Riccardo wanted to spend time with his brother, but from the time he woke up that next night in his own bed, he was busy. He envied Leon who no doubt got to spend tonight quietly getting to read while Arthur and the nurses doted on him. As Riccardo walked down the hall from his bedroom in his ceremonial gray coat with his military medals clinking together where they were pinned to his chest, he found himself considering how nice it would be to sit with Leon and his brother instead of the mass of people awaiting him. It amused him how he barely knew the fae and still he would have preferred Leon's company to any of the guests who'd been invited for his coming of age party.
This wasn't actually his party. Yes, technically he'd come of age and the invitations that had been sent out had marketed this as a party for him and celebrating his birthday. However, this was purely a political ploy by his parents. As far as Riccardo knew, that was typically what these coming of age parties were in their world. It happened so rarely that a royal child in their world came of age, and even rarer that it was a first born. It was the perfect excuse for his parents to make contact with the other vampire covens around the world and to get them to actually show up.
There were few vampire covens around the world whose leaders had such prestigious titles as king, queen, empress, or otherwise. The ones who did would have been invited, though. Like Mahvash, they would not have traveled alone. Their spouses, children, guards, servants and more would have all come with them. Despite there being few vampire leaders around the world, the palace would, of course, be packed with their guests.
With every step on the polished marble floors of the halls as Riccardo headed in the direction of the great hall where he was being waited on, he kept thinking more and more to Leon and that jealousy that he did not have to be a part of any of this. It didn't help that his chest seemed to grow tighter and his stomach fluttered disagreeably the closer and closer he got.
"Riccardo!"
Erik's voice shook Riccardo out of his growing trepidation, and he turned with a small smile at his brother who bounced along towards him. Like Riccardo, Erik was dressed well in a navy-blue suit. The boy was far too young for any military ranking or honors, however, and so he bore only a pin of a fanged elk in silver with a crown above its head on his left breast.
"Your hair is a mess," Riccardo said, fondly, as Erik caught up to him. He reached out to try to brush the unruly strands back off of Erik's forehead.
"I like it better this way," Erik said, swatting Riccardo's hand away. "I look like I just got out of battle!"
Riccardo shook his head. "Mm," he hummed, disapprovingly. "You look like you went and played soldier after your hair was done is what you look like."
Erik puffed up his chest. "I don't see why that's a problem."
"Just remember I tried to warn you when Mother or Father see you and disapprove." His own black hair was meticulously brushed back neat and orderly for the night. It was more important that he looked well-polished and groomed for the night than Erik, though. He didn't mind looking the part of a well-groomed prince, however. His ceremonial outfit wasn't his favorite considering he associated it with the stress of the events he wore it to. He knew he cut a nice figure in the well-tailored outfit, however. Though he wished he carried more muscle on his frame at the moment, he had stopped to admire himself in the mirror before he'd stepped out of his quarters.
"Other kids came for your party, you know," Erik seemed ready to move on from being scolded and fussed over.
"That doesn't surprise me," Riccardo said. "Or that you already discovered this. Are they your age?"
"One of them is," Erik said. "Her name's Catarina. She's really nice, but I don't know how to play with her. Girls can't play soldier and her mother doesn't want her around the animals or anything, either. I tried to show her the elk."
"You're not supposed to be around the elk by yourself, anyways," Riccardo reminded Erik. "You know they're dangerous."
"I go see them all the time," Erik deflected. When had his brother started getting so openly defiant? Riccardo recalled being more obedient and meek at his brother's age, ready to listen to the adults around him. "One of them tried to trample me down one night, but I turned around and I showed him my fangs and I growled at him and he stopped and instead tried to bite me so I smacked his nose really hard!"
"Mm... Maybe you are ready to be with them by yourself," Riccardo murmured, thoughtfully. He preferred the gryphons to the elk, and often found the gryphons were more easily won over by quiet respect where the elk often needed the kind of firm hand Erik was describing. It was that violence that had been bred into the elk that made them good mounts for their calvary, though.
"I am! And Catarina would have been safe with me there," Erik proclaimed.
"Well, you can't blame her mother for being worried," Riccardo said. "Mother doesn't even go near the elk."
Erik huffed, but relented on the subject with a soft, "Yeah."
Riccardo proceeded to open the door to the receiving room behind the great hall, and let Erik go in ahead of him. The room was a lavishly decorated sitting room where the family often congregated before and after major events taking place in the great hall. Riccardo wasn't surprised to see his mother was already sitting at a round table on one side of the room with tea in front of her. Her handmaiden and a few other servants were seated in wait along the sides of the room. Riccardo noticed, with immense relief, his father was not here.
"There you two are," his mother said, remaining seated.
His mother wore a navy-blue dress for the night, a gray-fur capelet around her shoulders. Upon her head was a tiara of glittering silver and sapphires sitting amongst the brown curls artfully styled up off her neck behind it.
"Gerald, would you fix Erik's hair, please," his mother didn't waste another second to say as she picked her tea cup up to sit at.
Erik groaned softly, but made no protests before going to take a seat in front of a three-paned mirror in the other corner of the room. One of the servants that had been seated went to join the prince and picked up a brush as soon as he was beside him.
Riccardo felt too much tension in his body again or he might have pointed out to Erik with amusement that he'd been right. Instead, Riccardo went to the table to take a seat with his mother. Someone immediately poured a cup of tea for him, but he didn't think he'd sip at it. Still, he put a hand around it just for the comfort of the warmth it gave off.
"You look handsome tonight," his mother said.
Riccardo stared into his tea cup as he nodded once in thanks.
"Is your arm feeling alright," his mother broached.
"Now you care," Riccardo asked, lifting his gaze to frown at her.
"I cared last night, too, but -"
"But duty always comes first, right?" Riccardo sighed softly, and looked away from her.
"Oh, Riccardo," his mother said, the exasperated tone of her voice grating on his nerves. "Don't be in such a sour mood. We're celebrating you tonight. You've grown into such a strong, handsome, and capable young man. I want to celebrate that with you."
Riccardo looked away from her, and as he did, his eyes caught on Erik's in the mirror. His brother was obviously watching them through the reflection of the mirror, still and silent as his hair was fixed from its unruly state. Riccardo looked away again, and it was only for the fact his brother was here that he lowered his hackles.
"You're right," was all he would give his mother, though. "I am grateful that you're celebrating me." He picked his tea cup up to take a sip only for something else to do but talk with his mother.
Riccardo couldn't say when it was that he felt the bridge between them burn. If he had to give an answer, he would say it was a slow burn that started when his combat training became more and more difficult and harsh. He'd never been close with his father and so the merciless way his father began training him to be the perfect soldier had not felt like too much of a betrayal. The way his mother had responded to it all, on the other hand, had left him jaded towards her. It was hard watching the process begin anew with his brother. She was affectionate and doting on Erik. Some night would come when his father would seriously injure Erik in the name of training him, though, and she would not be there. Riccardo had had Arthur when that night had come. The good doctor would no doubt be there for Erik, too, but Riccardo would be there for him, too. He would be there for every laceration that didn't seem to want to stop bleeding, every blunt blow that made breathing hurt after, and he would be there when Erik's body began to hurt and ache with hunger. His brother wouldn't be so alone, Riccardo had promised himself this, and he didn't intend to ever break that promise.
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He saw nothing to indicate if his mother would do anything differently by Erik, however. Though she hadn't yet committed this betrayal against Erik, Riccardo couldn't help but be angered pre-meditatively at her for what he knew was coming. If he were really honest with himself, though, he was angry at her for himself as well.
"We have a fun evening ahead of us," his mother chirped. "I hope you have your speech prepared for receiving your guests. We won't be in the great hall long, however. The ballroom is prepared for us to move there for entertainment. There'll be music and the kitchens have prepared some exquisite dishes. Your favorites, of course." She reached out towards Riccardo's hand.
The moment their hands touched, however, Riccardo winced and recoiled from her. His hands immediately went under the table, where he scratched at where their skin had touched.
His mother huffed. "You really need to work on that," she scolded him. "You'll be dancing with a young lady tonight, and, mother willing, will be wed one night, too. And when that night comes, you will have to do a lot more than simply let her touch your hand."
"Then I'll deal with it that night," Riccardo said, exasperatedly.
"Riccardo doesn't have to worry about girls liking him, anyways," Erik piped in. "He always smells like gryphon. They won't like that." His brother grinned wickedly where he was still watching through the mirror.
The teasing was, honestly, very welcome to Riccardo. See, Leon, he thought, Erik's teasing definitely counts. He didn't know why it wouldn't, but he made a mental note to tell his new friend about this particular example later.
"Well, let's thank the mother he doesn't smell like a gryphon right now," his mother said, obviously put out by the whole conversation. "Speaking of the dancing, though, are you feeling ready for that? I would have liked for you to have more practice before now. If only those brutes had chosen some other time to encroach on our borders. Really poor timing on their part."
Riccardo sighed. "Perhaps, can I not do the dance? It will be difficult given my injured arm, anyways." It was in a sling and held close to his chest. Getting dressed had already been a conundrum even with the help of the servants. He also, really, just didn't enjoy dancing. He was blatantly not good at it and an injured arm would make him even more awkward.
His mother looked at his arm, her lips pressing together in distaste at the sight. "I'll consider it," his mother said; it was a better answer than Riccardo had expected to receive.
The door of the receiving room opened at this time and the servants stood immediately to attention, curtsying or bowing depending on their sex in respect. His father was dressed as finely as the rest of the family in a gray jacket and navy pants. Silver cords ran down the length of the side of his pants, and further silver embellishments shone on the sleeves of his gray coat and in the buttons. His military medals were far more numerous than Riccardo's own, designating his leadership role over their whole military, and speaking to his heroics and bravery in various battles over the years. Like the rest of the family, his father had a brooch of a crowned mane elk over his left breast. He hadn't donned his crown, yet, either, Riccardo noted. His father's hair was meticulously back off his face as to be expected, however, and his mustache, too, had been meticulously groomed from the rougher way it had been looking because of the traveling and battle.
"You're late," Riccardo's mother immediately scolded.
"I apologize, my darling," his father said, stepping towards her so that he could take one of her hands in his own and kiss it lightly.
"It was my fault, my queen," Luka said as he stepped into the room as well. "Or Ivan's, if you'd rather turn your ire on him."
"A poor attempt at sparing yourself," his mother said. She looked between Luka and his father, and then finally turned her gaze on Riccardo himself. "Are we ready, then?"
Riccardo nodded, and rose from his seat.
"You won't have one of your fits tonight, will you," his father asked, dark eyes boring icily down at him.
Riccardo shook his head. "I won't," he promised.
"I take that as a promise," his father said.
"Do be sure to keep them under control," his mother added. "You just have to keep your breathing under control if you feel one coming on."
This wasn't helping at all, of course. Riccardo could feel the tightness in his chest getting worse, as a matter of fact. Even when Erik stepped over and was visible slightly behind their father, Riccardo couldn't quite repress the feelings of dread rising in him.
"Maybe it's better he didn't address your guests," Luka advised, and Riccardo's eyes flickered to meet his father's closest confidante's red ones where they were boring into him. "You can smell the weakness on him. It wouldn't do to present this image. We haven't seen some of the coven leaders present here tonight in almost a century."
His father was quiet for a long moment, and Riccardo dared not look at him while he thought through their options. "You will not disappoint me," his father finally said, clearly having other ideas from Luka's.
Riccardo swallowed against the tight feeling in his chest and his rabbiting heart beat, and looked up at his father. He nodded just once when their eyes met. "I'm ready," he said.
He was not ready. Riccardo was no stranger to stepping onto the stage of their great hall and addressing their palace full of servants and soldiers and guards and every prestigious and titled member of their court, but he never did so without great trepidation. The great hall went up three stories in the middle of their palace, each balcony above a standing point for the house to look down and hear whatever needed to be announced. The room was never so full as it was now. A quick look told Riccardo the second and third floors were where the members of their house had been instructed to go. It didn't take much for him to realize that their guests had been seated on the ground floor. He could just barely recognize a few people in the sea of faces from their portraits inked into the pages of his history books.
Of those coven leaders among his guests, Riccardo was surprised to see the three oldest vampires were represented in the crowd. If vampire covens rarely got together, the three eldest of their race all in the same room was even rarer.
Edelwolf was the youngest of the three elders of their race. He was one of the most easily recognizable of the faces in the crowd. A long time ally of his family in war and trade, Edelwolf and the men and women around him were dressed in furs and leathers, bright scarlet belts, jewels, bags, and brooches and the symbol of the great horned owl pinned or otherwise embroidered into various places on their clothes. Edelwolf himself sat in the middle of his people, a heavy black fur cloak on his shoulders. His brown hair was long, and purposefully oiled to lay smoothly back into a tie behind his head. His brown beard was equally long and tied with gold bands all the way down to where it stopped at his navel.
Archimedes would have been the second oldest, but - on further inspection - Riccardo realized he was not among those guests in the crowd. It was a little disappointing as Riccardo had never met the old vampire, but Arthur hailed from his coven and the small doctor always spoke very highly of the man. Instead, Riccardo recognized Odsar representing Archimedes with Arthur seated beside him. The man had shaggy, black hair that fell partially into the thin slits of his eyes. He wore a shiny, red, silk robe that Riccardo had to imagine would do nothing against the cold if he stepped outside. It was just the two of them to represent Archimedes and his entire coven.
The eldest of their race, and the face Riccardo was now most familiar with, was Mahvash. She'd seated herself in the front of everything with her people from the road around her. She wore a scarlet gown that faded to violet at the bottom, shiny gold accents glittering at her wrists, and bordering around her low-cut neckline. It must have still been too cold for the desert empress and her people as they all wore their coats over the airy linens they were used to wearing to keep cool in their home country.
None of these people held Riccardo's attention quite like the curly-haired blonde he spotted sitting amongst Mahvash's people. His eyes widened a little, and he stared at Leon for a solid moment. What was he doing out of the clinic? Riccardo had to imagine he wasn't here willingly as Leon grimaced a little when their eyes met and he raised his shoulders slightly in a shrugging motion.
It wasn't like Riccardo could ask, though. All eyes were on him, everyone in the room expecting him to speak, and so he lifted his gaze from Leon to look out over his guests.
"Tha-ank you for joining me in celebration," Riccardo started, eyes widening at the way his voice squeaked at first. He cleared his throat at this point before he tried to continue. "It's good to see - um - see so many faces here and I'm honored to finally meet my - uh - you - the people behind the names I've always studied in my history books." He felt his stomach sinking the more he was botching just these few sentences. He swore he could feel heat on the back of his head where he was sure his father's gaze was boring into him. "To know you are here for me is truly humbling and awe-inspiring. I hope you'll all enjoy our home and the bountiful comforts it offers." He said these last two sentences quickly, and turned to start walking off the stage, ears burning at the way the crowd started murmuring. He didn't want to see any of their faces, not even Leon's right now.
"Riccardo."
He stopped at his mother's voice, and dipped his chin down as he turned to look at her. She and his father both had risen from their seats, his mother holding his father's arm as they descended down from the thrones to stand on the stage instead. Erik trailed down behind them.
"I know many of you are hungry," his mother turned to address the crowd. "Let us move on to the ballroom where the refreshments are already flowing and waiting and the entertainment is ready for the evening."
"Thank you all," his father added afterwards.
Riccardo remained rooted to his spot, but his eyes flickered back out to his guests again as they began to rise, confused murmurs lifting to a dull roar of voices echoing around the high ceiling of the great hall. Despite all that noise, Riccardo heard his father come up behind him before the hand cupped the back of his neck. He shivered at phantom feelings of numbness that threatened the use of his limbs: a distant memory of the scruffing reflex young of their kind had. He'd been grown out of it for years, and yet he still felt helpless to his father's touch there.
"I thought you had your fits under control," his father hissed in his ear as he steered him towards the exit on the side of the stage.
"I... It wasn't... That wasn't -"
Out of view of their guests, his father shoved him forwards and Riccardo turned around to face his father. He was poised like a cat, ready to move as the hot scent of his father's anger wafted into the air.
"I don't want to hear your excuses," his father hissed at him. "You have continuously shown nothing but weakness in front of these people! You are a blight on my name and I'm growing tired of your clear ineptitude, Riccardo."
"What do you want me to do," Riccardo asked, a foolish wave of courage taking hold of him. "I'm trying, Father."
"This is not your best," his father growled. "No son of mine could be this weak. Do better, Riccardo. I have no more patience for you and your so-called trying." There was some finality to his father's words here; a finality that made the hair on the back of Riccardo's neck stand up. He was frozen as he watched his father turn and storm away from him.
There was a crazed, terrified part of Riccardo that wished his father had merely hit him.