*Nicoli*
Nicoli watched as snowflakes drifted silently beyond the grand windows, adding to the thick blanket of white that already smothered the kingdom. Nicoli could see the crystalline frost patterns crawl over the glass panes. Delicate artwork by nature, as a thick fog enveloped the cold surface, hiding the world outside. Trapping them all within like a comforting blanket.
Winter had finally come to Dawny, its icy fingers finally taking root and staying. The bygone summer and its youthful laughter had been exchanged for the somber and hardier months. But inside the royal banquet hall, one would never know the bitter cold existed at all.
"Happy birthday, Your Royal Highness!" The room erupted in cheers.
The sound rolled through the baquet hall like thunder, bouncing off the high, ornate ceilings and washing over Nicoli in a wave of warmth. Hundreds of candles flickered in their elaborate holders, casting a golden glow that danced across the faces of nobles and servants alike. The massive fireplaces roared at either end of the hall, working hard with the crackling and popping. The scent of pine and applewood smoke mingled with the mouth-watering aromas of roasted meats, spiced wines, and sweet confections that crowded the long tables throughout the space.
Heat radiated not just from the fires but from the press of bodies, everyone gathered close in their finest velvets and wools, their cheeks flushed with excitement and mulled wine. The air felt alive, vibrating with laughter, music, and conversation.
All for him. Nicoli knew. And he should have been happy for that. He would have been just a year ago.
But that was before Ana…
Nicoli's gaze drifted across the sea of smiling faces. At one of the long tables, he spotted the Davish twins. Philip and Tommy were already engaged in an impromptu duel, wielding silver spoons like swords. Their faces alighted with mischievous glee despite Lady Davish's frantic attempts to seize their makeshift weapons. Her silk sleeves fluttered as she lunged between them, her whispered reprimands lost in the jubilant noise of the hall.
Nearby, Philpé and his assistant raised ornate chalices toward Nicoli, the ruby-red wine catching the light as they offered their silent toast. The prince could almost taste the sweet, spiced drink from across the room.
Among the servants, Doxy was a whirl of movement, her blonde pigtails bouncing as she half-served, half-danced to the lively music. The guitars strummed faster now, accompanied by the bright, cheerful jingle of tambourines that somehow cut through the cacophony of a hundred conversations.
Julia stood sentinel at the edge of the celebration, her watchful gaze alternating between the maids under her charge and a vigilant eye on his mother, ever ready to step in to assist at any motion. Yet even her typically stern expression had softened, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she tapped one foot almost imperceptibly to the rhythm.
Even Thomas, usually the least happy with anything, seemed to enjoy himself, sipping from his cup with uncharacteristic leisure while keeping a relaxed eye over him. But Nicoli doubted he'd be tempted actually to work. Not when drink was involved.
Today, on Nicoli's birthday, everyone looked so happy. The entire kingdom seemed to be celebrating his tenth year, their joy palpable in the warm air, their good wishes sincere in raised glasses and beaming faces.
Everyone except Nicoli himself.
Nicoli tried to keep his smile, but a hollow sensation expanded in his chest. And despite knowing, sapphire eyes still scanned over the crowd, hopeful to spy a flash of red or a splash of silver curls. But there was none. There wasn't going to be.
Hidi said she couldn't come, but still…
He had hoped until the last moment that she would appear, had watched the door throughout the afternoon, waiting for her. But now, surrounded by well-wishers and celebration, he felt more alone than ever.
And with each new cheer, it made him all the more aware of Ana's absence. Each congratulatory nod only emphasized the void where she should have been. The one person he had wished most to be present on this milestone day.
The weight of loneliness pressed down on Nicoli's shoulders even as the crowd surrounded him. An invisible wall seemed to separate him from the celebration—a wall built in the shape of his missing sister and the secret tensions he couldn't escape.
But she wasn't here. And he couldn't change that despite what he wanted. So Nicoli had to tuck back the empty feeling before anyone noticed something was wrong.
Not just for the nobles watching his every reaction, the servants who had worked tirelessly to prepare this feast, but for the two very people who seemed to be watching him now. His mother, whose gaze he could feel upon him like a physical touch. And his father–
Nicoli swallowed hard at the thought, feeling his gaze more discerning. But all the more why he pressed his smile, lips curved upward, teeth showing just enough—the expression a bit strained now, more practiced than natural. It took effort to look carefree and happy like he used to. But it was better than showing how he really felt at the moment.
Still confused and lost. Yet he felt compelled to appear unbothered.
I have to be.
As servants glided between the tables, distributing platters of steaming meat and delicate pastries, the conversations around the hall resumed their steady hum. Nicoli sat straight-backed in his ornate chair, picking at the gilded edge of his plate with one fingernail, when snippets of nearby discussion drifted toward him.
"He does take after the king so well." The words came from a nearby table where nobles had settled into their seats, goblets already half-empty. Their voices, though lowered, carried across the polished wood to Nicoli's keen ears.
"He will be just as handsome." A middle-aged woman with elaborate braids woven through her graying hair gushed, her cheeks flushed with wine and admiration. Her fingers fluttered to her throat, where emeralds glinted in the candlelight. Beside her, a man with a carefully trimmed beard nodded in agreement.
"You can tell he is his father's son."
The words were meant as praise, but they settled uncomfortably in Nicoli's chest. He found himself studying his reflection in the polished silver plate before him—the shape of his face, the color of his eyes—the sapphire blue that everyone remarked upon, so like his father's. He tried to find traces of his mother there but came up empty.
"Do you mean that her empress doesn't look like his majesty—" A voice began, only to be cut off abruptly.
"Quiet, you dolt." The speaker, a woman in deep burgundy silks, cast a quick glance toward the royal table and plastered on a broad smile when she caught Nicoli watching. "They can hear you."
The first speaker's brow furrowed in confusion, rings glinting as she gestured with her hands. "Why? The Empress isn't even here."
The table fell silent. Uncomfortable glances were exchanged between the nobles. Nicoli felt his throat tighten, the mention of his sister throwing him back again. He sensed Hidi beside him, her massive form going still as she paused mid-drink, the enormous goblet frozen halfway to her lips. Her eyes slid to examine Nicoli's face before flickering up to the talkers.
"Was she not invited?" The question hung in the air, pointed and dangerous.
"Of course she was," someone else at the table assured quickly, butter-soft voice tinged with nervousness. The candlelight caught on jeweled collars and polished buttons as several people shifted in their seats. "But she didn't come."
"Why? Even Her Majesty of Almony is here." They gestured their head towards Hidi before going on. "If she could make it, why can't her Empress—"
Nicoli's hands dropped beneath the table, fingers curling into tight fists in his lap. The fine fabric of his trousers bunched between his knuckles as he gripped harder, using the pressure to ground himself. He tried not to look upset, but a shuddery breath broke free as yet again he couldn't resist feeling the same question circle his thoughts.
Was Ana really that busy that she couldn't come? Or maybe, she didn't–
"She's taking care of her affairs." Hidi's voice thundered across the space, loud enough to make the crystal ring and conversation halt. The nobles at the gossiping table turned to look at her with wide eyes and parted lips, surprise evident in their frozen postures.
"Your Highness." They bowed their heads in hasty reverence, necks bending like reeds in a strong wind. "We didn't realize you could… I mean, we were only wondering why you could make it and yet her Empress–."
"And I answered." Hidi's voice took on a sharp edge, like a blade drawn from its sheath.
Beneath the table, Nicoli felt something enormous and warm envelop his fist. Hidi's hand—large enough to completely engulf his own—settled over his clenched fingers with surprising gentleness. The warmth of her skin was different from a human's, hotter, but not unpleasantly so. It was oddly grounding.
"I would know. I was there to see it." Hidi continued, her thumb moving in small, reassuring circles over the back of Nicoli's hand. Her voice carried the absolute authority of one who would not be questioned further. "Now, how about you eat your cake?"
"Ah, yes," the nobles at the table murmured in unison, suddenly fascinated by the food before them. Pink blossomed across their cheeks as they turned away, the embarrassment obvious in their hunched shoulders and averted gazes.
Hidi smirked after them, the expression a predatory satisfaction, like a cat catching a bird, just to let it fly again. She seemed to enjoy their discomfort, relishing the power she wielded with just her voice.
Nicoli, however, didn't share the feeling. It only made him all the more aware that he wasn't the only one to notice Ana's absence. Somehow, it made the void where she should be even more pronounced. He stared down at his plate, the elaborate arrangement of delicacies there suddenly holding no appeal.
"She would have loved to come, Nicoli." Hidi's voice softened to a rumble meant only for him. Her eyes were filled with sincerity, which was rare from her usual mirth. But she seemed to take his loss almost as much as he did. "And I did try to tempt her. But you know how she is-"
"I know." Nicoli nodded, reaching to pull the small marble chess piece from his pocket. His fingers gently traced the polished stone. Casting a look down to admire green and white veins, carved into the shape of a bear with remarkable detail despite its size. He set the bear on the table. The piece stood out against the white tablecloth, a small sentinel of stone.
"Ana won't come back until everything is settled. You told me already."The words tasted bitter on his tongue, rehearsed and hollow. Whatever "everything" was, it seemed eternal, stretching between him and his sister like an uncrossable sea. Something he still felt even after they were reunited again. It was another distance he didn't want.
But for that one, he found himself helpless in a different way.
"Is that Ana's present? The bear?" Hidi asked, her voice gentle.
"It's part of a chess set," Nicoli explained, his fingers reaching out to trace the cool, smooth surface of the carved figure. In his mind's eye, he could see the complete board Ana had sent—white and green marble pieces, each shaped like a bear in different poses. His heart ached at the memory of opening the package, expecting to find his sister there instead of just another gift sent from afar. "I swiped a rook just before my mother ordered it to be 'put away.'"
His voice hardened slightly on the last words, a hint of resentment seeping through despite his smile.
"Wherever that 'away' was," he added, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air between them. His fingers closed around the piece protectively.
"Away? What do you mean, Nicoli?" Hidi's brows drew together in confusion.
"It all seems to disappear over time." Nicoli slipped the bear back into his pocket, feeling its weight settle against his thigh. The marble was cool through the fabric, a small comfort. "It's like a ghost steals them if I don't hide them."
"You hide them?" Something changed in Hidi's posture then—a stiffening, an alertness that reminded Nicoli of a hunting dog catching a scent. Her eyes, previously warm with sympathy, sharpened with something that looked like concern... or suspicion.
Nicoli leaned closer to Hidi, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I have to. Whenever Ana sends me anything, it—" He paused, glancing toward Thomas, making sure he couldn't overhear before continuing, "They vanish within days. So now I keep them in—"
"My sweet boy," Mother slurred, through their hushed conversation. Her delicate fingers loosely curling around the crystal goblet's stem. The firelight caught in the facets, throwing rainbow prisms across the white tablecloth as she drained it completely. "Another."
Her command hung in the air, sharp despite its softness. Julia moved forward from her position along the wall, her footsteps nearly lost over the sounds of the party. The wine gurgled softly as it flowed into her glass, the deep burgundy catching the light. The scent of it wafted upward, mingling with his mother's perfume—roses and something sharper, more metallic.
Nicoli watched as she quickly finished this glass, the liquid disappearing between painted lips stained the same color. Her normally warm and tender grey eyes had taken on a glassy sheen. She motioned for more, the jewels on her fingers flashing with the movement.
"Your Majesty?" Julia's usually impassive face betrayed the slightest hint of concern, one eyebrow arching upward as she hesitated with the pitcher.
"What, it's a party, is it not?" His mother's voice carried a dangerous edge beneath its sweetness. She turned to Nicoli with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's for my baby boy. My beautiful baby boy."
Her hand touched his cheek, her fingers cool and soft against his skin. Nicoli forced himself not to flinch or pull away from the touch that felt both loving and unsettling. He could smell the wine on her breath, sweet and cloying, as she leaned closer.
"Dear," His Father finally broke through, his deep tone carrying a warning that Nicoli recognized immediately. His father's hand, large and steady, moved for the glass. His sapphire eyes—so like Nicoli's own—communicated a silent plea. "Maybe you should go easy on the—"
But she was already rising to her feet, goblet held high. The sudden movement sent a waft of her perfume through the air, roses turning slightly sour. Her silk gown rustled, the sound almost like whispers as she stood.
"A toast!" Mother's voice boomed across the hall, silencing conversations and even causing the musicians to falter. "Let us have a toast!"
The room stilled, all eyes turning toward the royal family. Nicoli felt the weight of hundreds of gazes and heard the scraping of chairs against the stone floor as people rose in respect. His collar suddenly felt too tight, the delicate fabric of his formal attire scratching against his neck.
"Yes, a toast!" More adults stood, raising their glasses high. The crystal and silver caught the light from the chandeliers, creating a constellation of glittering points throughout the room. The movement sent new waves of scents through the air—perfumes and colognes, the smoke from the fireplaces, the rich aroma of food cooling on the platters.
"Let the king make a toast!" Hidi's enormous form rose like a mountain beside Nicoli, her shadow falling across him momentarily. Her cheeks had flushed a deeper pink, and her voice carried the slight slur of inebriation.
"Yes, dear husband," Belinda's voice cut through, each syllable precise despite her slurred state. Her smile sharpened to something that reminded Nicoli of the swords displayed in the castle's armory—beautiful, polished, and deadly. "Give a toast for OUR son."
The emphasis on "our" rang through the boy like a struck bell. He felt its vibration in his chest and saw how his father's shoulders tensed beneath his royal finery. The air between his parents seemed to crackle with that cold energy that never lifted nowadays.
"Belinda," His Father's voice dropped to a warning whisper, audible only to those at the high table. A muscle twitched in his jaw under his full beard, the firelight catching the tension there.
But Belidna wouldn't back down. Nicoli recognized the set of her chin, the particular angle of her head that meant no force in the kingdom could move her. And he swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dried. He could taste the tension now, bitter as unripe fruit. There was meaning to her words.
Nicoli darted between his mother and father, witnessing the silent battle raging beneath their public smiles. His stomach clenched with the familiar discomfort that had become a constant companion during these last few weeks.
"Give them a toast, Your Royal Highness." Belinda's voice dripped with honeyed venom. Her smile displayed all her teeth—perfect, white, and somehow cold. Despite the wine coursing through her veins, her posture remained regal, her voice steady. Even drunk, she managed to stay in perfect form, not a hair out of place, not a tremor in her raised hand.
And as if she knew, Nicoli could see his father had no way out. The trap had been laid and sprung before his father even realized he was ensnared. Alexander's sapphire eyes, so reminiscent of Nicoli's own, deepened with a mix of frustration and acceptance.
"To my son, "He was forced to smile, the expression not reaching those eyes. A bead of sweat formed at his temple despite the perfect temperature of the hall. "Now nine years old."
Nicoli almost jerked, instantly wanting to correct him, Ten, Father, I'm ten today—but the words stuck in his throat. The mistake somehow hit something harder inside. Something that created another tiny fracture within. More distance was being made between them.
A distance Nicoli couldn't stop from growing with each day.
Then, something shifted in his father's face. The rigid smile softened, becoming genuine as he looked down at Nicoli. At that moment, the boy caught a glimpse of the father he remembered—the one he loved—who was warm, attentive, and loving.
"You are very much a man in my eyes—now, come here!"
His arms opened wide, inviting an embrace. The gesture was sincere—so like him. Always ready to hug. Always reaching out. But Nicoli froze. That flutter returned again, sharp and cold, somewhere between his ribs. A hesitation he didn't understand but felt all the same.
Again, he felt himself suddenly at a crossroads. Put it inside some kind of test. A choice he didn't want to keep making.
But it was becoming too hard to ignore. The quiet changes. The way his mother clung to him now, even in silence. The way her smile seemed stitched together, fragile and uneven. How the two wouldn't even be in a room alone now.
Nicoli could feel her suffering in the spaces between her words, in the way her arms held him longer, tighter. As if letting go might break something inside her. And yet his father—
It felt like he was walking the edge. A rope strung tight. Breathe shallow. If he leaned too far in either direction, he might fall.
He wanted to move, to step into his father's warmth. But his body betrayed him, staying stubbornly still while his mind scrambled to obey.
"Dad—" Nicoli hesitated momentarily, unsure if he should step forward. His feet felt suddenly leaden, his body unwilling to move despite his mind's commands.
"Son?" His Father's smile faltered, a brief crack in the constant warmth. Hurt flashed across his features—quick, but not quick enough to escape Nicoli's notice.
Guilt surged through the boy's veins. This was his birthday celebration. Everyone was watching. And his father only wanted a hug. Something he always did.
It was he who was acting differently.
No, something was different. Nicoli couldn't deny that. It was. It had been since he saw his mother cry.
But still–
Nicoli forced up a new smile—one bright and full again, just enough to fool anyone who didn't look too closely.
"Dad!" He moved forward, arms outstretched, steps carefully measured to appear cheery. The embrace was warm, his father's familiar scent of soap and leather enveloping him. And for a heartbeat, Nicoli almost forgot. The tension, the silent battle between them.
Fooling himself that things were as they had been. That the tightrope between them had vanished. He was just a boy in his father's arms again, and everything would be fine.
He almost surrendered to it—craved the ease, the warmth, the weightless sense of being protected. How desperately he wanted that to be enough.
But then he saw her.
Over his father's shoulder, Mother sat motionless at the table. Her grey eyes, always soft and gentle with affection when she looked upon him, now looked pale and distant. Hollow. Watching. Not blinking.
The guilt struck like a slap.
He pulled away—too fast, too sharp, as if the hug had burned. His chest ached with the sudden shift, the return of breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Something flickered in his father's eyes. A small confusion. A recognition of the distance Nicoli had tried to mask.
"Son?" Alexander asked again, his voice quieter now, the warmth edged with uncertainty. His gaze searched Nicoli's face—not for joy, but for the answer to a question neither of them could name aloud.
And Nicoli hated that he didn't have it. He hated how he couldn't even breathe here, in this space between them, where nothing felt simple anymore.
Even now, standing here in his father's arms, it didn't feel right.
The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring. Nicoli scrambled for words, for some explanation that would satisfy without revealing too much. But what could he say? How could he explain how his heart felt tangled between the blindless love of a child and the awakening reality of adulthood?
In the end, Nicoli couldn't. But to his credit, salvation came in his stead. And her name was Hidi.
"Ah! This is so fun!" Hidi laughed, the sound booming across the hall as she clapped her massive hands together. Again, the percussive sound was nearly deafening, like thunder directly overhead. "I'm so glad I could make it."
Relief immediately washed over Nicoli. Grateful for the interruption, he turned to Hidi with a smile that, for the first time that evening, was real.
"Me too," Nicoli said, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable. That part, at least, was genuine. In the midst of pretense and tension, Hidi's careless excitement could act as a balm to his troubled mind. And he quickly took the excuse to steal back to the table.
As conversations resumed around them and his father turned to address another noble, Nicoli caught his mother watching him, again. Her gray eyes, though glazed with wine, held a knowing look. She gave him the smallest of nods—acknowledgment, perhaps even approval of some unspoken choice. Like she liked his growing distance from his father.
The sight made something twist in his stomach, a nauseating coil of confusion and discomfort. He was not sure how to feel about it—this silent alliance his mother seemed to be forming with him against his father. Was this a good thing? For who? Nicoli sank deeper.
Instead of confronting these thoughts, he picked up his goblet and took a larger sip than usual, embracing the sweet burn that briefly drew his attention away from the tensions simmering beneath the surface. The wine coated his tongue, cloyingly sweet yet with a bitter finish that matched the atmosphere around him.
But the wine did little, if anything, to sharpen his nerves. The weight of his mother's stare pressed from one side as his father's barely hidden questions pushed in from the other. It was all too heavy for his shoulders to bear. It was suddenly too much. The noise of the celebration pressed in around him—laughter, music, the clink of cutlery against plates—suddenly overwhelming in its forced gaiety.
He needed air. He needed silence. He needed to be anywhere but trapped between his parents' silent warfare.
He pushed back his chair, his legs scraping softly against the floor as he rose.
"Nicoli?" His mother's voice cut through his thoughts, her gray eyes finding him instantly despite the crowded hall. Even with wine coursing through her veins, Belinda's attention never truly wavered from her son.
"I'm just going to step outside for a moment." Nicoli moved to leave, but not before his mother's hand shot out, capturing his wrist. Her grip was firm, her fingers cool against his skin. The many rings she wore pressed into his flesh, not enough to hurt but enough to command attention.
"But Nicoli, your guests—" There was warning in her tone, a reminder of duty and appearances.
"Let him be, Belinda," Alexander's voice carried a weight of understanding. He didn't raise his voice, but the authority in his tone was unmistakable.
Again, something passed between them—another silent battle of wills conducted entirely through locked gazes. It made Nicoli stiffen. And for a moment, the boy thought his mother would refuse, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around his wrist. Then, with visible reluctance–
She released him.
"Don't be long." His mother pulled her hand back to reach for more wine, as if the act of drinking could wash away the bitterness that had momentarily shown through her perfect mask. The ruby liquid swirled in her glass, catching the light like blood.
Nicoli watched her for a moment, noting how different she seemed with wine flowing through her veins—softer in some ways, harder in others. Seeing her drink so much was strange, a departure from her usual rigid control, but it made her easier to handle—more predictable in her unpredictability.
He nodded once in acknowledgment, then slipped away from the high table. The marble bear nestled in his pocket tapped gently against his leg with each step, a small reminder of the sister who should have been there to celebrate with him. As he moved through the crowd, nobles bowed and servants curtsied, but Nicoli barely noticed, his mind already seeking the quiet he knew awaited him beyond the hall's ornate doors.
Nicoli could only relax once the massive wooden doors closed behind him with a soft, resonant thud that seemed to seal away the noise and expectations of the ballroom. Alone, the corridor stretched before him, dimly lit with wall sconces that cast long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. The temperature dropped noticeably here, away from the press of bodies and roaring fireplaces. The cold air caressed his flushed cheeks, a welcome relief after the stifling heat of celebration.
"Finally," Nicoli exhaled loudly, the sound echoing slightly in the empty space. It felt good to get away; this moment of solitude was a precious gift among the demands of the day. But just as he could finally breathe freely, there it was again—ever pressing at his chest. A mixture of things he could name and couldn't, building up between his ribs.
He thought for sure he could escape it if he were alone. But the persistent, dull throb seemed to originate from somewhere deeper than flesh and bone. The pain never seemed to go away, a constant companion that ebbed and flowed but never truly departed. Nicoli felt tired from it, worn down like stone steps beneath countless footfalls.
No, it's the whole day, actually. From the moment he'd awakened to servants fussing over his appearance, to the elaborate breakfast he couldn't eat, through endless well-wishers and preparations, Nicoli just wanted it to be over. The irony wasn't lost on him: everyone was celebrating his birthday while he wished for it just to end. Just be another day.
Suppose I could just go to my room? The thought was tempting, dangerously so. Nicoli moved to pull out the marble piece from his pocket, the cool stone warming slightly from its contact with his body. It caught the flickering light from the sconces as he turned it over in his palm, admiring the craftsmanship. The bear's features were carved with remarkable precision—tiny eyes seemingly watching him, minute claws extended as if ready to defend.
It was well made, and its weight was satisfying in his hand. But it still couldn't compare to her first gift—his beloved treasure—the stuffed bear, which was safely tucked away, waiting for him to return.
How he wished he could just sneak off and go to it, to hold the soft little bear, fix its silk ribbon, likely untied again. How he longed for that bear instead of this beautiful but hollow substitute. The corridor seemed to elongate before him, the path to his room and that hidden treasure stretching invitingly.
But he knew he couldn't. Not with his mother ever vigilant, even more now with what was happening between his parents. If she missed nothing before, it was like God's eyes on him now, despite the wine. Even now, he could feel the phantom pressure of her rings against his wrist where she had gripped him.
I'm surprised Thomas hasn't already shown up. Nicoli glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the servant materialize from the shadows. He knew if he stayed any longer, the man would surely come sneaking in, sent by his mother to retrieve her wayward son. Or worse, his mother herself might appear, her disapproval cutting through his momentary peace like a blade.
He needed to go back. As much as he wished he could just slip away, like he used to. But something told him those days were coming to an end. The freedom of his former years was changing just like his own heart now.
With reluctance, he slipped the marble bear back into his pocket, his fingers lingering on its smooth surface for a moment longer than necessary.
Drawing himself up to his full height—shoulders back, chin lifted, smile on, Nicoli composed his features again. Each step back toward the granddoors felt like wading through deep water, resistance growing with every movement forward.
"Ha," a small, humorless sound escaped him as he pushed open the heavy doors, the wave of warmth, light, and noise washing over him anew. The contrast was jarring after the calm silence of the corridor, like plunging from winter into summer without warning.
Upon seeing him, Hidi immediately lifted her head above the crowd, her enormous form impossible to miss. The giantess's face broke into a wide smile, genuine pleasure at his return evident in her expression.
"Hurry up," Hidi waved with her whole arm, the movement expansive and unrestrained in a way that no human courtier would dare. She waved so hard she nearly smacked his father in the face, the King ducking with practiced ease, as if accustomed to avoiding such enthusiastic gestures.
The sight was so absurd—his father dodging the giantess's massive hand, wine sloshing in goblets, nobles scattering like startled birds—that Nicoli had to laugh. The sound bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him, surprising him that he could still do it. Laugh.
He turned to make a face at her, exaggerating his shock with widened eyes and raised brows.
Ah, it is good she is here. The thought came with genuine gratitude. Hidi was a handful, but she was good for a laugh, her presence a bright spot. For a moment, Nicoli could forget himself—forget the absence of Ana, the tension between his parents, the strange weight that seemed to grow heavier as if he was expected to keep up some act. To be a good son. Happy. Despite everything.
But he could only forget for so long before the pain came back. Even despite Hidi's best efforts, Nicoli couldn't completely get away from the shadow that hung over like the thick winter clouds outside.
Ana. He rubbed the small of his chest, fingertips pressing against the spot where the heaviness pooled most. For a heartbeat, he let the longing rise—unhidden, raw. He needed not just her presence but also her certainty, her steadiness, and her quiet way of knowing things without needing to ask.
Ana would understand without words—she always had. She would see the cracks in the performance and know where to place a hand to steady him again.
But she wasn't here.
And Nicoli was beginning to understand what it meant to stand alone.
With a deliberate effort, he forced on a brilliant smile again. The expression settled onto his features not like a mask, but something close that was quickly becoming easier to pull up. Teeth showing just enough, eyes crinkling at the corners, cheeks lifting to create the illusion of joy.
It was surprisingly easier to hide the growing pain this way. The smile served as both shield and distraction, drawing attention to the surface while protecting the depths. The entire court was expecting Prince Nicoli to be delighted on his birthday, grateful for their attention, pleased with their gifts. Not a boy missing his sister. Not a son caught in a quiet war between parents. Not a child growing older too fast.
He moved back through the room with practiced grace, nodding and thanking nobles for their wishes. But the words of politeness and duty echoed hollowly in his ears. What was really happening was that Nicoli was learning. He was beginning to learn too well—he did not know how to smile, but how to vanish behind one.
Be the good son. The perfect prince.
Don't let Mother see your doubt. Don't give Father anything to question.
The music swelled, laughter sparkled like broken glass around him, and yet Nicoli felt adrift as if something inside him had come unmoored. He stood among silk and silver, surrounded by smiles, but nothing felt steady.
He didn't know how to feel anymore. But he wasn't happy. Not really.
And so his heart leaned toward Ana, the only way it still knew how.
Ana…if only you were here.
Not just a wish, but a reaching. A pull in his chest like gravity bending around her memory. She would understand. She always did. Her quiet steadiness, the way she saw through things. Even when he didn't have the words, she had the calm. The answers. The warmth.
She was the only place that still felt like home.
Far beyond the towering walls, past the snow-wrapped rooftops and candlelit corridors, he imagined her pausing—wherever she was. A stillness. A hush in her breath. Maybe, if he wished hard enough, she could feel it too.
The faint echo of him reaching for her.
Of needing her, more than he knew how to say.