with a deep breath

The news was ghastly, and for long Charles hardly knew what to do with himself -- what to think -- what to feel. Yet, he couldn't help see his father's collapse as his fault -- his and Darius'. Assuredly, and he did not doubt, there were many contributing factors, and this had all been coming on for some time...but the sudden deterioration, he had no doubt, was on account of the news of his sons' public exhibition. He had always prided himself on the perceived unity of the House of Hanover and, always, Charles had been a thorn in his side on that count -- first with his secret, illicit (and later annulled by the king's order) marriage to his Emma, then with his falling out with Caroline, later with the revelation that he'd returned to his Emma, despite his new marriage -- and, now, with this.

Charles was torn. On one hand, he felt it was unjust that he should be denied happiness. On the other, however, he believed his father deserved it as well. He knew, too, that his father had had terribly fears about their status, since the executions of first Marie Antoinette and then her husband, the king. The key was to, unlike them, avoid rumor and to maintain respectability. If they managed that, perhaps their heads would stay upon their shoulders. But Charles had always discounted these fears as baseless and foolish. He did, still, in truth, but it became more and more difficult not to perceive that their father's fears were genuine, however unrealistic by his son's view.

Whatever his cause, however, he reasoned that the first step was to seek out Darius and at least begin a dialogue -- in private -- whatever may come of the gamble. It was worth the effort.

Charles had written to him, first, as to discussing the "cessation of hostilities," literary tone somewhat tongue-in-cheek, as though they were two generals in a war. It was perhaps a sorry attempt, but he believed a sense of humor about the mess might genuinely help them both to navigate it. How true this was remained to be seen.

Today was a brisk day, and he was happy to, at last, step out of the bluster and indoors, quickly rearranging his wardrobe to look a little less wind-ruffled. Next, he sucked in a deep breath, and walked into the chamber where he was to see his sibling, again. He didn't come straight up to him -- it might be, he thought, that physical distance might help temper any efforts to engage in combat once more.

"Well met, Darius," said Charles. He was meant to smile, and he intended to, but somehow he did not quite manage it. He couldn't help but think of the way Caroline couldn't quite look at him for blushing when she spoke of Darius. And he felt his own cheeks heating at the thought -- this time with anger. His fists clenched. He pushed the anger down. He was here for his father's sake. It had to be attempted. He raised a hand, pointing to his sibling's cheek. "You seem to be healing, nicely. Feeling any better?"

He wasn't simply referring to physical injuries.

they  could  already  sense  the  thumping  at  their  temple  growing  louder  by  the  second.

frustration  and  irritation  lingered  for  far  longer  than  acceptable.  perhaps  all  would've  eased  in  due  time,  were  it  not  for  the  king's  collapse.  for  all  the  bitterness  darius  held  toward  their  own  station,  and  toward  what  the  king  and  queen  forced  on  him  if  not  in  words  than  by  silent  please  ----  they  did  not  wish  their  father  to  die.  not  when  lives  were  still  so  unstable.  not  when  darius  still  did  not  know  how  to  leave.

darius  had  written  back  agreement;  short  and  succinct,  no  flowery  literature  like  their  brother  utilized.  they  rolled  their  eyes  then,  and  they'll  surely  roll  their  eyes  during  this  cessation  of  hostilities.  for  all  their  life,  they  stood  more  in  support  than  opposition  for  charles;  all  they  ever  wished  was  for  charles  to  take  his  position  seriously  ---  to  truly  sacrifice.  and  if  he  still  refused,  still  grabbed  at  whatever  he  thought  would  make  him  happiest,  then  at  least  stopped  being  dumb  at  how  to  go  about  it.

they  released  a  slow  breath.  in  the  next  moment,  charles  strode  inside;  darius  remained  standing,  slightly  bowing  his  head.  even  in  the  smallest  movement,  deference.  perhaps  it  would  lead  to  a  good  start.

and  then  charles  opened  his  mouth.

darius  stifled  a  long  sigh.  forced  their  expression  still,  eyes  staying  in  place  rather  than  rolling  to  the  back  of  their  head.  cessation  of  hostilies,  cessation  of  hostilities  ---

"i  am  as  fine  as  one  can  be  with  the  news  of  father's  health."  lips  press  to  thin  line,  gaze  falling  to  the  floor.  "i  suppose  no  further  news  on  his  health  is  better  than  further  description  of  his  failing  health."

a  breath,  another.  steadying themself,  darius  lifted  their  head,  gaze  returning  to  their  brother's.  "let  us  not  wander  around  the  subject:  what  is  it  you  want  to  say  to  me,  charles?"

how  many  found  her  naive?  how  many  more  would  shift  their  tone  and  speak  to  her  the  way  sarinya  did:  honey-sweet  masking  poison?  xinyi's  hands,  now  folded  together  in  her  lap,  clenched  tighter.  yes,  there  was  much  for  her  to  learn  in  her  debut  ---  but  she  had  carried  much  more  than  most  in  the  years  spent  by  her  father.  and  she  intimately  knew  the  consequences  of  misjudgement.

"i  find  rank  is  less  about  forgiveness  than  it  is  a  position  appealing  for  a  blind  eye.  at  some  point,  though,  those  appeals  fall  on  false  ears  if  asked  of  one  too  many  times."  one's  position  was  a  double-edged  sword,  wasn't  it?  a  pedestal  raised  high,  and  a  place  with  a  long,  long  fall.  "what  will  linger  longer  for  you?  discussion  of  attire  you  disagree  with,  or  talk  of  the  heir  and  his  brother  fighting?  your  position  as  lady-in-waiting  surely  gives  some  insight  on  that,  yes?"

she  smiled,  courteous  just  like  her  sister  taught.  but  as  she  finally  reached  to  take  another  sip  of  her  tea,  unease  settled  in  her  chest.  she  will  do  well  not  to  make  enemies  closely  linked  with  royalty.  and  yet  ---  "oh,  what  has  caught  my  eye  is  that  of  a  debutante's  excitement.  everything  looks  new  when  finally  out  in  society.  but  i  fear  i've  spoken  too  much  about  my  perspective.  i  asked  for  yours  because  of  my  inexperience.  though  has  little  caught  your  eye  this  season?  on  the  finer  distinctions  of  society,  as  you  say?"

it had seemed like a good decision to invite the children for a week - long visit to london ─ marion had been called back from france, robert and francis from eton and francesca from hartfolk manor, all to join their mother as guests in the covenhall home so that the new baron would have companions of his age to socialize with for a time. as she abandoned her children to the care of their nannies and tutors, seeking sanctuary in the cool interiors of the tea shop, mamie realized that distance had made the heart grow fonder, for she was quite done with playing doting mother for the day, and it was only still morning. placing a hand on the display case to balance herself, mamie sighed as she took in the different treats available for the day. while she had her usual order, she had promised the children something sweet as well, and she really ought to buy a gift for marion for her help in corralling the mcallister misbegottens through london. catching the eye of someone who seemed of similar age to her eldest daughter, mamie allowed her hand to brush against miss zhao's elbow to draw her attention. ❝ miss xinyi, if i am not mistaken ? would you be a dear and assist me in a matter of great importance ? i would not burden you unnecessarily but i fear you are the only one capable to provide some insight on my dilemma. ❞

she  dared  not  peek  into  her  coin  purse  out  in  public.  it  would  only  lead  to  her  checking  over  and  over  that  not  one  dropped,  and  would  draw  unwanted  observations.  the  debt  haunted  her  nearly  every  waking  moment,  but  it  was  her  business  alone,  no  one  else's.  and  so  xinyi  forcibly  kept  her  gaze  on  the  display  of  pastries,  thoughts  tumbling  with  calculations  she  never  had  to  consider  before.

the  touch  at  her  elbow  brought  her  back  to  present;  xinyi  tips  her  head  up,  eyes  widening  with  recognition.  "dowager  mcallister."  a  small  curtsy,  more  to  gather  her  bearings;  then,  a  smile,  bright  and  pleasant  and  befitting  of  a  debutante.

one  supposed  it  was  time  to  commission  some  new  dresses  in  a  less  dreadful  shade,  her  own  mayfair  wardrobe  filled  mostly  with  the  colours  of  half-mourning.  it  would  not  do  to  find  a  husband  with  such  signalling.  door  half  open,  exiting  from  her  appointment,  sevda  nearly  clips  the  passerby.  mollified,  the  durmaz  gasps,  "my  apologies!"

she  still  lingered  at  the  window.  xinyi  dared  not  ask  for  a  dubois  dress,  let  alone  a  new  dress  at  all.  but  her  curiosity  led  her  to  the  shop,  drinking  in  the  sights  of  this  season's  trends.  would  it  be  noticeable  she  wore  none  of  them,  after  all  the  years  of  grandiose  her  siblings  bore?  would  lady  whistledown  begin  questioning  xinyi's  choices,  start  a  rumor  mill,  expose  ---

the  door  swung  open,  and  a  gasp  fell,  scurrying  a  couple  steps  backward.  a  blessing  to  avoid  collision,  and  yet  a  curse  to  stand  before  one  who  has  caught  benedict's  attention.

"oh,  no,  please  don't  apologize.  it  was  my  fault  for  standing  in  the  way."  she  reached  before  she  thought  better  of  it,  fingertips  grazing  sevda's  elbow.  a  blink,  and  she  pulled  back.  "are  you  alright?"

"please  allow  me  to  be  a  decent  host.  i'll  feel  useful  —   and  i'll  alleviate  some  duties  from  my  sister's  shoulders."  her  smile  warm  and  bright  softened  the  truth;  her  tone  humorous  when  the  seed  of  despair  extended  its  roots  in  her  heart.

"Come," said the marchioness, gesturing to her table. "It seems the ton is quite overrun, when there are insufficient tables at Gunther's, and I would not have you pressed into any discomfort over the matter."

The little store was, in fact, teeming with people, and the marchioness, in her quietude, could not help but wonder if speculation regarding the queen's unfortunte tea party paired with the rebirth of the mysterious Lady Whistledown, had not resulted in an over-abundance of those who wished to spread gossip. For her own part, Athenais did not envy Her Majesty the Queen.

did  the  marchioness  know  who  she  called  to?  xinyi  hesitated  a  moment,  and  perhaps  this  would  be  lady  athenais'  first  impression  of  her:  a  deer  caught  in  the  sights  of  a  hunter,  frozen  with  fear  and  abandoned  by  logic.

but  in  the  next  breath,  xinyi  crossed  the  last  steps  to  reach  the  table,  expression  shaping  to  a  courteous  openness.  she  must  take  the  opportunity  presented  ---  when  else  would  she  meet  benedict's  mother  in  such  a  setting?  if  she  does  well  here,  if  she  impresses  and  it  reaches  benedict  ---  if,  if,  if.

"thank  you,  my  lady.  i  appreciate  your  offer.  there's  nothing  better  to  pass  the  time  during  a  rainy  day  than  tea  and  good  conversation."  xinyi  followed  the  marchioness'  gaze,  head  tilting.  "i  am  certain  at  least  one  person  will.  after  all,  have  you  met  a  crowd  where  there  wasn't  one  person  with  an  amount  of  self-importance  you  wonder  why  they  haven't  floated  away  with  their  inflated  ego?  i  do  hope  they  merely  swallow  their  disappointment  and  have  tea  standing  up  instead!"

   “   serves   you   right   for   inviting   me   here   .   ”   it   wasn't   that   kaito   disliked   the   performing   arts   ,   especially   not   the   opera   ,   but   it   was   one   of   those   activities   that   lacked   ,   well   ,   activity   .   barely   any   speaking   or   socialising   or   anything   happening   away   from   the   stage   ,   it   was   almost   as   dull   as   the   days   in   grisham   house   .   “   shall   we   march   on   to   white's   ?   ”   would   his   cousin   still   be   accepted   there   ?   oh   ,   well   …

"it  still  was  a  benefit  to  attend,  cousin.  don't  pout  too  much."  if  not  a  benefit,  then  at  least  a  quiet  reintroduction.  for  two  who  had  been  away  for  so  long.  for  one  that  planned  to  rebuild.  exhaling  a  slow  cloud  of  smoke,  dairo  gestured  with  the  pipe.  "lead  the  way.  we  may  make  it  there  before  the  best  liquor  is  gone."

a  wry  smile  appeared  as  dairo  leaned  closer.  "will  you  help  vouch  for  my  honor  if  they  refuse  me  entry,  or  will  you  abandon  me  on  the  streets?"

❝ i ought to bash you over the head and pray that it knocks some sense into you. ❞ an unconventional greeting, even if caroline was closer to darius than she was to most others outside of her immediate family ─ he was, after all, still a prince of england, though she was certain that if she were to inflict a measure of bodily harm on him, not even the queen would fault her for it. the horse in front of her nickered in response to the tension in her approach and caroline soothed it with a soft whisper, rubbing her hand against it's thick neck as she kissed it over the nose, her eyes cutting over to squint at darius where he stood, looking windswept from his ride over. ❝ i told you not to do anything. ❞ she breathed out, nudging the horse's big head away from her shoulder as she offered him wineskin filled with cool water. ❝ i remember explicitly saying that i have it handled ─ that i have him handled. ❞ she certainly did not have anything handled but her own method of dealing with charles ( misunderstandings, followed by shouting and ignoring him for days ) seemed a great deal better than punching him in public. ❝ you silly boy ... what business do you have fighting with your brother ? the ton seems half - torn between some sordid love story between the three of us or worst still, rumors that you wish to become prince of wales over your brother. and now this business with your father ... ❞ she swallowed back a sigh, lifting a hand to rub at her temples. ❝ has your mother spoken to you ? ❞

barely  had  he  dismounted  before  caroline  entered  the  scene.  any  other  time,  laughter  would  sound,  and  the  two  would  fall  into  familiar  back-and-forth.  something  he  had  come  to  cherish  and  look  forward  to,  despite  the  hard  thump  in  his  chest  whenever  she  swept  into  his  view.

there  was  no  laughter  today.  he  kept  a  hand  on  the  horse's  neck,  soon  a  mirror  of  caroline's  gesture.  the  hot  sweat  from  his  horse  kept  his  heart  grounded,  but  it  was  the  princess'  chiding  that  pressed  on  the  weight  of  shame  he  carried  since  the  garden  party.  for  all  his  talk  of  what  she  deserved,  darius  contributed  to  the  rumors  now  circling  caroline. any  whisper  strikes  at  caroline  faster,  harsher,  deeper  he  had  hissed  at  his  brother.

he  wished  never  to  be  cause  of  such  wounds  for  caroline.  and  now  ---

darius  swallowed.  he  took  the  offered  wineskin,  careful  of  any  touch  lasting  only  a  breath.  only  after  a  few  gulps  did  he  finally  collect  his  thoughts  and  face  caroline.

"she  has.  anger  has  not  left  her  ---  nor  should  it  ---  but  it's  laced  with  .  .  .  "  fear  "  .  .  .  worry.  i  do  not  know  what  likely  path  she  believes  will  happen,  but  i  believe  she  is  preparing  for  the  worst."

the  last  of  his  words  soften  until  they  were  nearly  whisper.  knuckles  paled  as  he  tightened  his  grip  on  the  wineskin.  another  swallow;  another  breath.  and  then  he  bowed  his  head.

"i'm  sorry,  caroline.  for  the  hurt  caused  at  the  garden  party,  and  the  hurt  given  since.  while  i  never  intended  our  conversation  to  escalate  to  such  a  degree,  i  should  not  have  approached  him  at  all.  not  when  my  irritation  had  flared  before  finding  him."

finally  lifting  his  head,  he  held  the  wineskin  back  to  her.  his  other  hand  still  stayed  on  the  horse's  neck,  matching  the  pace  of  his  breathing  to  his  mount's.  "i  will  do  my  best  for  there  to  never  be  a  repeat  fight  with  charles."

as a lady who unfortunately finds a great deal of comfort in a full social calendar, wendy delighted in the sudden invitation to join the box of an old friend of her late husband's — at the very least, she would not have to be subjected to a seat in the orchestra section. however, it did not help the old dowager viscountess is such a terrible bore that her gaze had begun to helplessly rake over the crowd, in a desperate attempt to find an acquaintance or two that could save her from yet another retelling of the triumph of the viscountess' ball last year.

thankfully, mercifully, the baroness could see the ton part cleanly for the arrival of a member of house hanover. her eyes lit up imperceptibly at the sight of prince darius, and let out a sharp exhale in relief. as a perfectly respectable member of polite society, the viscountess did not even attempt to stop her from excusing herself from their droll conversation. wendy made her way across the crowd swiftly, and with easy grace, before falling into a small curtsey in front of the prince.

it remained a mystery, if proceeding as if life was normal could be the best route. not only for the scandal of brothers fighting, but for the news of the king --- of their father. still, a performance was needed; for darius to enjoy, and for them to act. mayfair must come to believe the royal family was united; the king's absence a mere want, and not a devastating fact; and the second prince a pillar of support.

the only question: would anyone believe their act?

they gave scant instructions to their secretary the moment before wendy appeared. demeanor shifted from tension in shoulders to small relief in the ease of their smile. they bow their head a beat after the curtsy, folding hands behind their back.

"i am indeed. though i haven't appreciated his work enough in the last few months. i thought it well overdue that i attend a performance of his work. are you here to enjoy his work as well, or are you spinning your matchmaking magic tonight?"

puzzlement  painted  the  prince's  face;  truly,  there  was  no  intention  to  linger,  and  less  desire  to  participate  in  whatever  the  lady  wished  to  do.  and  yet,  he  remained  still.  less  a  prince  used  to  demanding,  and  more  a  simpleton  willing  to  follow  orders.  was  it  a  prickle  of  relief  warming  his  chest  at  this  play  of  pretend?  or  the  soothing  trap  of  indulgence?

he  closed  his  eyes,  urged  himself  to  listed.  whispers  of  ---  shyness.  that  softness  slowly  rising  to  desperation.  a  mixing  of  women's  voices,  hoping  so  hard  that  his  heart  nearly  broke  for  them.

"do  you  know  what's  terrible  in  this  moment?"  he  whispered,  voice  as  soft  as  feyza's  earlier,  doing  his  best  to  avoid  the  gallery's  amplification.  "all  i  can  think  of  is  that  lady  whistledown  is  writing  notes  of  this  private  moment  to  expose  them  in  her  next  issue."

a  mirthless  chuckle  escaped  his  mouth.  a  terrible  sound  from  a  prince,  and  he  took  a  slow,  deep  breath.  "will  you  be  surprised  to  hear  that  this  isn't  the  worst  injury  i've  suffered?"  the  scar  at  the  back  of  his  head  throbbed  in  that  moment,  as  if  rising  to  roar  at  mention  of  it.  a  nasty  riding  accident  born  from  lessons  where  he  followed  after  his  brother.  the  fall  wasn't  charles'  fault,  of  course,  not  when  darius  was  the  one  to  push  himself  and  the  horse  harder  than  he  should've.  but  how  terrible  was  it,  that  for  all  the  injuries  darius  gathered,  charles  somehow  stood  at  the  periphery?

"i  do  hope  there  is  no  mark  left  behind  from  it.  i  do  not  need  more  mothers  claiming  it  as  rugged  charm  as  they  plead  their  cases  for  a  match."  he  reached  for  a  cigar.  "i  trust  you've  avoided  any  situation  that  would  involve  injury  or  any  mother's  inquiry?"