𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝟎𝟎𝟒

The mood in the Imperial Palace seemed to be tense, for your father's mood soured every time he stepped out of one of his meetings. Which meant that he would be more frustrated, and wouldn't look too kindly on your mistakes.

You couldn't slip up. You absolutely couldn't.

Your nerves were raw and jittery, falling apart. You felt like your entire body was a fabric, with your hands barely stitched to your arms. If you were to exaggerate it, your body felt like a line, groove, or ridge had been formed by the abutment of edges on your skin. You felt fissured — like there were so many vulnerabilities and gaps in your abilities, falling apart at the seams.

Anxiety made you perform badly. You couldn't withstand the pressure of your father's angry stare — and as you faced him, you found yourself spilling hot tea onto the tablecloth, effectively staining your mother's prized possession. Your father had yelled at you then.

You were counting the days slowly and methodically. Today marked what would be your seventh meeting with the crown prince. Two days had passed since the two of you had made the napkin bird, whom was still affectionately called Elias and constantly perched on your shoulder when you visited. And today, you realised, marked a week since you had met Silas.

That week had gone by impossibly fast, and yet it still seemed like you had known Silas for ages. The illusion of time was a tricky, fickle thing, and the hours that had stretched by each day only added to it. You didn't keep track of the hours — but you entered the Palace when it was sunny, and when you left, it would be late evening.

And now your hands trembled weakly as you tried to serve a beverage to your father. There were many layers to being a butler — a Royal Butler, at that — and while the more complex ones would be covered in a year's time (namely, self defense, mana casting, overseeing household staff), the easier ones like table service, service of drinks, and napkin folding would be covered. Of course, there was also memorizing the interior layout of the palace, and poison resistance and detection.

For poison resistance, it had to be built from young. You had been taking small doses ever since you were four. The first time hadn't been too pleasant, but over the years, you had become pretty good at it. You weren't that good at detecting poison, however. You had only been exposed to three kinds of it.

But now you seemed to have mastered the layout of the palace too, more specifically, the garden — but things like drinks service eluded you. You couldn't seem to make a proper connection between the serving sizes and the recipe. And there was a certain elegant, poised way in which you were supposed to pour the tea, but needless to say, that also confused you terribly. Etiquette was strange to you.

Come to think of it, Silas, despite his uncouth words, possessed impeccable manners. One that did not suit a six year old — and that again, strengthened your theory of him being from a noble family. He probably had his manners drilled into him the second he was born.