Harmonia Calendar 715, Thal 21 – Ashspire Estate, Elandor
Morning - Anton's Study
I read the report once, then again.
[The boy's form is strong. His spirit is diligent.]
I set the parchment flat on the blotter and leaned back. The leather groaned as I sank into it. My eyes wandered the room, and memories followed.
This had once been Gerard's study.
The same tall window that looked down over the courtyard. The same heavy desk, and the same shelf of contracts, their pages carried the faint smell of oil and dust.
I could almost see him there, pen steady, words sharp, every judgment quick and precise.
Gerard had been the perfect son.
Then the disease took him.
Evelin followed him soon after, her strength failed when she gave birth. Two graves in a month, left an infant, and a title to me.
I muttered.
"Duty."
'Raising the child had been exactly that. Not love. Not charity.'
'Duty.'
I drummed a finger on the desk.
'Twelve years had passed since that day. The infant had grown into a boy who rose before dawn, who remembered the servants' names, who never asked for more than what was given.'
'Useful traits for someone else's son.'
My thoughts shifted to my own children.
'Favian would inherit. He's sixteen, and understands strength, the value of appearances, and exactly where to apply pressure until people break. He has my eyes, my appetite, and my fire.'
'Lucien…he's talented, more than once have I seen flashes of brilliance in him, but soft. Too soft for fourteen. He still spoke with compassion when silence would do, and hesitated when decisiveness was needed.'
'He isn't made for the noble scene.'
'And Theodora…'
I reached for the quill, my jaw tight, fingers firm around it.
'She's only twelve, but her path was already decided. She will be a tool to buy alliances. That was how houses rose. That was how they survived.'
I dipped the quill and drew a steady line beneath the report. The words followed in clean strokes.
[Potential present. Keep monitoring him.]
The ink had barely dried when I tugged the bell.
Cling.
A knock followed.
"Enter."
The steward stepped inside, head bowed, hands folded behind his back. His reply carried a trace of tension.
"Yes, my lord."
I glanced up, then back down at the stack of papers. My tone was flat.
"We finalize the banquet arrangements today. And have the swordmaster submit weekly reports on Adonis."
The steward bowed.
"At once, my lord."
He turned, pulling the door to a quiet close.
Silence settled again, broken only by the slow tick of the clock.
Tic.
I pushed myself up from the chair, joints cracking. The years left their mark on me, though they didn't soften me. My frame still held, but blond had given way to grey, and my beard carried both.
I crossed to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
Below in the courtyard, the boy ran drills with a man in a padded gambeson. Their blades clashed, dull thuds echoed in the yard.
I watched three exchanges before I let the curtain fall.
'Perhaps, the boy won't be useless after all.'
***
Late Morning – Dining Hall
Breakfast began with the quiet scrape of knives against plates and steam rising from fresh bread.
The long cherrywood table had darkened with age, and the lightstones above set the silverware shining.
I sat opposite Theodora and reached for a heel of bread. A faint ink smudge along my thumb from last night's notes was seen.
'Mother will scold that.'
I tucked my hand beneath the table, then let my eyes drift toward her.
Mother sat with practiced elegance at the head of the table beside father.
Her emerald eyes carried warmth and care, sharp yet soft when they landed on us. Her hazel-brown hair was drawn into a neat braid that swept over one shoulder, the wool of her ash-grey overdress was lined with fine stitching.
The air around her held a quiet authority, less from command and more from the steady care she carried into every action.
She lifted the teapot, steam curling from the spout as she poured into Theodora's cup. Her voice gentle.
"Eat while it's hot."
Theodora stole a berry from my plate, her fingers quick, a grin flashed as she popped it into her mouth. Her voice came light, teasing.
"You never fight back."
I glanced over at her.
She had the same emerald green eyes as mother, though hers shone with mischief.
Hazel-brown hair was drawn back by a ribbon, and a green dress trimmed with fine white
thread surrounded her petite frame. She was the smallest at the table, but the way she carried herself, bold and playful, gave her a kind of charm that was hard to ignore.
Still more cute than elegant, her childish acts only made that brightness stand out more.
I watched her chew, a spark in her eyes dared me to argue.
'I pick my battles.'
I thought, and tore a piece of bread instead.
The sound of hinges pulled my eyes to the door as it swung open.
Favian stepped inside, a fraction late, exactly the way he liked it.
He had the same red eyes as father, though his carried a strange edge. His short blond hair was slicked back, and a smile spread across his lips, more practiced than genuine.
A fitted white tunic cut close to his frame, silver threads stitched along the cuffs and collar, caught the shine of the lightstones above.
He stood tall as the oldest, and every movement carried the polish of someone trained to be seen.
He stopped opposite the head of the table, posture straight. His bow was aimed across the hall, to Father, not to Mother.
"Father."
Father met his eyes, gave a single, measured nod, and let his voice cut through the hall.
"Report."
Favian's smile didn't falter, his voice came calm as if rehearsed.
"Confirmations from the Marquess of Breyne, Countess Vallis, Lord Halvors, and...Grand Duke Valmontis."
Father's voice carried its usual firmness, but a trace of praise slipped through before he returned to his meal.
"Good work."
Favian stepped back with a satisfied smile and slid into the seat beside me.
I set my fork down, glanced toward father, and spoke softly before the silence settled.
"I spoke with the kennel-master. The southern fence is cracked. When winter comes, the ground will heave and widen it."
Father didn't look at me, his knife still cutting slices. His voice came firm between bites.
"See it repaired."
I pressed my lips thin, my voice came louder than I meant, pushing for Father's attention.
"Already arranged."
His hands stopped, red eyes locking onto mine before he gave a single nod.
"Good."
The meal resumed.
'Good? That's all? Favian strolls in late and earns praise. I give answers, and all I ever get is a nod...'
Creak.
The door opened, pulling me out of my thoughts, and my head turned with the rest.