Sunlight, a painter's golden wash, spilled through the grand windows of Areion's chamber. The gentle melody of birdsong mingled with the soft sigh of curtains stirred by a playful breeze, creating an idyllic morning scene.
Areion, however, remained blissfully unaware, lost in the deep sleep. His silver hair, usually impeccably styled, now lay scattered across the silk pillows, a testament to his peaceful slumber. Utterly undisturbed… until the door burst inward.
Footsteps, padded across the polished floor. A shadow, tall and slender, loomed over the tranquil form on the bed. And then, with a swift, decisive motion, the blanket was ripped away.
"Good morning, Your Highness!"
A gust of surprisingly cold air rushed in, a rude awakening that sent shivers racing down Areion's spine. His body jolted upright with a strangled yelp, his hands flailing for the stolen warmth, clutching at the empty air. His silver eyes, still clouded with sleep, snapped open, widening in genuine horror as the identity of the culprit registered.
"Romona!" His voice cracked with indignation. "How many times have I told you not to do that?!"
Romona, the epitome of an unefficient royal attendant, froze mid-motion, her amber eyes widening to the size of saucers. A blush, swift and deep, flooded her entire face, staining her cheeks a vibrant crimson.
Her gaze flickered downwards for a perilous moment. Then, with an almost comical speed, it shot back up, fixated on some unseen point on the ornate ceiling.
"I— I didn't know!" she stammered, flustered beyond anything Areion had witnessed before. With a jerky, almost panicked movement, she whipped the blanket back over him, turning on her heel so abruptly she nearly tripped over her own feet. "Y-Your Highness! You never said anything about being—"
Areion, now clutching the covers around himself like a besieged fortress, his silver brows furrowed into a deep, grumpy V, his lips pursed in a childish pout. "I always sleep like this! How do you not know this by now?!"
Romona, still resolutely avoiding his gaze, pinched the bridge of her nose, a silent plea for patience. "Your Highness, you don't wake up no matter how many times I knock or call your name. What else was I supposed to do? Let you sleep through the entire morning like a particularly stubborn log?"
"Yes! That would've been perfectly fine!" Areion shot back, his voice still thick with sleep-induced irritation.
"Oh, in the name of Mother Iranda," she groaned, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
Areion, still clinging to the blanket as if it were a lifeline, muttered darkly under his breath, "This is blatant harassment."
Romona scoffed, finally daring a quick, exasperated glance in his direction. "Harassment? Oh, please, Your Highness, I'm merely executing my duties."
"My duties this, my duties that," Areion mimicked in a low, irritated tone. "You secretly enjoy torturing me, just admit it."
Romona exhaled slowly, deliberately, as if trying to maintain a fragile hold on her composure. "Your Highness, I assure you, I have far more pressing and, frankly, more enjoyable tasks than deriving pleasure from your morning misery."
Areion squinted at her suspiciously, his silver eyes narrowed. "Do you, now?"
Romona's already frayed patience finally snapped. Without another word, she lunged forward, her hands gripping the edge of the blanket once more.
"Romona, no—"
"Your Highness, yes—"
A silent battle of wills commenced, a tug-of-war waged with a shared blanket as the prize. Areion clung to the familiar warmth with the tenacity of a child refusing to relinquish a beloved toy, while Romona yanked with every ounce of her considerable strength.
The ornate bed c'eaked under the strain. The air in the sun-drenched room crackled with unspoken tension. Then—
Rip!
Romona, the victor in this absurd morning skirmish, stood holding a significant portion of the blanket in her grasp, a triumphant glint in her amber eyes.
Areion sat amidst the remaining covers, scowling with a fury that could rival the heat of a thousand burning suns.
Romona dusted her hands off with a smug smirk. "Breakfast is ready, Your Highness. Get dressed."
With that pronouncement, she marched towards the door like a conquering general, leaving the grumpy prince to stew in his miserable, blanket-less state.
.
The grand dining hall was a hive of early morning activity. Servants glided through the space with practiced grace, arranging silver trays laden with steaming bread, glistening fresh fruit, and an array of delicacies fit for the royal palate.
At the head of the long, polished table, Lucian sat with his customary composed demeanor, silently dissecting his steak with precise, deliberate movements, his crimson eyes focused solely on his meal.
A little further down, Caius merely rolled his eyes, a barely perceptible gesture, as he delicately sipped his tea, barely sparing a glance at the familiar morning drama unfolding before him.
And at the center of it all sat Areion, moodily stabbing at a slice of ripe melon with his silver fork, as if the innocent fruit had personally insulted him.
Across the table, Vivienne chuckled softly behind her honeycup, her emerald eyes twinkling with amusement at her youngest son's perpetual morning disposition.
Standing with the other maids near the wall, Romona caught Areion's disgruntled gaze and offered him a small, pointed smirk.
Areion, mid-chew, scowled even deeper. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he promptly looked away, slumping further into his high-backed chair.
Lucian, having finished a precise bite of his steak, finally turned his attention to his mother. "Mother, what happened to him?" His voice was a low rumble, devoid of any real curiosity.
Vivienne chuckled again, shaking her head with a fond smile. "Oh, nothing of consequence, dear. Areion is simply… expressing his typical morning enthusiasm." She took another slow sip of honey, her eyes still dancing with amusement. "It's hardly a novel occurrence."
Areion groaned louder, the sound echoing slightly in the vast hall, and slumped even further into his seat, his silver hair falling over his forehead. "I hate all of you."
Romona's smirk widened infinitesimally. Vivienne simply laughed softly, a melodious sound that did little to soothe her son's sour mood. Caius rolled his eyes again, a silent commentary on the entire situation. Lucian, however, didn't even spare them a second glance, his attention already returned to his breakfast.
.
The grand archway of the Order of Odysseus loomed ahead, its towering iron gates standing wide open, beckoning the steady stream of students dressed in immaculate, gender-neutral uniforms. The prestigious academy, a crucible of intellect, Shaktih, and burgeoning talent, buzzed with the excited chatter and anticipation of a new academic year.
Except for one individual.
Areion stomped through the imposing gates, his shoulders slumped, his silver eyes dull with profound disinterest, his hands buried deep within the pockets of his pristine uniform. His entire aura radiated a palpable annoyance, a dark cloud hovering over his usually bright presence.
Trailing a few steps behind him, as was often the case, was Romona, ever the responsible anchor to Areion's sometimes tempestuous moods. Dressed neatly in her own academy uniform, she already carried the weary sigh of someone accustomed to managing a particularly stubborn child.
"Your Highness," she began, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation, "you do realize this is the first day of school, correct?"
Areion grumbled something low and incoherent under his breath, a sound that could have been mistaken for a disgruntled animal.
Romona quickened her pace to match his long, dragging strides, her amber brows furrowing in a frown. "What was that?"
"I said," Areion finally muttered, still stubbornly refusing to meet her gaze, "I know. And I'm not interested."
Romona blinked, utterly baffled by his lack of enthusiasm. "You haven't even been in class yet."
"I don't need to be," he deadpanned, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "The very air here already smells faintly of suffering." In his mind, the imposing architecture and the hushed yet palpable tension of the academy echoed the monotonous routine of his past life's schooling he tried to end, a monochromatic environment that made his stomach churn.
Romona rolled her eyes heavenward and crossed her arms over her chest. "The only suffering I detect is emanating directly from your remarkably poor attitude."
Areion let out a long, theatrical sigh that spoke volumes of his displeasure and kicked a small, loose rock on the cobblestone path with unnecessary force. "I was so comfortable in bed, Romona. So comfortable. And then you—you stormed into my room like some kind of blanket-thieving demon and ruined everything."
"Oh my, are you still complaining about that?" she scoffed, a hint of amusement finally breaking through her annoyance.
"Yes," he snapped, finally turning his glare on her, his silver eyes flashing with mock indignation. "You're lucky I didn't freeze you on the spot."
Romona raised a skeptical brow, her lips twitching slightly. "You didn't even possess ability to wake up let alone talk about using magic on spot." She paused for a beat before delivering the final blow. "And as far as I recall, Your Highness, your singular affinity isn't even ice-based. Tsk, tsk, tsk," she clucked, shaking her head with mock pity, running her fingers through her own neatly styled hair.
Areion's face flushed a faint pink as she called his bluff. "Stop!" he finally exclaimed, taking a deep breath, attempting to quell the lingering remnants of his morning frustration. He scowled. "It's called self-restraint."
"It's called being half-asleep," she corrected him dryly.
"Semantics."
She huffed, gesturing around them with a sweeping motion of her hand. "Anyway, can you at least try not to look like you're on your way to a particularly unpleasant execution?"
He turned his full glare back to her. "In my current state, I might as well be."
Romona groaned and massaged her temples with a weary sigh. "Look, I get it. You're not a morning person, and you'd rather be curled up in bed like some spoiled, pampered cat, but you're a prince. Act like it. Not a spoiled princess."
Areion made a childish face, his lips twisting into a grimace. "Fine just don't call me princess many people mistake me for girl."
Romona's eye glow with mischievous energy, "oh I think it's better serve you like a princess then a prince,", she looks at his hairs , eyes and lips before continuing, "Tell o madam Areion, do you need beauty tips from yours truly? I can make you worthy of greate prince one day.", areion tightened his jaw no wanting to burst on her while she held hand above her lips not wanting burst into laughter.
Areion with a deep sigh start moving again, "You won, now shut up."
Romona's expression brightened slightly, a flicker of hope igniting in her amber eyes—until she witnessed the most half-hearted, miserable attempt at a smile she had ever seen. It was so forced and unnatural it looked as though he were undergoing some form of agonizing dental procedure.
"…What are you doing?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine disturbance.
"You said act like a prince," Areion said, his mouth still contorted into that truly awful expression. "So I'm smiling. Like a proper royal."
"Please stop," she begged, physically recoiling as if confronted with something truly grotesque.
Areion immediately dropped the strained expression, his face reverting to its usual scowl. "Make up your mind, woman."
Romona sighed, abandoning all hope of salvaging his mood. They continued their walk through the sprawling campus, passing by groups of students who were either chattering excitedly about the new year or greeting familiar faces with enthusiastic smiles. The fresh start of the academic year had infused the academy with a palpable sense of liveliness.
Except for Areion. His mood remained firmly entrenched in the deepest, darkest depths of his morning misery.
Romona gave him a pointed side glance. "You know, everyone here is actually happy to be here."
"Good for them," he muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the cobblestones.
She rolled her eyes again, her patience wearing thinner with each step. "Would it actually *kill* you to at least *pretend* you're even remotely excited?"
Areion tilted his head in mock contemplation, his silver eyes narrowed in exaggerated thought. "Hmmm… yes. Yes, I believe it genuinely would."
Romona groaned, a sound of utter defeat. "I can't believe I have to babysit you through this entire ordeal."
"I can't believe I have to suffer through this entire ordeal," he shot back, his voice dripping with self-pity.
They finally reached the imposing main building, where students were beginning to file into various lecture halls. A few young women giggled as they passed by Areion, whispering amongst themselves and casting furtive glances in his direction, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and something akin to admiration.
Romona noticed their attention and offered Areion a knowing smirk. "Oh? Seems like some people are rather… happy to see you, Your Highness."
Areion didn't even deign to look in their direction. Instead, he simply let out another dramatic sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "Why is everyone so excessively noisy?"
Romona gave him a pointed look that could have withered flowers. "Perhaps because they aren't as profoundly miserable as you are?" He pointedly ignored her.
Then, out of the blue, Areion let out a soft, almost hesitant question. "Hey… should I feel… happy?"
Romona blinked, completely thrown by the unexpected shift in topic. "Apologies, Your Highness?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Areion stopped abruptly in the middle of the bustling path, turning to face her, his expression uncharacteristically devoid of its usual sardonic edge. "This whole Mateo case…" His mind flashed back to the hushed conversation with his father in the royal chambers the previous night, his tentative inquiries about the outcome. His face softened almost imperceptibly as he recalled Valdemar's words: Mateo had nearly lost, his crucial evidence deemed inadmissible due to a lack of official validation. Then, Lucian had entered the court with guards, escorting the terrified children, their relieved parents, Mateo's distraught wife, and, most importantly, the long-hidden records from the royal library, meticulously dated books that painted a clear picture of a deliberate frame-up.
Romona, observing his sudden shift in demeanor, replied slowly, her voice thoughtful. "You desired this outcome too, my lord. Did you perhaps forget? If not, then why question your feelings on the matter?"
Areion wanted to articulate the strange lack of warmth, the absence of the satisfaction he felt he should be experiencing. He didn't want to appear devoid of empathy, yet the genuine elation he expected was strangely absent. He simply shook his head, a fleeting shadow of confusion crossing his features, and let out a quiet, "Forget what I said."
They continued their ascent up the grand staircase, the echoing footsteps of students filling the air as they approached their designated classroom. Areion still carried the air of someone contemplating a long fall from a great height, but at least he was moving forward, albeit reluctantly.
Romona, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, allowed a small smirk to play on her lips.
This, she knew, was going to be a very long and undoubtedly difficult journey.