Esha’s lips twitch. “I only report, your highness.”
“And did you ask what she wanted?”
“I did.” He fixes the collar of his coat. “She told me I should stay focused on my own business and that you can request her anytime.”
“Sounds about right. I’ll deal with her. Thank you, Esha.” It is a small lie because my way of dealing with her is always the same. Ignoring her is rather easy, and a benefit of having royal guards is that they are useful in keeping unwanted people away. One slipup with Thana and I can easily become undone; our separation is much needed.
Hating large crowds and endless gawking from strangers, I’m thankful when the driver takes the back way to the castle. Most of the time, meeting the people leads to disappointment, all on their end, when they learn I’m only the third son of King Marcel—never the prince they are pining for. They undeniably prefer to see my brothers over any other royal in Saden. The reality of my royal standing comes with a mix of relief and dejection.
With the start of a new week, I know that also on the agenda, next to a family breakfast, are meet-and-greets. Meetups that go on longer than they should, as we listen to the concerns of our people. The latter one is the only part I enjoy. Listening to the struggles of the commoners is a humble slap in the face most of us nobility need, especially members of my own family.
Inside the castle, my boots thud against the pristine floor as I make my way to the dining hall. The marble tiles reflect the colossal chandelier suspended nearly fifty feet above, and two curved staircases lead to the upper levels that overflow with blinding light. It’s all just as I left it.
“Your Highness.” Esha rushes to my side with a bouquet of hydrangeas wrapped in scented paper, explaining, “I figured you didn’t have time to grab anything since your arrival was pushed back, so I thought I would get your mother flowers for you.”
I never forget a gift for my mother, but the flowers are a nice touch. “Thank you, Esha. It will go perfectly with what I brought her.”
At my approach, palace guards open double doors that are triple the height of my tall frame. A table, large enough to seat over twenty, runs through the center of the room. Windows that overlook the palace fountains line the entire wall on the left side. On the opposite side of the room is an enormous fireplace with a family portrait hanging above the mantle. The portrait took nearly three weeks to perfect and consisted of hours having to stay still, all while being a restless eight-year-old. Nearly fifteen years ago, and I’m still fickle about having to sit still for so long.
My mother’s braids fall over her rose gold dress and onto her chair. Snuggled between her braids is her canary diadem. It’s her favorite headpiece and was a gift my father presented to her on their wedding day.
From behind her, I offer a single kiss to her right temple before placing the hydrangeas on the table. Next to the flowers, I place a diamond I discovered on my trip.
She catches my face before I pull away and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Good morning, my youngest child.” She softly pinches the hair on my chin and moves my face about while studying my appearance. “I beg you and your brothers to stop aging. It only reminds me that my time is getting shorter.” She leans in close and drops her voice an octave or two above a whisper. “Maybe your next trip should include locating the Ivian Flower. Bring me back a bit of that immortality people claim it possesses.”
She pulls away, laughing at the legend of the flower that is supposed to bring eternal life. I join her, but our interaction is cut short when it sounds like my father is choking from across the table.
He coughs a few times and chases his food down with wine.
Seeing he’s okay, I offer him a bow. “Good morning, Father.”
A servant slides out a chair for me and another brings forth a golden plate filled with eggs, meat, a variety of fruit, and my favorite, cinnamon cakes. It’s been months since I have had the addictive, flaky pastries and oh, how I missed them. I inhale one as a servant pours me a drink.
“I see your brothers are late, as usual,” my father says. “You’ve been gone for nearly three months and still manage to make it on time.”
“Glad to know nothing has changed,” I retort, tossing in another bite of one of the cakes.
“Tell us, Iann, did you find anything new during this trip?” My mother’s eyes grow eager for information.
So do my father’s, but his reasoning is different. Mother actually enjoys listening to my stories, while Father appreciates them, but cares more about the findings than the experiences.
“Yes, brother,” Deean, my older brother and middle child, says. “Please tell us all about your travels.” He drops his body weight against me, providing a hug meant for annoyance. He then drops his lips near my ear as he whispers, “Please tell me you spent time exploring the beds of the women in Diamondhead. I hear they have a special taste for us, Saden men.”
“Heard or know?” I mutter, pushing him away.
Stealing a slice of melon off my plate, he chucks it in his mouth and lets some of the juice dribble down his chin. “If I knew, you would have certainly heard about it.”
“Am I suddenly invisible to you?” Mother remarks, trying to get Deean’s attention. “Or have all the manners I taught you been forgotten?”
I would say the latter, but I keep my mouth shut. Deean has always been the wildcard of the family. One to do as he pleases, with little to no repercussions. The fact he is second in line to the crown is a detail he doesn’t hide and many times uses it to get what he wants. This mainly comes in the form of women or extravagances.
Deean gives our mother a kiss on her forehead. His skin matches the sepia brown shade of hers and they share the same rigid jawbone.
He drops a diamond bracelet into her hand. “So, you’ll always be reminded of your favorite child.”
She only shakes her head. “Then I shall think of all of you when I look at it.”
“Deean, stop messing around and take a seat,” Father orders.
