Veni Vincere

Ch.4

Daniel dreamt in red. It was hazy, and whirling, but an undeniable red.

The atmosphere was stifling, boiling with emotion, filling with an explosive touch that shook the room. Spots on the walls cracked like shattered glass, like a bullet had ricocheted through a window—an earthquake punched onto the scarlet. Through a window, he witnessed an argument between two adults dressed in expensive silk lined with blood red satin, a couple. The male had golden hair combed tight into a small ponytail, his face even tighter. The woman's hair was a deep chestnut that pooled around her waist, long and flowing and beautiful.

"He is not my child!" a thick voice shouted, crashing against the air like thunder. It was
crackling with a whip-like timbre that pierced the silence. "You are lying to me! You have lied to me!"

A melodious voice answered back, sweet and smooth like milk, but rushed and urgent. "He's your child, Leo, please. We took the test. You were there."

Leonardo De Luca paced around. "That is a lie. Somehow, you have tricked me, Elisa!"

"He's your son—"

"Troia!" he cursed, picking up a chair and throwing it across the room. It collided with a lamp, splintering the floor. "He can't do anything! He's clumsy, he daydreams, he's shy. As if anything like that could ever come from me, a De Luca! Theodore is my son- not- not him!"

She clutched onto his arms to stop him from tipping the dresser. "Leo, stop!"

The door creaked open. A boy with the arguing eyes stepped in cautiously. Daniel recognized the child as himself, smaller and skinnier and bright. "Mamma? Papa? Are you okay?"

Movement fell to a standstill. The king's lips pressed into a line as his heated stare fell upon the little prince. The boy flinched, clutching the hem of his shirt. With a labored sigh, Father relinquished his grip on the furniture. He strode past the young child, refusing to look at him.

Mamma shuffled to the bed, glancing at the door once, then began massaging her face. He watched as his younger self dawdled over to her, small hands pressing into her flowing gown.

"Why aren't you in bed?" she asked softly, weak and tired. She showed none of the radiance that he adored in her. Her wide leaf green eyes that shone like clovers sunk in her face, a ghost of her youth.

"I heard shouting," little him replied sheepishly. With his chubby hands, he tugged on her sleeve worriedly. "Are you okay, mamma?"

Tears trailed down the pretty woman's cheeks, and the child didn't know what to do, but frown. Her lovely face was stained by sadness, and it broke his heart. Observing the scene with yearning eyes, Daniel desired to reach forward and hold his mother, but his legs were unable to move.

The child tugged on her dress again, eyebrows drawn together in determination. "Mamma."

The queen looked up, and a cry caught in her throat.

The younger Daniel had pinched his cheeks, spreading them apart to make a silly face. "Bleh!" He wiggled his fingers, stretching. "No more crying!" he said, his voice gone nasally.

A smile, lopsided and beautiful, broke on her countenance. "Oh, mio soldatino," she cooed, pressing his gelled head of hair to her chest. The boy sighed in content, relishing in the smooth ruffles and soft fabric that felt like home. The scent of chocolates and earth radiated from the queen's embrace. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, crumpling upon herself upon them. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you."

"Don't be sad, mamma," he said quietly, trying to capture her tears in his hand. "I love your smile."

She gently pushed him back, caressing his face. Her thumbs traced the tops of his cheeks. "And I love your eyes, Dani. They're beautiful. Like the summer leaves." Carefully, she threaded her fingers through his short hair. "My beautiful son."