A gentle knock at his door.
“Peter? Can I come in?”
The prince did not turn his face from the window. He was seated at his desk, a half-finished letter before him.
“Come in, Stefan.”
His brother entered quietly, shutting the door behind him. With an easy grace, he made his way to the cushioned chair beside Peter. He pulled a pipe from his pocket, struck a match. As he shook out the flame and brought the pipe to his lips, he watched his older brother from the corner of his eye. Peter seemed neither pleased nor irritated to see him. He simply kept his eyes on the sea, his hands folded underneath his chin.
Stefan cleared his throat.
“We missed you at dinner.”
“I apologize. I wasn't hungry.”
They were silent for several minutes. The roar of the sea irritated Stefan, but somehow seemed soothing to Peter. His brother closed his eyes, a small smile appearing on his lips.
Stefan felt his shoulders relax.
“So...may I ask what you're looking for?”
Peter finally broke his gaze out the window to look at Stefan without turning his head.
“I thought that was obvious. I'm looking for her.”
“The princess?” joked Stefan. “She left weeks ago.”
Peter didn't bother to answer him. His eyes slid back to the window.
Stefan rubbed his chin, where a thick blond beard was beginning to appear. Soon he would have to ask Alice to trim it down for him, before it grew as thick as his father's. He regarded Peter carefully.
His brother and he had always been somewhat...different. Peter, the older of the two, was tall and well-built, with dark hair that curled when he let it grow, as he was doing now. His eyes were dark, brows heavy, and his gaze, lately, somewhat too intense. Stefan, on the other hand, was of more of an average height, wiry, and fair-haired. He had taken more after their father and had inherited his droll humor and gray eyes, which, in his young face, looked cold.
He puffed at his pipe and looked out the window with his brother.
“And? Any sign of her?”
“No.”
“And what exactly makes you think that today will be any different?”
“Nothing.”
Stefan felt his bile rising. He snuffed out his pipe and replaced it in his coat pocket.
“How long will you keep looking for her?”
“Forever. Until she comes.”
“And your duty to the throne? You will be crowned king in a matter of weeks, Peter. Surely you know you cannot rule a country from a bay window.”
The crown prince was silent.
Stefan's fist clenched.
“You disgust me, Peter,” he said quietly.
His brother looked up at him with knitted brows. “Stefan?”
Stefan had stood and was looking down at him with distaste.
“Adva is dead,” he spat,” and you're making a fool of yourself, of father, and of our kingdom by continuing to believe otherwise. It wasn't enough for you to jump overboard and try to kill yourself, too. It wasn't enough to break your engagement to Princess Sophia. No, now you're going to live like this as well.
“You are not fit to be the heir to the throne.”
With this last bit of venom, he turned, sweeping his coat behind him, and departed.
Peter watched him go, shaken.
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