I skim wearily through the foxing pages of the tome placed open before me over the solid table that supported my elbow. The palm of my hand, for its part, supported my head and overwhelmed mind.
Another pile of thick volumes bound by slags of purple, red and green, already fading with the time, remains on the edge of the table as a remainder of the responsibilities that come along with the crown.
"That is correct," Lawrence assents with his back already molded by the straight chair at the head of the table.
"Of course it is!" My voice comes sharp when I wonder at the ceiling above our heads embellished by the painted wooden panels in the light colors of the sky shielded by its fleecy clouds for the most part, as if I was asking for some kind of divine help. Indeed I was but I also knew it wouldn't come. Not until I did something to change my tragic fate of being sentenced to boredom within these walls.
The chair, distinctive by its particular high stiles, slides all the way back along the mahogany floor of the study as I raise from my seat and move toward one of the huge windows that provides an engaging sight to the courtyard. The sunlight streaming in through the glass made of my body a simple shadow to Lawrence's eyes.
"I don't want to study about history." I turn on my heels to face him. Perhaps, this way, his countenance did not seem so intimidating, for what I proceed, "I want to discover the world outside and be able to write my own history!" I move now, pretending I'm outside this room having one of the many sword fights with him. "I already know every speaks of Shakespeare, or what The Great Monarch did ages ago!" I stride across the room, back into my place. My chin reposed over my entwined fingers, expectantly facing the unmoved presence of Lawrence. "Word," I plead, "ask me anything!"
The black holes of his eyes remain as two unshakeable stones, apprising me that my speech was proclaimed in vain. But to my own astonishment, he assents with the slightest nod of his head, impelling me with his gaze to sit straight against the mahogany slats of the chair.
"How long lasted the shortest reign?"
A sudden grin grows from the corner of my lips before answering his question with all certainty. "Approximately twenty minutes after raising to the throne, King Dyonise of Larmad was caught and later beheaded amidst of a civil war, staying in history as the King who ruled for the shortest time."
"Which star guides us to the North?"
"Polaris, the brightest star in the constellation Ursa Minor, specifically in the bear's tail. It appears within a degree of the Celestial North Pole for what it seems not to move in the night sky."
"What is named the most toxic plant?"
"Abanthos has been deemed as one of the most toxic plants around the world. It generates painful convulsions, nausea, and even death to those who eat it." I let out a tired sigh. "For how long must I continue to prove myself?"
"I was aware of your knowledge thus far," he merely states. "I taught you all of this."
"Well... does it mean we can leave?"
"Not yet." He remains silent, drawing my attention and unpreventable curiosity towards his impassive features. "How has King Elijah perished?"
The question hovers in the air like a cloud painted in grey before a storm.
"My grandfather?" I was taken by surprise. "I... I... Mother never told me."
My eyes deviate from him toward the door ornamented with gold leaf panels from where a knock resounds through the study.
"Come in." The authoritarian voice of Sir Lawrence is heard.
The doorknob then turns and the polite Claire appears on the doorway dropping into a curtsy. "The meal is about to be served," she announces.
I nod my head before the tiny woman disappears from the room. My eyes land on Lawrence one last time before I follow her stride.
How has my grandfather perished?
I wonder while walking down the hallway. The truth was that I was clueless and I have never been clueless, not regarding such matters, at least. I felt the need to know not only how he died but why both my parents hadn't spoke with me regarding such an important member of our family but also of the Aurelian history. I knew him by the portraits on the portrait room or along the walls of the palace. That was it. The best reminding of him I have ever had.
With those same thoughts in mind, I reach Claire who's patiently awaiting for me at the end of the hallway, colored by the refracted light that crosses the stained glass on the wall behind her.
"Tell me, Claire," we follow down to the Grand Hall, "do you know much about my family?"
"What I've heard in tales, or stories that run around the village."
I consider her answer for a moment. She certainly could have heard about him, but it was most unlikely that she held the answers to my questions. Another person who certainly has heard of him was Mr. Crowley, standing on the opened doors that led to the Hall.
"Good morning, Princess." He bows when I greet him and follow down the Hall.
The gold of the chair is pulled back from the left side of my Father at the head of the long surface emerged into the fine linen cloth.
A lengthy center piece disposes of the gilded candelabrums holding five candles, four of them encircling the one in middle, placed slightly higher that the others and causing the flames to flicker closer to the crystals dropping from the weighty chandelier hanging above our heads.
On the opposite patterned wall from the entry, a pristine fireplace stood in the room as a reminder of the flaming weather outside. A detailed crafted clock was set in front of the mirrored glass facing me from above the marble mantle and spread over the wall until it is intercepted by the sculptures of two columns placed meticulously symmetrical on both sides of the imposing piece in the room.
From beneath my feet, a carpet wove in chiffon and hazelnut tones stared mesmerized at the touches of gold embellishing the ceiling and gliding down the walls to embrace the different canvas of several sizes observing us from above.
To think there was yet another Hall in the palace, capable of sitting hundreds of people within its walls to savor each and every one of the delicious feasts Mrs. Savignae always presents us with felt far more excessive than this room, solely for the three of us.
Mr. Crowley walks in after me, his white waistcoat was set underneath the dark claw-hammer coat, the bow tie placed perfectly - as he ensured every morning without exception - around the elegant collar of his cotton shirt tucked in the pair of black wool trousers he was wearing.
I watch my glass being filled, oblivious to the footmen that follow the trail of the housekeeper, carrying shimmering trays with them. Once the ambrosial scent of food fills the room, my gaze is drawn to the gloved hands lifting the lids to reveal a velvety soup served in the porcelain plates.
My mind flies to the Kitchens, picturing Mrs. Savignae in the customary fuss around her pots and pans. A great cook she was, not a single person dared to deny it, despite that she could be depicted as... a woman of very fixed ideas, at times.
I find myself playing with the the food on the plate after what felt an infinity of dishes.
"Are you feeling alright, Lydia?" My Father deviates his eyes from the huge piece of meat on his plate to meet my quiet self, but I imagine it was the reason why he asked so.
Instead of gazing back at the King brushing his beard with his thumb and the index finger, not longer than the level of the salient Adam's apple, I continue to deep stare into the void, looking for the braveness required to finally speak my mind.
"I was wandering through the hallways when King Elijah's portrait came to my sight." I face them at last, avoiding to include Lawrence in the story. "And, subsequently, I did not recall any information about my own grandfather. That's when I came in conclusion neither of you have told me stories regarding him which I imagine abound."
Both of them eye me with certain reluctancy but it is my Mother who firstly speaks. "It has never come up in a conversation."
"Well, it is coming up now. I would like to know more about my grandfather." Another moment of silence evades the room.
"Your grandfather... It has been quite the time now, since the day I last spoke about him." Her eyes flickered memories and a melancholic smile emerged on her lips.
"Do you truly wish to know, Lydia?" my Father asks, drawing finally my gaze toward him.
"I do, Father."
The King's eyes lift in the direction of the footmen, standing ever so elegantly in the room, to wave them out. Only then my Mother assents.
"Very well, then, Lydia. King Elijah, my Father, was the ruler of Garte for almost twenty years. He lived to tell the first start of peace surrounding this land and the first meeting bringing together all Kings and Queens of these and neighbor kingdoms. He was the one with an idea, a plan to put an end on the war settled on this land for more time than any of us could keep abreast." She pauses for a brief instant as her eyes roam around the Hall. "He approached other rulers, sought out for support from the other kingdoms and finally was able to forge an alliance." She meets my eyes again, perhaps surprised that I was being so quiet. "He did accomplish his goal but he also prompted the complete opposite of his purpose. A war. Another one. Between the alliance he formed and the men who resigned to fall from the power they so gloriously held. Your grandfather so, fought on the front line and ended his life in that gloomy night with a sword craved into his heart. Hence, my mother couldn't take the pain of losing him and passed away two months later." It was well notable by the time that her blue iris had darkening before the quietness holding the room. "It all happened for one reason and one reason only, and it was greed."
I wasn't so sure anymore of what to do with the piece of meat poked between the gold tines of the fork I was holding with my motionless hand. Neither was I sure of what I felt precisely. But looking back in time, knowing this tragic story... it all made sense now. My Mother's shudder every time I got near a sword, the overprotective behavior over me. It was the cause of both of my grandparents' death at the end and I can only imagine every time she saw me out there fighting with Lawrence, all those memories came flitting back.
"I will touch a sword no more," I state.
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