MPNS Ch 85

Chapter 85

Yet Yullan answered with a languid face.

“Here the space is broad. Should not a priest, whose virtue is consideration, withdraw instead of troubling me with words?”

His tone was almost teasing, as if to ask, “Are you interested in me, then?” Nikiel nearly burst into laughter at that, but quickly hardened his expression. But Naet was no less quick-witted.

“Your Majesty, with such sturdy dukes gathered here, a man of broad shoulders such as I have no place to stand.”

“Oh? Then what are you all about, my lords? Make way, that Chancellor Ziments may proceed.”

The affected drawl with which Naet stretched his final syllables made both Yullan and Raymond click their tongues at once. They withdrew a single step down the stair, and, with the way cleared, Naet winked surreptitiously at Nikiel alone.

Caught so suddenly by the wink, Nikiel’s expression grew complex. Then he noticed something else. Naet’s eyes—once glimmering a deep carnelian red, like garnets set in stone—now gleamed a living green, fresh as willow leaves in high summer.

“What…? His eyes….”

Startled, Nikiel’s own eyes widened. He was certain he remembered the earlier hue. Why now did they appear green? Unable to look away, his gaze lingered on Naet’s retreating figure.

At that instant, someone clasped his hand tightly—Lucian. Twisting their joined hands, he interlaced their fingers completely. Through the lace glove of bridal silk, Nikiel felt the contact and looked up in shock. Lucian smiled serenely down at him.

“Exhausting, are they not, these packs of dogs, Your Highness?”

“A-ah… no.”

Packs of dogs? The words sounded again in his mind. However sweet the voice, however fair the face, an insult was still an insult. Yet the dazzling smile seemed to transform everyone else nearby into mongrels at a stroke.

Even as the comment sank in, Nikiel’s thoughts kept circling back to Naet’s eyes. Some strange impression passed through him.

“The reason my eyes shift, it is to bring you delight. I fear you may one day tire of me, so this beast claws desperately for your gaze.”

A voice, lilting with muffled mirth, whispered within him. Suddenly, vertigo seized him. He swayed—caught at once by the last lord he would have expected. Raymond’s long arm held him steady.

A faint scent of pheromones stirred. Lifting his head within that firm hold, Nikiel saw Raymond above him—his ears burning red. Where had he appeared from, to catch him? Then Raymond smiled blandly at Lucian and remarked,

“You should keep better watch, sir. His Highness was but a step from the stair.”

Nikiel was dumbfounded. With Raymond, he recalled only mutual snarling, yet here he was—words of concern? Struggling, he freed himself from Raymond’s hold, and only then realized the hall had fallen silent, every gaze upon the four men atop the stair.

Ladies fanned themselves in agitation. The mere fact that three lords, usually so detached from the prince, had mounted the dais at his side was enough to shock them all. Not wishing to draw more eyes, Nikiel tried to return his attention to Naet, who spoke softly with the king.

But then, the chamberlain hurried to the king, bent, and whispered. The king’s eyes flew wide open.

“What, so soon? Summon him in, at once.”

Though flustered, the king’s face fluttered with pure joy. Nikiel wondered what arrival could draw such delight. This was not chicken delivery or a parcel, yet he looked like a man welcoming a long-awaited gift.

Moments later, the gilded central doors of the hall swung open, adorned with carvings of the sun. These doors admitted royalty alone.

“What—!”

“By Heaven, is it…!”

Who could it be, to excite them so? Nikiel craned his neck. The central doors opened onto the second floor, and there, at the top of the stair, a figure paused.

Not so tall as Raymond or Yullan, yet still tall enough—at least Nikiel’s height, perhaps more. One entering by that door must be royal, and this figure stood with imperious composure. Nikiel’s curiosity sharpened.

Then Lucian stepped discreetly forward, as if to shield him. Why block me from view? Nikiel knew Lucian wasted no effort without purpose. He was precise, efficient, pragmatic to the core.

That’s the type… the “science student” type, exact and economical, Nikiel mused. Having himself studied the natural sciences, he recognized the pattern. Thus, Lucian must have reason; Nikiel, quelling curiosity, stood quietly behind.

Then a herald bellowed:

“His Highness Raphael Ossinis, Crown Prince of the Realm!”

Crown Prince…? Nikiel mouthed the words—when suddenly a metallic screech pierced his mind, and into his memory flooded another’s recollections. Agony seized him; he scowled, clutching his head.

He saw through another self. Nikiel was but a child.

“Elder Brother, I shall follow wherever you go!”

Platinum hair veiled his young face—yes, the child was little Nikiel. Smiling brightly, he clung to the figure he called ‘Elder Brother.’

“Would you come with me then, Nikky?”

“Yes, Brother Prince! I love nothing better than playing with you!”

The elder, a boy not little, with ashen-golden hair like their father’s. This was surely Raphael Ossinis, the Crown Prince in youth. Nikiel, as an observer, could only watch these siblings’ laughter and play.

Raphael clasped his little brother’s hand and led him deep into the forest at the palace’s rear. Beneath the roots of a tree older than five centuries, he hid the child.

“Nikki, this is our secret place. You recall the tale of Alihuba and the Sixty Thieves I read you last night, do you not?”

“Yes, Elder Brother!”

The boy beamed, trusting fully.

“Stay here then; guard this retreat. Should you not, another might take it. But I, your prince and brother, trust in your courage.”

With gentle tones he soothed—and abandoned him.

Perhaps not wholly abandonment: for each day, Raphael returned, bringing food and blankets. But though Nikki pleaded pitifully to go home, the elder never consented. With stern face he threatened and scolded.

“If you whine so, what shall Father the King think of you? The Sun shall guard you—what have you to fear?”

But Nikki sobbed. At night, Elder Brother… when the Sun is gone—who will guard me then?

The elder’s eyes flashed. “How dare you say the power of the Sun reaches not into night!”

“No—that is not what I meant…!”

“Then you shall repent here before the Sun for your insolence.”

Small Nikki wept helplessly. With a stern hand and then softer words, Raphael said:

“Guard this place well, and Father will not cast you out of the palace. Did you not say you wished to live in bliss by my side all your life?”

The child could only cry, afraid. Still, Raphael crooned soothingly, even as he left him.

Thus passed not one night but five. And when at last servants found the prince, he was wasted thin, feverish, hallucinating. His nature, thereafter warped—this was its root.

Nikiel gasped aloud.

“Ah—!”

The reverie shattered. Wide-eyed, trembling, he stood.

“Your Highness—are you unwell?” Lucian’s anxious voice reached him. Nikiel, unable yet to answer, turned toward the throne. To the figure standing at the king’s side—Naet, watching him.

Eyes of the deepest green fixed upon him. Naet’s lips moved silently. Nikiel traced the words.

“Be careful.”

And then the king thundered,

“My firstborn son! Young Lord of two provinces! Raphael Ossinis, returned at last for this year’s Hunting Tournament!”

At his cry, silver goblets rang against one another, nobles applauded, and the orchestra struck up once more. Nikiel, hollow-eyed, gazed upward.

“…”

“…”

Grey-blond hair. Eyes of pale brown. Raphael Ossinis’s gaze met his own.