“What brought you here, milady?” Aldrich questioned as he slowly poured warm tea on the porcelain cup, its outer layer covered with a thin layer of melted gold.
“It seems an injustice is about to occur, and I cannot idly sit by.”
“Surely it is none of my business, but would you perhaps be inclined to enlighten the matter further? I’m certain I could aid you.” Even though he appeared calm and welcoming, the aide was far more cunning than met the eye. Once Ophelia gave him the handwritten letter from Earl Hillgarden, his eyes furrowed down. “Oh, my... this is indeed problematic.”
“As you can see, my words rung true. We must stop this injustice!” She grabbed a silver handkerchief, taking it to the crocodile tears escaping her eyes, who to most would appear far too realistic. “Poor Milly... I had to expose this situation to the Crown Prince before... well.. you know.”
“Certainly, milady. I will talk with the prince about this urgent matter.” With a polite smile, the aide left the room, making the noble lady believe he had swallowed the bait with the easiest deceit.
However, what the girl didn’t know was that Aldrich was far smarter than most thought of him to be - it wasn’t just anyone who attained the position of the crown’s prince right-hand man. His feet stomped in large steps, in the corridor to his master’s study room, an uneasiness clenching his chest.
Isn’t this convenient...? He thought, realizing how the pieces of the puzzle finally began to align. Everyone, even commoners, had heard about the royal court house*, the place where one’s future would be judged; an implementation that had started a decade ago but that still crawled into society - most still preferred to reinforce justice through their own hands. The court had been a tool created for nobles to apply fair punishment to their underlings and peers, however, due to the extensive paperwork and investigative reports hidden behind the handful of hours a trial possessed, no one used it, unless it was strictly necessary.
In Millicia Swan’s case, due to the extensive eye witnesses the process had alongside the origin of Earl Hillgarden, which was still deeply rooted with the commoners, she had no choice but to face the music. Her trial had been fairly simple, as most nobles gave their accusatory testimonials, and the poison had been found in the cup she had placed beforehand. Even if it wasn’t in her possession at the time of her arrest, she was the sole intruder on the Earl’s land, making it easy to point the finger at the foreigner.
Ophelia went to see her and now the Earl wants to remove his claim... what changed? His mind kept going around in circles, trying to understand the reasoning behind the noblewoman’s actions. If she wanted to save the commoner, why wasn’t this done sooner, before the trial was upheld?
Being born in a higher class meant that one’s true intentions were hidden beneath a thick layer of different masks: of smiles that hide an arsenal of knives and tears who were as dry of emotions as the deserts lingering through the land. Certainly, finding an answer to such pertinent question wouldn’t be an easy feat.
“Your Highness, I’m afraid I come with unsettling news.” After entering the prince’s study room, Aldrich was greeted by a haughty glare.
Blake’s tired oceanic eyes were dragged down by two dark eye bags, clearly the result of overwork. For some time, he had been in a foul mood, as if something or someone kept on haunting his thoughts, forcing him to drown such presence with constant work. “Speak.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Lady Ophelia is asking for an audience with Your Highness.”
Ophelia? Is this about that guy? Blake was reminded of the day he had met her loving fiancé, the creator of such grand fear in her soul. Every time such memory came to light, a feeling of annoyance grew within him, causing his thoughts to obsess over such a futile situation. She must deal with it herself, that’s the only way she will learn.
The prince had grown mostly alone, having no one to rely on but a handful of good people - all of which were far too high in the hierarchy or too low to be considered actual humans. It was through many hardships and long hours of training, whether it rained or the sun shined, that he had been able to surpass the little expectations of him, defeating every enemy and dominating any problem that appeared in his path. Thus, weakness was one of the few things he truly despised, as it was something every human should get rid of. The true way to achieve one’s prime was to turn such a trait into its strongest attribute.
Yet, Ophelia Criswell, that naive girl, was filled with weaknesses: her body was too thin, probably getting an illness every full moon; her fear rooted deeply in some sort of trauma, which was publicly displayed when Terrel approached; and her mind seemed to be far too innocent to survive in the lion’s den that high society claimed itself to be. But even being the epitome of everything he despised, such sight caused him distress, surfacing certain feelings that had been long neglected.
“Tell her to send a letter requesting an audience like etiquette commands, and a date shall be appointed, per her request.” Blake knew she couldn’t be receiving any preferential treatment, especially since her present was so impactful in his life. Rumors would certainly spread across the nobles, portraying him as weak, as a man who only chased beauty if his resolve faltered and he gave in on her egoistical request.
“I understand, but Your Highness, this matter regards Millicia Swan, the prisoner that will be executed tomorrow. The Earl wishes to have his claim... removed.”
“Removed!?” The prince shouted, completely dumbfounded by the situation. Never once had such a thing happened, not with such a public case, with so many witnesses. The quill between his calloused fingers almost broke, as he knew this was a clear mockery to the crown and to the royal court. “Is there any proof?”
Who do they think they are, playing with the crown!? He’d seen it, with his two eyes, how the nobles neglected the power behind the Virden bloodline, all because of one single woman: his own mother. Within Vivian’s rule, they had grown slacker, careless, not bothering to cover up their tracks, as no punishment would follow through. And now, after a trial had been conducted, the key complaint had been removed, as if everything that had come to pass until now was but a decoy, a way for those bastards to remind the prince of how low his power had fallen.
When Aldrich placed the letter on top of the desk, Blake’s hands swiftly stole it, eyes darting through its contents at an abnormal speed. A loud bang then followed, as his fist landed on the wood, causing the aide to shudder, startled.
“Fine! If that girl wants an audience, we’ll give her one.” With a rather strange grin spread across his lips, the Crown Prince rose from his chair and darted towards the hanger, rapidly putting on his golden cover. “Take me to her.”
Aldrich obeyed, and they both walked through the corridors, the environment heavy enough to cause all the curious gazes to reactively look away - no one was foolish enough to meddle with the prince when his mood was sour after all. Knowing his master’s temper, the aide knew Ophelia was in for quite a harsh moment, as a decision had already been made, at least within the prince’s mind.
*Royal Court House: It is a rather new implementation in the Kingdom which is barely used but the concept is like our own courts. The only difference relies with the implementation of Church envoys and an unbiased Duke – or someone he assigns in his place – as judges of the committed crime. The final say, however, always belongs to the Crown Prince.