Lorellia (Everlasting Legends, Book 1)

Ch. 2 - A Prelude to Destiny

Ardaik 5th - La'Trest, Lorellia

La'Trest Castle was a stunning piece of Lorellia's finest architecture and artistry on display; from its high ceilings, massive chandeliers, and intricate flourishes and moldings, to the hand-painted frescoes and polished tiled floors.

There wasn't a single surface or corner where Rowan's gaze could fall and not see something of beauty, and that included the people as well. But Rowan knew that the luster was only surface deep; a gilded mask that hid their truths. And the older he got, the harder it was for him not to see past it all. Not that he minded the game. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

As his father's eldest son, he was primed to be a Baron, and he already handled most of his family's presence at gatherings like this. Being seen conversing with both princes was just another tell that Rowan was already well on his way to becoming one of the best players on the board. And his bachelor status certainly didn't hurt either. Several of the attending bachelorettes had already made passing attempts to catch his attention.

"There he is," one of the women nearest to him sneered.

"Who? Prince Viotto?" Another chirped, leaning slightly to see around Rowan as he made his way towards Count Pine.

"Who else?" the first replied, subtly tilting her pointed nose towards Artus and Flann.

"I was wondering how long his highness was going to be allowed to dither about, avoiding our daughters."

"Indeed. Seems he only came back downstairs to speak to that loud Serellian," one said.

"Yes, him and De Saint-Pierre." Four pairs of eyes flickered to Rowan, likely to see if he'd taken note of his name.

Their clucking didn't phase Rowan. After all, he wasn't some lowly landowner's son from Cocham. He was going places and that required perfect poise.

"Well, he may have been in the ballroom earlier, but who would've known? With such a dark coat and knickers on, the prince hardly stands out at all."

"Oh, agreed. Surely, another act of rebellion."

"If I were the queen, I'd never have allowed him to wear that." The woman shook her head, lips pursed. "Nearly indistinguishable from a count or baron at such a large event..."

"Rowan," Artus called, startling Rowan from his eve's dropping and catching up to him just before he reached the Count. "I meant to ask, is your sister in attendance?"

"She is," Rowan replied with a curious lift of his brow.

Now that it had been unintentionally brought to Rowan's attention, Artus's choice of dress was interesting. While he couldn't tell what color Artus had dawned, it was dark, though elaborately and heavily embroidered, and his wavy black hair had a few neat plaits in it—likely the only way of styling it in the small, high ponytail the prince sported—a style very loosely reminiscent of a tradesman.

"I may have expressed interest," Artus explained, "To my mother."

"Might have?" Rowan questioned with a skeptical tone, smirking as his hands came to fold comfortably in front of his chest. "Well, it might take more than that to displace all the rumors," he suggested casually while observing the crowd from Artus's side, noting the direction the count and countess moved in.

"Which rumors?"

There were plenty surrounding the prince and had been since he was very young. But most of those had to do with the bizarre circumstances of Artus's survival through the kingdom's most mysterious and horrifying tragedy—the unexplained sinking of the flagship, Épée de Mer, along with her accompanying fleet.