For how utterly freezing it was outside, it sure felt like the entrance to Hell had been opened up in the room. The stuffiness was enough to make it seem as if he were on the verge of suffocating. Add on the fact that there were so many people flitting about and squawking with varying tones of panic. It was a genuine concern of his that all the rouge they were putting on her lips and cheeks was about to melt right off.
Arms crossed, he strode over to one of the windows within the room and undid the latch, letting in a much-needed draft of cold air. The other ladies in the room glared at him, almost daring to speak up in protest, but her eyes conveyed a silent, very desperate ‘thank you’.
The heavy oak door clanked open as his father invited himself into the chamber. His amber eyes glanced about calculatingly, taking in the organized chaos, before a frown settled on his thin lips.
“Why is the window open? She could catch a cold,” he scolded the room.
“Would you rather her melt, Father?” he challenged nonchalantly, lowering himself into an armchair by the bed and lazily crossing his legs.
“I’d rather her do neither.”
He couldn’t fight the upward drift of his similarly colored eyes before they landed back on his sister. Her silky, dark hair was being twisted into an elaborate braid and woven around her head. She stared at him through the large mirror nervously, to which he replied with a subtle, reassuring smile. They had at least been kind enough not to stuff her into that gigantic dress yet.
As for himself, the simple crimson tunic and black breeches he had donned to spar with Philip still occupied his body. The crown prince had been rather nervous this morning, and who was he to turn down some sword practice? A bit of dirt was still smeared on the side of his neck, and he had to bite back the smirk growing on his face as he caught his father staring daggers at him.
“Why are you not ready?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had to get my hair braided as well,” he replied smartly with the raise of an eyebrow. “Do I also get a beautiful dress–”
“Oliver this is not the time. Go get cleaned up. Now, please.”
With a bored sigh, he lifted himself from the chair and sauntered over to his sister. The rest of the girls awkwardly took a step back as he approached. A hand on her shoulder, he bent down and placed a kiss on her head so as not to jeopardize her makeup.
“You look beautiful, Sister,” he declared gently, a tone entering his voice that was rarely heard.
She smiled up at him and placed her hand atop his. “Thank you, Brother. I’ll see you at the ceremony.”
He nodded and stepped away, meeting his father’s eyes before departing from the room. The halls were bustling with all manner of servants and vendors and decorators, all of whom stopped and gave a nod of respect as he passed by. It was strange going from just some rich brat to someone of importance. Importance by proxy, but importance nonetheless.
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Finally he made it to his own chambers, where some unknown saint had already prepared a bath for him. Stripping off his grimy clothes, the dresser mirror caught his eye, and he took a moment to observe. Bruises in various states of healing peppered his slenderly muscular torso, some more gnarly than others. The past fortnight had been dreadfully boring, as his father had forbade participation in the rings for the upcoming wedding. What shame it would bring their family if he showed up with a black eye or a busted, swollen lip.
Appearances. That’s what everything was about. All the time. It was the only thing that mattered in the Farrington household, and Dahlia upheld that standard exceedingly. Although he supposed she had much less choice in the matter. For himself, he couldn’t give a rat’s arse. Everyone in his family was fake. They put on their outfits, a different mask for each role they choose to play, and smile while they lie to someone’s face.
It’s for the family.
He scoffed, his amber eyes pulling away from the mirror and towards the steaming tub. Every ache within his body made itself known as he lowered into the scalding water, and he winced as a few open cuts from God knew where began to sting. Slowly sinking the rest of the way, he sighed wearily and closed his eyes, arms resting on the side of the tub.
Knuckles rapped on his door.
His lips pressed impatiently into a thin line. “Yes?”
The oak swung open to reveal his father, to which he responded by sinking his mouth below the water. He quickly locked the door before turning to face him with a severe countenance.
“I do hope you behave today,” he started, voice low.
“Obedient as a dog,” he grumbled back dismissively, dipping fully under the water for a moment to wet his hair and face.
“Oliver, this is not a joke. Do you know how long we have waited for this? All of the preparing and planning–”
“And lying and cheating and scheming, yes, I know, Father.”
He grabbed a sponge and started to scrub his shoulders harshly, the skin turning red. A sinister weight planted itself in his stomach and slowly began its descent.
“This is the biggest day of your sister’s life. Do not ruin it by–”
His hand splashed back down in the water as he twisted in the tub. “Do you think me that much of a fool? Of course I won’t ruin it; I’ll not spoil her innocence like that.”
He grabbed the ceramic jug from the small table prepared by the bath and leaned his head back, carefully pouring the herbal rinse along his hairline. The other hand worked it into his scalp, and he winced slightly as he accidentally scratched himself too hard.
“You did well to befriend the other one. I heard he has made you an advisor to this new councilman–”
“Shouldn’t you be helping Dahlia or Mother get ready instead of breathing down my neck?” he snapped.
A darker look came to occupy the man’s face as both of their patiences were wearing thin. “If I am to leave you here at court, you must begin to try harder to earn my trust. Urgently.”
“All due respect, Father, but you have your job, and I have mine. So for the love of God, just let me do my fucking job,” he stated through clenched teeth.
“If you had done your job correctly, it would be you sitting on the council, not that commoner.”
He gripped the lip of the tub hard enough to hurt.
“His appointment was a freak accident. If that boar hadn’t have ripped his arm open, he’d still be pounding metal–”
“And yet you were still an afterthought. I thought when you had informed me of the prince’s weaknesses that you were going to become indispensable to him.”
He slammed the jug back down on the table. “Yes, well, clearly that is not what happened. Maybe it was for the best. Our platonic friendship will be far more reliable than me warming his bed at night, now won’t it?”
Immense discomfort, poorly masking a sense of disgust, spread across his aging face. “Just do whatever needs to be done. I will see you at the ceremony.”
As the door latched shut, he sank under the water and screamed.