In Favour |Clara Walseworth|

Second born ~ Chapter 9

Germany, 1818.

The next morning, Clara awoke to the sound of distant bells echoing through the palace corridors. The early light filtered through the lace curtains, casting a golden glow across the chamber. For a moment, she forgot where she was, caught in the warmth of the bed, the stillness of the morning. Then she became aware of the arm draped lazily across her waist.

Her body stiffened slightly, though William, still half-asleep, did not seem to notice. His breath was slow and even, his face relaxed in slumber, stripped of the usual cocky grin he wore when awake. Clara hesitated before carefully shifting away from his touch, inching toward the edge of the bed without disturbing him.

She rose quietly, wrapping a robe over her nightdress before crossing the room to the vanity. A maid entered as she reached for the silver brush, curtsying before speaking. "Shall I prepare your dress for the morning, Your Highness?" Clara nodded absently, her thoughts still tangled in the events of the previous evening. "Yes, thank you."

As the maid moved toward the wardrobe, William let out a groggy sound from the bed, shifting beneath the covers. "Mm... already awake?" His voice was thick with sleep as he blinked at her, pushing himself onto one elbow.

Clara turned to face him. "The day has begun," she said simply. William groaned, flopping dramatically onto his back. "Must it?" Despite herself, a small smile threatened to break through her usual composed expression. "I am afraid so."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes before looking at her again. "And what thrilling engagements await us today? Another tiresome luncheon with the Dowager Countess? A tedious lecture on courtly behavior?"

Clara turned back to the vanity, beginning to brush through her hair. "I believe we are expected at the gardens this afternoon. The Queen Mother wishes to host tea." William made a noise of displeasure. "Tea," he muttered. "What an exhausting affair." Clara let out a quiet breath. "She will wish to speak to us."

"Of heirs, no doubt," William replied, rolling onto his side to watch her. "Truly, is there nothing else of interest in this world?" Clara met his gaze in the mirror but said nothing in return.

For a moment, something unreadable flickered in William's expression, but just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual indifference. He stretched before finally sitting up. "Well, if I must endure another discussion of duty and lineage, then I shall require an absurd amount of rum to compensate."

Clara gave a soft shake of her head, rising from her seat as the maid brought forward her morning dress. As she allowed the girl to help her into it, she felt William's gaze linger on her for a moment longer.

He did not understand her worries—she knew that much. But for all his childishness, there was something oddly reassuring about his presence, as though he could afford to be careless enough for the both of them and in a world where duty pressed upon her from all sides, she wondered if perhaps she envied him for it.

But the tea was stopped as The palace was in a state of quiet unrest.

Whispers filled the grand corridors, slipping between the gilded columns and echoing off the marble floors. Courtiers exchanged wary glances, ladies covered their murmured speculation with gloved hands, and the servants, ever aware of the shifting tides of power, moved with a nervous efficiency.

Prince Frederick, heir to the throne, had once again refused to attend court.

It was not the first time. His absence had become an increasing source of frustration for the King and Queen Mother, though none dared to voice their discontent too openly. Frederick was the firstborn, the rightful heir—his position was unquestionable. But his disinterest in governance, his open disdain for court proceedings, had begun to cast a shadow over the monarchy.