NOVEL NEXT Chapter 48 - Sincerity
“Do you enjoy coffee?”
“…No, not particularly.”
Having been rather hastily led to the Prince’s chambers, Dorothy wore a perplexed frown.
While she had ended up following him here, was this truly appropriate? Perhaps it would be better to depart now…
“Then what about wine?”
“…I do enjoy it, but…”
Before her eyes glistened an alluringly crimson vintage.
Noting Dorothy’s instantaneous shift in expression at the mere sight of the wine, the Prince let slip a wry smile.
“…Would it not be unbecoming for a man and woman to imbibe alcohol privately? Surely unsavory rumors would spread.”
Yet after narrowly suppressing the temptation evoked by the long-unseen libation, Dorothy swiftly explained why partaking would be inadvisable.
For a member of the royal family and a mere maidservant to share drinks in private quarters would undoubtedly breed scandal. Potentially escalating into a grave controversy.
“I suppose you are correct. Then we shall postpone sampling any wine until another occasion.”
Smiling sheepishly at Dorothy’s prudent admonition, the Prince reclined and popped a grape from the basket upon his desk into his mouth.
“Then… might I inquire what had left you appearing so forlorn earlier?”
“…”
Dorothy hesitated. Could she trust this man?
If one were to dichotomize matters into good and evil categories, the Prince would undoubtedly be among the righteous. Both subjectively and objectively.
Yet virtuous individuals didn’t necessarily abstain from wrongdoing. Dorothy had witnessed parents who doted upon their children even while starving ultimately succumb and sell them off, or witnessed the impoverished selflessly aiding others abruptly transform into vicious usurers.
Would this man truly prove any different?
One who possessed everything. One renowned for his philanthropic generosity. One whom any observer would deem thoroughly benevolent.
Even such an individual – could he truly be trusted?
“If you would prefer not to speak of it, you need not force yourself. As I mentioned, I have no intentions of coercing you.”
Seeming to discern Dorothy’s reservations, the Prince made a dismissive gesture as he settled into a more relaxed posture.
“Then shall I simply assume some manner of disagreement arose between you and Princess Sibylla, and proffer my advice based on that premise?”
“…As you wish, Your Highness.”
“Hmm… now what would be best… what counsel might enable you and Sibylla to reconcile amicably…”
Closing his eyes in contemplation, the Prince muttered beneath his breath as he grappled with the conundrum.
“…I apologize, but no decisive solution comes to mind. As an outsider attempting to mediate a dispute… well, one could argue I too am embroiled in a ‘disagreement’ of sorts with my own brother…”
Offering Dorothy a rueful smile alongside his apology for his inability to provide a clear resolution.
“A ‘disagreement’…”
“Yes, a power struggle. Deploying words, wealth and every manner of underhanded tactic to gain an advantage over the other instead of crossing blades.”
Dorothy was well aware of the overt tensions between the Crown Prince’s supporters and the Second Prince’s adherents.
The guards and servants alike constantly discussed the two brothers, so no matter where one wandered within the palace, those exchanges permeated every corner.
“Indeed, I am aware their rift has grown quite pronounced.”
Few could claim true neutrality, save for the chamberlain.
While the chamberlain’s unquestioning fealty to the monarchy excused his impartiality, convention dictated that all palace staff, whether servants or guards, were to maintain strict neutrality. Though even the chamberlain had overtly supported the current King in his youth, rendering that protocol effectively moot.
“It has widened considerably… yes, for my supporters couldn’t be more diametrically opposed to my brother’s in every conceivable manner.”
Those backing the Crown Prince were the capitalists, the military, and by extension the regional nobility who controlled the bulk of the armed forces. The emerging new powers seeking to overthrow the establishment and seize their entrenched privileges.
Conversely, the Prince’s adherents were the central nobility who had long served under and indulged in the monarchy’s wealth and prestige – the quintessential privileged class.
“Not that I particularly wished to endear myself to them, but…”
In fact, the Prince was among those who held the central nobility in disfavor. Perhaps even more so than the Crown Prince.
Those aware of the Prince’s exceedingly liberal leanings and unparalleled concern for the underprivileged found the central nobility’s allegiance to him puzzling.
“Well… I suppose my brother is simply that abhorrent to them.”
The central nobility’s motivations for siding with the Second Prince were quite simple. While he wouldn’t actively turn his blade against them, the Crown Prince most assuredly wouldn’t hesitate to do so.
The current King had ascended amidst turbulent unrest, the preceding political upheaval and bloodshed essentially devastating the collateral royal lineages that had served as the traditional praetorian guard.
Bereft of that core support base, the King had opted for the central nobility as a stopgap substitute, their influence swelling over his reign.
The Crown Prince sought to curb the nobility’s resurgent power and reclaim their privileges, wielding the capitalists and military as his new sword and shield in place of the collateral royals.
Conversely, the nobility coveted retaining the authority they had accrued following the King’s descent into insanity, gravitating toward cultivating ties with the more affable Second Prince less likely to bear arms against them.
“Truthfully, I hold little interest in the throne myself. Even as a famed war hero whose claim supersedes my own, I doubt my ability to best him.”
His sincerity was palpable.
“If anything, my brother is far more suited to rule. He is one who could unhesitatingly draw his blade against even his own kin…”
And this too was undoubtedly sincere.
“…Then why does Your Highness oppose the Crown Prince?”
Gazing into his utterly guileless eyes, Dorothy inadvertently voiced the obvious question – if his words were entirely truthful, why did he challenge his brother’s claim?
“…Because I love my family.”
And the response to her query was equally sincere.
“…”
Having encountered all manner of eccentric individuals throughout her life, Dorothy couldn’t recall anyone more perplexing than this man.
Watching the Prince, she wondered. If everything he said was truly heartfelt, then were his actions not utterly self-contradictory?
Harboring no ambitions for the throne yet acknowledging his brother as the worthier sovereign, loving his family yet pitting himself against the Crown Prince and aligning with the ill-suited central nobility.
Could a more paradoxical individual even exist?
“…Ah, and here I was supposed to be lending you counsel, only to burden you with my own lamentations instead. My apologies for wasting your time.”
“…No, it’s alright. Then I shall take my leave.”
“Very well.”
No sooner than receiving the Prince’s assent did Dorothy swiftly rise and stride toward the exit, for any further contemplation of this enigmatic man would surely induce only worsening migraines.
“As I mentioned before… I entrust Sibylla’s wellbeing to your care.”
The Prince’s parting remark fell upon deaf ears, for:
“…??”
The moment Dorothy exited the Prince’s quarters, a cacophony of commotion assailed her senses.
“What is this uproar? Why is everyone in such a frenzy…”
“You haven’t heard? Well…”
Hurried footsteps and voices melded into a dissonant roar that Dorothy instinctively homed in on.
“The royal guards were found stripped down to their undergarments with their necks snapped. Even the captain of the guards was slain, or so they say?”
“You mean Captain Phoebus? But who could have…?”
At last, the source of the tumult became evident.
“Does it truly matter what became of those paltry guards? The Princess has vanished!”
A decidedly unpleasant revelation.
* * *
“…”
“…”
A skull-splitting migraine.
Amidst the pounding agony, Sibylla’s ears strained to pick up the muffled voices gradually resolving into audible clarity as she regained consciousness.
“So then… the ransom…”
“No matter… how much…”
As the sounds crystallized, Sibylla forced her heavy eyelids apart through sheer willpower.
Her blurry, fog-shrouded vision steadily sharpened into focus, her fingertips regaining sensation, until:
“Oh, she’s awake?”
Accompanied by an unfamiliar voice, Sibylla’s prone body was abruptly flipped over.
“Got yer wits about ya now, Princess? Now then… what was yer name again?”
“Ain’t it some kinda bitch or whore or sumthin’?”
“A bitch is yer sister, ya daft cunt. What kinda sick fuck names their own daughter ‘Bitch’?”
Their derisive tones and contemptuous conduct were utterly unbefitting when addressing a Princess of the realm.
To Sibylla’s clearing eyes, their slovenly appearances were indistinguishable from mere beggars.
“Heard our King went plumb crazy, didn’t I?”
“If his daughter was cursed mad, he’d’ve named ‘er before gettin’ that way. Ain’t no ‘Bitch’, more like Sib… Siby… sumthin’ like that, I reckon…”
Utterly disregarding their captive, the filthy vagrants mocked Sibylla’s name.
“…!”
As she strained to protest their effrontery despite her voiceless state, a remarkably cultured voice cut through the raucous jeers – one strikingly out of place in these squalid environs.
“Her name is Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans. Not ‘Bitch’ or any such vulgarities.”
“Treat her with respect befitting an esteemed guest.”
“Well I’ll be, if it ain’t our lord ‘imself.”
The owner of that refined tone who entered Sibylla’s field of vision seemed no less slovenly than the others at first glance.
Yet despite his bedraggled guise, an unmistakable aura precluded Sibylla from dismissing him as some random beggar. He exuded a distinct presence that defied his unsightly countenance.
“A pleasure to meet you, Princess Sibylla.”
Extending his hand with a courteous smile, the man introduced himself:
“I am Clopân Trouillefou, the King of the Court of Miracles.”