting with the gloom of rain clouds that pervaded the sky. All signs of spring returning once again to the kingdom of Sina.
Not like Prince Jean would be able to see very much of it.
But it wasn’t with a bitter frame of mind that Jean viewed the outside world from his worktable. The prince wasn’t one who ever indulged in bitter thoughts. Instead, it was more of a gentle wistfulness. A deep-seated longing to get out and see more of the world outside Sina’s walls. To hear the excited voices of small children at play. To see the bustling of daily activity in the huge towns of Maria and Rose. To smell the fresh air of the countryside beyond the outer walls. More. MORE.
Sometimes the heavy ache kept him up at night, dreaming of a day when he could accompany some of the nobles on errands outside of the first wall. Maybe one day, when he became king, he could even see the outside world. But he knew that it was probably just a fool’s hope--he knew his own father never stepped foot past the kingdom's three daunting, protective walls. And upon entering into discussion with his royal parents about the subject, the answer was always a very firm no.
They were worried about his safety, they said.
Everywhere he went within these walls, one of the three members of the Princely Guard was either within a few paces of him or just outside the door. Prince Jean thought it was overly much to have such a protective detail on him at all times. At times, it made him overwhelmed that he couldn't just be. On a couple of occasions, he had tried to convince his parents that he could visit the home of his cousin by himself--the estate was a few miles away within Wall Sina. But he was not granted permission unless one of the Guard accompanied him. And he was a very dutiful son.
Jean sighed softly, tearing his eyes away from the window and turning back to his studies. It was disrespectful to waste his tutor’s time with idle fancies. If there was one thing his parents and teachers had been able to instill in him, it was the guiding force to do the right thing. To be respectful. Because he represented the future of his family in terms of being its monarch one day, and thus should not act in a way that would tarnish the family name of Kirstein. And so he had proven throughout his childhood and while a teenager that he was not the type of child to disobey. Never talking back. But he was always thinking. Always dreaming. The thought of "What if . . ." or "How does . . ." always on the tip of his tongue.
"Your Highness, you seem distracted today. May I inquire about your concerns?"
Jean's soft brown eyes looked over earnestly at his personal tutor, Ethan, a man who had 20 or so years on him. He had instructed the prince since he had been a child, an expert on all subjects that were pertinent for a future king to learn. His hair was a smattering of dark brown curls, with the occasional grey strands showing at his temples. He was very good-natured, usually with a gentle smile on his face when he spoke with the prince. But right now his eyebrows were pulled in, a worried frown marring his features. He had paused in correcting the prince's history composition.
"I apologize, Ethan. I did not realize that I was so obviously preoccupied. It will not happen again." Jean turned back to his arithmetic determinedly. Logarithms, focus on logarithms, he told himself.
"Your Highness. . . I am always here to offer counsel, should you need or desire it." Ethan was still looking at him steadily. The prince considered him for a moment, and then set his pencil on the table, lacing his fingers together in front of him.
"Ethan, will I ever be able to persuade you to address me as Prince Jean? You have instructed me for many years now. And the two of us are the only occupants of this room. There is no need for the formality."
Ethan recognized the prince's attempt to stall for time by changing the subject while the teenager organized his thoughts over what was prominent in his mind. Though he did appreciate the sentiment behind the prince wishing to be addressed less formally.
"Well, Your Highness, as you know, the preservation of rank is very important. It is true, as you say, that the two of us are currently the only two occupants of this room. Let us imagine that I did take you up on your offer and address you as. . ." here Ethan gestured with his hand at the prince, nodding his head politely at him, "Prince Jean. This would become a habit for our daily lessons. And something, once learned as a habit, is often hard to break. As you know, the kingdom of Sina regularly has visiting dignitaries, nobles, and other distinguished individuals. What impression would I make if I slipped and addressed you informally as 'Prince Jean' in front of them?"
Jean frowned slightly. "They might not take us very seriously."
"Correct. That is why it is very important that we do things in such a way that we do not forget who we are and the way we ought to conduct ourselves." The prince looked down at his hands, thoughtful.
"Besides," Ethan continued, this time with a small smile, "I do already address you somewhat informally. Your proper title, as you well know, is 'Your Royal Highness.'"
Jean nodded. "Thank you, Ethan. As ever, your wisdom is appreciated."
Ethan inclined his head politely once more. "And now, Your Highness. Is there anything you would like to discuss?"
The prince tapped his fingers on the table top, then remembered that it was impolite to fidget and laced them together once more. "Ethan . . . how . . . how can I persuade my father to grant me permission to visit the land outside of Sina's walls?" Jean looked at his tutor, worried that the question might not be appropriate to ask. But Ethan merely thought for a moment, fingers brushing against his smooth chin as he considered how to answer the question.
"Your Highness, you will be coming-of-age in a few weeks. At that time, as the heir apparent, you will have your coronation and recognized officially as the future king of Sina. So that when the sad and inevitable day comes when your royal father ceases to be living, you will go on to rule." Jean nodded. None of this was news to him, but he listened attentively to Ethan all the same.
"His Majesty, King Marcel, has informed me that as part of your studies, after your coronation, you shall begin to learn the art of rhetoric. More specifically, when it comes to the speaking component. Mastering this discourse is a necessity of any ruler. There will be times when your council argues strongly against your perspective on significant issues. It is important, then, to be prepared to civilly counter their argument with your own opinion." Ethan focused more intently on the prince, taking in his attentive expression.
"I see no reason why you shouldn't have a brief lesson on rhetoric today. You have already demonstrated great talent with your written work. It is just a matter of transferring those skills into an oratory presentation. Now. What is the first step you must take when preparing to persuade?"
"Consider your audience," Jean said immediately. He had always been a most astute student.
"Right. In this case, your audience will be your royal father and most likely, Her Majesty, Queen Sylvaine. Now, when writing a composition, it is necessary to consider your audience, so as to temper your tone and words with what is appropriate in order for your argument to be successful. When speaking, it is much the same thing. For this example, let us consider your royal parents. Do you think that you would be more successful in convincing them by appealing to their emotions or their logic?"
Jean didn't have to think about that either. "Their logic." Ethan nodded in agreement.
"By choosing that path, you will have to come up with a strong reason or reasons why you think it would be beneficial for you, as the heir apparent and future King, to visit any land immediately beyond Wall Sina."
"I will have a reason at the ready."
"Excellent. What is the next step to consider when addressing an audience, whether it be in a composition or in other forms?"
"Counter-argument."
"Precisely. It is always necessary to acknowledge the presence of your audience's reasons for arguing against your point of view. This is so that, if or when they speak after you, you have already disarmed their argument. In this case, why might your royal parents be against Your Highness going to an area of land beyond the wall?"
"They believe that it would not be safe for me. That I would be attacked or killed." Jean didn't understand why his parents thought that was even a possibility. He had only been beyond Wall Sina on a couple of occasions, albeit it was when he was hidden in a carriage and a curtain had been drawn, but nothing had happened to him either way. He hadn't even talked to anybody--so why would someone want to hurt him? The future king who wanted nothing but to continue making the kingdom prosperous and happy for all?
"If that is their counter-argument, it will be necessary for you to use logic again, this time with a credible means as to how you can convince them you will be safe. You must understand though, Your Highness, that you will be the next ruler of Sina, and the outlying lands of Rose and Maria. Your royal parents have no other children, and they love you most ardently. It is understandable that they are primarily concerned with your safety." Ethan fixed the prince with a stern look, communicating the importance of what he was saying to his royal pupil.
Jean hung his head. Was this just a selfish pursuit on his part? To go gallivanting about beyond Wall Sina just to satisfy his own personal need to do something exciting? Maybe--in part. But he really believed that he would be safe--he had not given anybody a reason to harm him. And in order to be a good ruler, he needed actual experience outside of Wall Sina. It is one thing to be told "this is a thing" and it is another to know it.
"Your Highness. I felt it necessary to tell you that, not to make you feel guilty, but to have you consider the weight of what your royal parents are feeling. It is not an easy thing to be a parent, I am sure. Therefore, if you so decide to discuss it with His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen, your reasons to justify your personal safety must be strong. To put them, if not entirely at ease, then at least with the belief that they can reasonably believe nothing ill will befall you."
The prince looked up slowly, meeting Ethan's light blue eyes determinedly. "I think I can do that. Thank you, Ethan."
Ethan nodded his head politely. "Of course, Your Highness. And now, only your arithmetic remains for your studies today."
Feeling uplifted about the possibility of traveling beyond Wall Sina, Jean once again focused on his studies. Tonight, before he fell asleep, he would put all of his efforts into coming up with a convincing argument for his parents.
Jean stretched the next morning after he awoke, gazing out of his bedroom window. The linen long-sleeves of his bedshirt fell up his thin arms to the tops of his shoulders, revealing pale skin. It appeared as if it would be a beautiful day today. Perhaps the weather would hold for a few days more, and he could convince Ethan to hold their lessons outdoors. He undid the latch on his window, pushing it open slowly, and then leaned on the sill. The air was warm, fresh. The pungent smell of heavy rain having penetrated the earth was still in the air, and it invigorated the prince. He breathed in deeply, eyeing the sun that was freshly risen. A slight breeze ruffled his short, light-brown hair, then flowed through the airiness of his night-shirt. He looked down, briefly amused, for it appeared that he was inflated to three times his normal size.
Below, servants were already at work, talking quietly amongst themselves. He saw Marion and Emma, two women who were in the service of his mother, trotting toward the castle's main entrance. No doubt that they would be serving the breakfast to him and his parents shortly. Off to the right, Annie, one of his Princely Guard, was returning to her quarters where other members of the household guard trained and resided. She must have had the night watch. Jean wondered vaguely if it were Bertholdt or Reiner that would be following--guarding--him today.
There was a soft knock at the door, followed by a click and the sound of footsteps behind him. Jean didn't bother to turn his head. It could only be one person.
"Your Royal Highness, good morning. How may I be of service?"
It was the same mantra every single day. Fabien was his personal attendant. He was the son of one of his noble uncles, on his father's side. He had the misfortune of being a second son. His elder brother, Acelet, would be the one to inherit the lordship of Karanese district in a little under a week. However, it was a distinct honor to be in direct service to the future king. Fabien had received extensive training on attending to Prince Jean's possible and varying needs, along with advanced swordsman lessons. One day, he would be captain of all the household guards, even overseeing the future king's personal guard. The prince trusted him implicitly--they had played together as children. They were related by blood. And were there any bonds stronger than that of blood relations?
That made Jean think of The Lady Historia Reiss. He and Historia were to be betrothed a few weeks after his 18th birthday, which also happened to be in a few short weeks. The time to that date was flying closer, circling around Jean, feeling almost like . . . a cell. And then their wedding was to take place before the harvest in the fall, at some point after her own 18th birthday. Would they, as husband and wife, at some point feel strongly bonded to each other?
The prince had met Historia on a couple of occasions. To be true, she was very beautiful. Her hair was like woven pieces of sunlight, and her eyes were carved pieces of a summer sky. Her disposition was continuously cheerful. What wasn't there to like? In terms of an arranged marriage and the horror stories Jean had heard weaving about, he should feel entirely lucky to wed such a woman as she.
And yet . . .
He didn't . . .
"Sir? Are you . . . quite alright?" Fabien's voice was politely concerned, and he took a few steps closer to Jean who had remained fixedly gazing out the window.
At his attendant's words, the prince roused himself from his somewhat melancholy thoughts and fixed his face into one of courteous contentment.
"Quite well, thank you Fabien. I will be breakfasting with my parents, as usual. And then later, before my morning lesson, I would like you to arrange Gervaise to be readied." Gervaise was his horse, a gorgeous black thoroughbred.
"Very well, Your Highness. I will inform Bertholdt before I depart."
Of course, Jean thought. Bertholdt would be accompanying him, as a member of the Princely Guard, wherever he went. Swallowing down the remains of these negative thoughts, the prince managed to nod at his attendant. Fabien retrieved the prince's dressing robe, a silky blue with gold threaded in to create the shape of the Kirstein's coat of arms. Jean's attendant slipped the robe over the prince's narrow shoulders, moving around to fasten it closed at his waist.
"Thank you, Fabien."
Fabien merely nodded, and then stepped aside. As a general rule, servants were not normally thanked for their services. It was what was expected of them, their lot in life. But the prince had deeper sentiments than most, and never hesitated to bestow thanks upon someone who provided a service for him.
The prince stepped into his slippers, and then moved into the corridor of the east wing, as Fabien held the door for him. Bertholdt was already at attention, and the three of them wordlessly began to walk toward the breakfast parlor of Jean's parents. The prince walked in front, with Fabien behind him and slightly to the right. Bertholdt never let there be more than the distance of three paces separate him from Jean.
"If there is nothing more, Your Highness?" Fabien spoke up as they reached the king and queen's quarters.
"Nothing more at this time. Thank you, Fabien."
Fabien bowed slightly, and then stepped back, no doubt waiting to speak to Bertholdt about the prince's intention to ride his horse later. Bertholdt assumed his place outside the door of his parents' extensive quarters, with another guard for the King and Queen occupying the opposide side.
"Ah, good morning, my dear son," Queen Sylvaine crooned as Jean walked in, rising from her seat at the table. The prince obediently walked over to her so that she could kiss him on the forehead. He was now noticeably taller than his mother, though his father believed that he was still growing. The prince returned the gesture of affection by gently taking his mother's hand, kissing the tops of her knuckles. It had been the same routine ever since he could remember.
Jean made his way back over to a seat on the opposite side of the table, directly across from his mother. Her hazel eyes twinkled affectionately as she looked across at her son, a soft smile playing at the edges of her mouth. Time had not yet marked her dark blonde hair with grey, so that she looked years younger than in her late 30's.
"Good morning, mother. Is father not coming today?" Marion and Emma entered the room as he spoke those words, pushing out a cart of coffee and juice. They knew the habits of the royal family, and began pouring out glasses or mugs of each.
"He will be here shortly. Juste had some time-sensitive matters to discuss with him in private."
Jean nodded. Juste was his father's top attendant, the current captain of the guards. As a child, Jean had been terrified of the man, for he had a fearsome countenance. He had served in one or two battles during his youth, and wore the scars on his body to prove it. Jean couldn't help but eye the ghastly one on his right cheek each time he saw the man.
The prince poured some fresh cream into his coffee as his mother and he made idle chit-chat. This was the one time each day that he got to interact with his parents without interruption from anybody else. Otherwise, there were servants or noblemen and Jean wasn't able to speak freely in front of them. Maybe today, maybe at breakfast, he could convince them to grant him permission for a small excursion outside of Wall Sina.
Even though he would receive his coronation in a few short weeks as "rex junior," the title held no actual ruling power. It just solidified the fact that he would become King of Sina one day, a formality for something that was already highly regarded as fact. He would be in the same situation then as he was now--beholden to his royal parents and their wishes. Though he did want to speak with them at some future point about being more lenient. Coming-of-age in Sina, or turning 18, was usually understood to mean that one was an adult. Jean fervently hoped that if he was allowed to go on a short excursion now, and returned without incident, then his parents would be more lenient in the future in terms of 'trying to keep him safe.' He would show them that they did not have anything to worry about.
" . . . very good, Your Majesty. It shall be settled by tomorrow at dawn," came Juste's deep voice. The prince looked up to see his father and Juste entering the breakfast parlor. The presence of his father's attendant at breakfast was not wholly out of the ordinary, though they usually settled their morning matters before the king came into the parlor. King Marcel took his usual seat at the head of the table, putting a hand over his wife's smaller appendage and nodding at his son.
"Good morning, Jean."
"Good morning, father."
King Marcel was a broad sort of man, though not overly tall. He had light-brown hair and eyes, the exact same shades as the prince, though Jean seemed to have inherited his mother's thinner and lankier frame. The king was not of the talkative sort. He spoke when he thought it was necessary--frivolity was not in the forefront of his psyche. And thus many a breakfast passed when Queen Sylvaine was the one who spoke the most, gently chiding her son into eating more bacon or asking him about his lessons with Ethan. Jean, somewhat of an internal sort himself, always respectfully answered his mother's questions, ever the dutiful son.
"One last thing, Your Majesty. The smallsword that you have commissioned for Lord Acelet for his investiture is now complete. I will be departing tomorrow to Stohess, mid-morning, to collect it from the commissioned blacksmith."
Jean's head snapped quickly to his father, his interest in the conversation having increased tenfold.
"Juste, dispatch another of the household guard for this task. Your presence is needed to oversee preparations for Lord Acelet's ceremony. I cannot spare you."
The attendant opened his mouth to speak, but Jean beat him to it. "Father," the prince said earnestly. Juste frowned slightly, not approving of the prince interrupting their conversation, but not in a position to say anything about it. King Marcel turned to look at his son, surprised but not disapproving.
"Yes, my son?"
"Since you cannot spare Juste, I can go in his stead. I am well-versed in the quality and worksmanship of smallswords. Baldoin has taught me a great amount about swords, and I have inspected quite a few in the armory under his tutelage."
Silence.
Jean grew slightly anxious, awaiting his father's immediate reaction to his proposal. The prince chanced a glance at his mother. There was a crease between her eyebrows, worry lines appearing on her face, mouth drawn in slightly into a frown. Now she looked somewhat older. His eyes flicked up to Juste, whose expression was mostly inscrutable. But Jean had known him his entire life. He could see the slight narrowing of the man's eyes, the stiff way in which he stood near the king. He didn't approve. Lastly, Jean looked back to his father. King Marcel took a sip of his coffee, slowly setting the cup back on its saucer. Whether he was actually considering what Jean had requested, he knew not. And the prince suddenly did not want this decision to be easy for his father.
"Father. For my whole life, you and mother, along with my tutors, have been grooming me for a life as a future king. Yet how can I be expected to rule a kingdom if I haven't even seen it? Haven't been amongst the people? Do not understand the needs of society?" Jean spoke earnestly, but respectfully. He did not want to make it sound as if he were lecturing his father about how to rule.
King Marcel sat back in his chair, elbows drawn in to his sides, fingers laced together. Jean recognized the position, the seemingly relaxed posture. A few times, the king had requested Jean's presence at the weekly council, so that he could gain an idea on how to handle important matters of state. He had observed his father sit this exact way just before shooting down a proposal, and the prince's heart sank.
"Jean, I do not doubt your eye for quality nor your sincerity in desiring to be a knowledgeable ruler. However, as you know, the issue of your safety still remains. Going beyond Sina's wall is dangerous. There is a criminal element present that does not exist within Sina's walls. These times are especially perilous for a prince. Especially for you." As he spoke his last words, the king finally looked to his son. His brown eyes were calm, confident that this would be the final word on the subject.
Normally, Jean would listen to his father's judgment without stopping to question it. But this time . . . it just didn't make any sense.
"Father, I understand you and mother would worry about my safety. And that going beyond Sina's walls would greatly increase those concerns. You mentioned that leaving Sina would be dangerous for me. However, can anyone ever be truly safe in their surroundings? Even here, in the castle's surrounding land. Something could always happen to me--I could grievously injure myself while riding Gervaise or practing with Baldoin at swordsmanship. Or someone of this 'criminal element' you spoke of could pose as a servant and gain access to the castle, with the intent to harm." Jean paused, realizing that this might not be exactly the best way to convince his parents--he might cause them to elevate their overprotectiveness. His mother's eyes had widened and she had frozen in her seat, eyes on her only child. The king, however, had raised an eyebrow as Jean spoke. The prince did not know whether or not that was to his benefit.
"Furthermore, I have been taught that strategic attacks of any sort are usually well-thought out. And that they take a considerable amount of time to align all of the resources and decide the best time to put it into place. If I were to go into Stohess in place of a servant, the citizens would have no prior knowledge of it. They would have barely enough time to realize who it is they are seeing. And what are the odds that I would run across someone that participates in criminal activity *and* wishes me harm? I am well-trained at defending myself, as are the members of the Princely Guard. Any one of them that would accompany me could handle multiple attackers at once."
King Marcel eyed his son shrewdly, and there was a moment of silence before he spoke. "You have thought about this for a while."
"Yes, father."
The king sat up and sighed. He sipped at his coffee, and then glanced at the queen. Their eyes held for a moment. Wordless communication passed between them, and then King Marcel turned back to his son.
"Very well, then. I am proud that you put a lot of thought behind your position on the issue. You will make a brilliant tactician one day, Jean." The prince smiled slightly at the compliment, barely allowing himself to believe that his parents were granting him permission to perform this errand.
"I have several conditions, however," the king continued sternly. Jean nodded, willing to go along with his father's request if it meant he would be allowed to go beyond Wall Sina.
"First. You will go directly there and back. No loitering about. No stopping to explore. Juste will inform you of the blacksmith's location and provide you with the compensation for the sword." The prince glanced up at the attendant who nodded grimly at him. Or maybe it wasn't grimly--maybe it was just how he looked.
"Second." Jean looked back to his father, who continued to look entirely serious. "Upon your return to the castle, you will report to Juste with the smallsword and inform him of any troubles that you may have encountered along the way."
"Third. You will be accompanied by not one of the Princely Guard, but by all three-" Jean's mouth opened of its own accord, a protest on his lips before he could even think that it was improper to question his father in that way. "And that is not up for debate. Do you accept these conditions?" All three adults looked at the teenager.
He had no other option, if he wanted to take this on. The prince nodded. "Yes, father. I accept the conditions." He held back a smile of happiness, choosing to take a bite of toast instead.
"It is settled, then. You will leave tomorrow after breakfast."
They resumed eating their meal, the mood a little more subdued than usual. Jean eventually excused himself from the table, and left the room. Once in the hallway again and headed back to his quarters to change, a jubilant smile lit up the prince's beautiful face. He had scarce been this excited about something before.
Back in the breakfast parlor, the queen sat silently at the table, her appetite having vanished when her son voiced his desire to go into Stohess. The king squeezed her hand gently, and she looked up. "Do not fret," he said with conviction. And then turning his head somewhat to the side: "Juste?"
"Your Majesty."
"Have him followed tomorrow."
"It shall be done."