❝
CHARLOTTE eyeing the countess closely now raised a dubious brow as her curiosity was aroused. "Who is this 'her' you refer to, Your Ladyship?" she prompted with anticipation, wanting to hear about the secret person alluded to in the letter.
Dorothea's eyes flickered down to the letter in her hands, and she gave a soft, almost wistful smile. "Ah, just an old foreign friend of mine," she said, her voice warm but distant, as if lost in memory. "She lives across seas now, and she writes to me occasionally to tell me about her life there." Her fingers caressed the paper for a moment before she set it down delicately on the table, as though it contained secrets readable only to Dorothea herself. Charlotte was watching her intently. She saw that what was in this letter had a lot more to it than Dorothea revealed, but before she could ask about it, Saevionh rose from the table with a quick deliberate movement, having finished his breakfast in silence, where his gaze was steady yet distant. Now it was time for him to excuse himself.
"I'll take my leave now," he said softly, calm yet firm, revealing none of the restlessness that so often lurked beneath his composed exterior. "I must prepare for tomorrow's trip. I will be in the study room if anyone needs me." He adjusted his coat and brushed a hand against the back of his neck, a habitual gesture before retreating into his work. His words were soft but carried an unmistakable finality, leaving little room for argument.
Dorothea raised her eyes to him, her lips parting slightly in a gentle smile but with something faintly teasing in her voice. "No morning pie for you?" she asked lightly and invitingly. "I just asked Miranda to bake one for you."
Saevionh hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking toward the pie, but this decision fell quickly. "I'll have to pass this time, Countess," he stated in a pleasant but firm smile, whereas a casual observer would have seen his usual docility of manners. "There is a great deal to do before we leave at dawn. I would rather risk not having any delays." He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect, before turning toward the door. His exit was quick and without fanfare, as though he mentally absorbed into preparations concerning the journey ahead.
As the door closed softly behind him, Dorothea breathed out a quiet sigh with her eyes dwelling on the empty doorway. "That young man," she murmured to herself, words of mixture of admiration and slight frustration. "Always so stubborn."
Charlotte, with a knowing smile on Lady in waiting, reclined lightly back in her chair, playing with a glint in her eye. "You know, I think he might just be a little too dedicated," she said.
"A-Ah, but anyway... I'd like to know more," she said softly at first, then more firmly as her confidence rose, "about the people who live here with us. Everyone feels so mysterious in this mansion. It's like they all came from somewhere with stories they've chosen not to tell." She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes landing briefly on Lindice, who stood silently near the wall behind the Countess. "Especially Lindice. I can't help but wonder... who was she before all this?"
Her voice carried a little louder than she had intended, rising faintly against the city of silence they were enveloped in. "I wish to know them better—one for one—starting off with Lindice here– especially that she helps me back in Normaine and I want to know more of her," she said with a smile which she generously bestowed on the maid.
There followed a brief beat of silence.
Then suddenly, there was a shift. Lindice stiffened, expression guarded, and remained frozen behind the Countess' chair. Her hands had been calmly folded before her while she held an apron; but at this moment they just tensed slightly. Argentum, all the way across the room, had just lifted a silver tray laden with slices of warm morning pie. But, once Charlotte's words had trickled into his ears, mid-step he held in space with Herculean strength, with the tray unmoving in his hands, and his face as far as could be from any expression. It was as though time had stopped momentarily because of a single question that was too heavy for the peaceful atmosphere of breakfast.
Vladimir, too, was pouring tea beside Lindice, his movements, as always, deliberate and controlled. Yet something shifted in him once Charlotte's question hung in the air. He didn't speak, didn't seem to move, but the briefest widening of his pale eyes acknowledged an emotion alien to his normally stoic demeanor—surprise.
Charlotte noticed this sudden change with her smile faltering. A contraction appeared at the center of her brow in confusion. "Did I say something wrong...?" She lowered her voice now into hushed pity, darting her eyes from Lindice to Argentum.
Without losing her cool, Dorothea placed her teacup on the saucer, turning to Charlotte with an almost patient yet sombre light in her eyes. "No, dear," she said softly, but in carefully restrained undertones. "But perhaps today is not the best time for such questions." She reached out to give Charlotte's hand a reassuring light tap. "What I can tell you... is that they are merely lost children—like many others I've taken in. Each with their own burdens, their own pasts." Her glance lingered for a moment on Lindice, then Argentum, and back to Charlotte. "I helped them when no one else would. That is all that matters, for now."
A silence followed her words; it was not cold, but heavy with something unspoken—something that lingered faintly in the space above like the scent after smoke from a long-hallowed fire. Charlotte nodded, however small, in understanding while her curiosity increased further with the notion going deeper.
Before anyone could respond again, the uneasy void was pierced by Azalik.
"By the gods, what's with your faces?" he said, the eyebrows lifting as he unabashedly chewed through a strip of salted meat. "It's breakfast, not a funeral. Food's too damn good to let it go cold over stiff air and questions." His grin and booming voice rattled everyone just enough to jolt them out of their tension.
Countess exhaled softly with a small smile forming on a composed face. "Captain Azalik is quite right," she spoke silkily as she lifted her fork in graceful precision. "This pie will not taste as fine if left to sulk with us. Let us finish our breakfast—especially now that it has been served with such care." Giving an acknowledging glance at Argentum, she all but ordered him to proceed as her small nod signaled to the butler to continue placing the pie quietly.
As the last remnants of the meal faded away, the table emptied of plates, heralding a slowdown of conversation to a soft exchange or two. The sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor marked the transition from the dining room to the drawing room. Down the hall went Saevionh, Charlotte, and Vladimir, their footsteps echoing gently into the more dignified setting which was bathed in warm light coming through tall windows on its polished wood floors.
Saevionh stood at the one end of the room with a calm and contemplative demeanor addressing Charlotte, Vladimir, and the others. Charlotte, her eyes alight with curiosity, rested in one of the armchairs. Vladimir stood by the window, ever calm, surveying the gardens as the conversation unfolded around him.
"I trust we all understand the purpose of today's meeting," began Saevionh, his voice steady but underscored with a hint of seriousness. "Tomorrow we set sail, and we need to be prepared for whatever challenges we may face whilst traveling by sea." He turned towards Azalik, who lay near the door in all his usual confident demeanour. "Azalik, it would be helpful if you could explain to Charlotte, Vladimir, and me what we should expect once we are aboard The Léon Azuré."
Azalik nodded and took a step forward, his rough demeanor softened by the heaviness of the conversation. "Aye, there are a few things you will want to know," he began in low and steady tones. "First and foremost, it is one thing to understand that my ship is not a luxurious cruise. You'll be treated with good respect, but there will not be any grand accommodations. The Léon Azuré is built for speed, not comfort."
Charlotte's brow lowered just a bit in a questioning look, suddenly curious. "What kind of conditions should we expect? Are there things that we are supposed to bring along?"
Azalik grinned, a teasing light in his eye. "Aye, you'll want to pack light. A few changes of clothes, maybe a few books if you fancy, but nothing too bulky. You'll be living out of your quarters, so don't expect a grand suite with a bed fit for royalty." He paused to let that sink in before adding, "And you'll want to get used to the rocking of the ship. If you're not used to sea travel, it can put you a bit off balance at first."
Saevionh spoke again, steady yet firm, "And for me, because the investigation for me is not merely about travel. Both Charlotte and I intend to look into the records we can find in Corsavenna that are connected to Alonzo de Calart. Any information we may encounter could answer a lot regarding his work, or the mysterious events surrounding his art." He looked at Charlotte, who nodded her head in agreement, her face resolute.
Azalik switched his gaze between the two, acknowledging the two of them. "Aye, that much, I guessed. Keep your wits about you, both. The loyalty of the crew is unquestionable, yet they are pirates all the same. They will follow instructions, but they seldom bow to them. They will treat you as guests and yet will not mistake their politeness for weakness. The ship works like a close family, and you should learn how its big dynamics run."
Vladimir, who had heretofore been silent, finally spoke quietly but with weight. "And what of the crew? Should we expect trouble from them?"
This brought a moment of serious thought into the expression of Azalik. "The crew is loyal, but they are pirates before anything else. They follow orders, but they are accustomed to things their own way. They will show respect to you as guests, but do not confuse that sort of politeness for weakness. The ship is something of a family affair, and it is quite vital that you understand the dynamics."
Saevionh nodded with consideration. "I will be sure that we are ready. Vigilance will be required on the seas, especially if we navigate treacherous waters, or—"
Charlotte's interruption was soft, yet edged with intention: "If we have to face something, we will. I won't stand watching as we travel; I will be ready for whatever comes."
Azalik nodded slightly in approval. "Good, you'll need that spirit when we set sail. But now, one step at a time. The Léon Azuré is waiting."
The meeting dragged on a little longer while Azalik and Saevionh talked about the journey ahead. Vladimir remained mute, but his eyes were sweeping and watchful.
Abruptly, Charlotte, who was seated near the hearth with her hands folded neatly on her lap, tilted her head at Saevionh. Her voice was soft but carried an undeterred edge of curiosity. "Lord Saevionh… upon arrival in Corsavenna, or rather El-Daumier, who precisely is it expected that we will meet? Are you in consideration for someone already?"
Leaning slightly forward, with his elbows resting on his knees, an intent look crossed his eyes as he stretched the hint of a pause a fraction longer. "There are two possibilities," he said, "and let us first lay out Mr. Eldric Miller. He is known to be a docent at the El-Daumier gallery for more than twenty years now. His name comes up often in records related to the gallery's oldest collections. If anyone could shed some light on the historical aspects of Alonzo de Calart's pieces, it would be him."
He paused for a moment and looked out through the tall window, weighing the distance between the comforts of this moment and the uncertainty that lay ahead. "The second possibility is more ... well, in particular. The Daumier family—contrary to most noble houses—established their name not through conquest or trade but across generations of art collecting. The El-Daumier gallery was established during the Dreston Era, with the alleged fact that the Daumier forbearers traversed continents to acquire rarities. Now, the estate and gallery are in the hands of Viscount Marcevalli Alvaric Daumier—a young but somewhat influential man. He is but twenty-six and yet holds the post of Minister of Culture and is also a member of the council under the royal family of Ivalor. Clever, cultured… and exceptionally difficult to read. If we are to meet him, then consideration must be paid. Every word counts in his presence."
A fleeting glance was shot over toward Charlotte. "Whichever it will be, we must proceed with caution. The El-Daumier holds more than art; it holds reputation, secrets, and very likely opposition."
Charlotte nodded slowly, a thoughtful gaze on her. "I see... well, we should be geared up for more than dust and frames, I guess."
He said, "Well then," in a steady voice, edged with something sharp enough to command all attention, "it appears that everything is in place for our next preparations-for the journey ahead, both physically and mentally prepared. We know all of us are going into this, and, while there is a bit of uncertainty in our walk, there is no turning back now." He looked around the room, then quickly at Charlotte, and again at Vladimir, then lastly took a long gaze at the countess. "Corsavenna is awaiting us, and we shall find what we're looking for there—no matter how deep we happen to dig."
He took a long breath, and for a moment just stood there, firm in posture. "I expect all of you to use the time for personal preparation. We leave at the first light tomorrow; the ship will not wait for anyone."
He watched the clock on the wall to confirm the time. "I say we should all take this day to rest and finalize everything we have to do. There are many things yet to do and we need to be at our best when the time comes."
Thus, Saevionh exited the room, leaving behind a faint creak of the door into the stillness within the air.
As the night had settled upon them. Everything was quiet, still as a dead silent night. Only the soft glow of the hearth would continue to warm the drawing room, as flames crackled and danced casting shadows against polished wood. The house's usual quiet hum had dimmed; all outside worlds seemed held at bay behind thick walls and bolstered by the comfort of the flickering fire.
Charlotte was seated at the large, polished desk in one corner of the room. Before her was her sketchpad. She had spent hours going into her thoughts as evening unfolded and her pencil moved steadily sketching a figure onto the paper—a lonely woman staring out a window, her expression vacant, as if reaching for something outrageously far beyond her grasp. The image, even simple in its lines, bore a heavy sadness: A longing that Charlotte understood too well even if she could not yet articulate why.
The room was peaceful save for the sound of pencil softly scratching against paper and the occasional crack of the fire. Charlotte's eyes drifted against the window, where night stretched above in vast emptiness, twinkling with starlight as it sat softly above the horizon. A long sigh escaped her lips as the sketch reflected all her emotions not yet entirely understood– her own isolation, the heavy load of expectation, and the uncertainty of the days ahead.
While she took a moment to consider her work, silence was broken by a very faint sound-the door creaked open. Startled, Charlotte looked up and jerked her hand, almost ruining her sketch. Saevionh entered, head downward and banging about to survey the room. An instant later, however, he recognized that someone was here.
"Charlotte?" This was a hushed voice and somewhat bitterly taken aback as it alighted on her across the room.
Charlotte was, too, surprised— Quickly she put the pencil away as warm shame rose to her cheeks. "Oh, Saevionh, I didn't expect to see you here."
For a moment, Saevionh appeared to be baffled. He looked around the room, and then his eyes moved to the desk, "I... must have left my journal here earlier." He moved close to the small table where his leather-bound journal had been left forgotten until this moment.
As of the moment, neither of them said anything. Uncomfortable air hung between them— it blocked any possibility of shaking off the strange tension that had built up in the quiet of the room. Charlotte's heart raced a little more as she saw him drawing closer; their chance encounter at the dimly lit drawing room was as much a shock for him as for her.
"I had not figured you would be working here tonight," Saevionh offered. He stood next to the table and picked up his journal, looking down at her sketchpad. "What are you drawing?"
Charlotte hesitated, her fingers curling protectively around the edges of the pad. "Just some sketches...nothing much."
He stood next to her now, blissfully unaware just how close he was standing to her. His calm presence exuded quiet magnetism. One arm rested against the wall to the side of the hearth, the other positioned at his waist as he leaned slightly over the sketchbook. Though his eyes were hidden by a black blindfold, his concentration was sharp– like an anchor resting on the paper she held.
He scrutinized the drawing with an expressionless face, while the gentle light from the hearth caressed his features.
"I see…" He spoke at length, an almost distant murmur with a low, contemplative tone.
Charlotte's hand froze in motion over the drawing, pencil slightly suspended above the paper's surface, caught in the tension that stretched into the air and surrounded them like smoke. She felt his voice more than heard it. She felt him—actually felt him—oh so close. Her eyes swept up and finally turned toward him.
And that was when she saw it. Saw him.
He had not moved, still leaning casually, but the realization of how close they were hit her all at once. Her body froze. Her breath stopped—not from panic, nor embarrassment—but from that odd, suspended moment when she did not know what to say or do. Their faces were so close. So freaking close.
And while his eyes were covered, somehow it felt as though they were peering right into hers.
Then he spoke again. But this time it was quieter. Slower. He seemed to weigh each word with something unsaid.
"Say... why would you run away from the prince?"
Charlotte finally looked away, lashes fluttering as she returned to her sketchbook. The pencil in her hand hovered just above the paper, motionless, caught in the tension that now curled between them like smoke.
"I've never aimed for royal titles," she finally said, her voice quiet-not defensive but quite firm.
The flickering flames from the hearth drew shadows across her features, softening them without meaning they revealed nothing yet.
Saevionh let out a tiny breath, which could almost be confused with a huff or some sort of watermelon-tasting chuckle. He shifted his weight and, before she got a chance to even adjust to his presence, he had planted himself neatly beside her. His presence had always been quiet but never small. The seat groaned under the shift in weight, and the air seemed to draw tighter around them.
It sat at a careful distance, not too near, not too far, but it was enough to change the shape of the room. Enough to make Charlotte think that she had just unknowingly stepped into something more than idle conversation.
His head tilted almost imperceptibly, the dark fabric of his blindfold catching the orange glow from the fire. His expression was unreadable, as ever, but somehow the angle of his body felt intent. Watchful.
"Is that so?" he said, the words feather light but with undercurrents that implied something else. Not judgment. Not disbelief. Just a question hanging in the air between them, heavier than it should've been.
Charlotte didn't answer. She couldn't… not immediately.
Saevionh leaned forward, casually draping one arm across the back of the seat and letting the other dangle over one knee. He didn't sit so his body totally faced hers yet. But she drew in the presence of his attention, as though it were a brush of a touch at the edge of her shoulder.
"What if," he said slowly, voice low and smooth like velvet dragged over a blade, "one day... you meet the prince you were supposed to marry?"
Charlotte's fingers tensed around the pencil.
His head turned slightly toward her now, his voice threading lower, the words brushing against her ears like a secret meant only for her.
"If you imagine that would happen… how are you going to reject his marriage—by your own words… without running away this time"