The Lady Justice

Chapter XXXI: My Darling Duchess

Crown Prince Nicholas Seymour of Monrique

22 November, Year 32 of King Frederick V of Monrique's reign

Roche Manor, Roche

Monrique

It was dark, and utterly quiet. On any other night, I would not even have dared to leave my chambers without a candle, fearing the dark as I did.

However, as I was coming to learn these days, no one had the time to think or worry about themselves in Roche Manor. It was an utterly volatile place, where every day brought with it a new tempest. One always had to be ready to brave through it, and handle the destruction it left in its wake, regardless of the circumstances.

It was thus that I now found myself sprinting to the other end of the Manor, towards Lord Thomas' chambers, with my heart thudding in my mouth. I heard the manservant trying to keep up with me, but I could not care less about him. I needed to reach there, I needed to know if he was telling me the truth -

It could not, it could not happen this soon -

We all laughing, celebrating Tess' accomplishments just yesterday -

I leapt down three steps at a time on the stairway. Impossible, impossible, impossible -

He seemed stable - there was no way - how -

I skidded to a stop in front of his chambers, panting and perspiring.

The doors were wide open, and the overwhelming grief and pain in the atmosphere washed over me like a tidal wave without warning. It weighed heavily down on my shoulders, and filled me with dread, even before I could make sense of what was happening.

Oh nay -

Lord Thomas was lying on his back on his bed, unnaturally still. His thinning blond hair stuck to his forehead, which was, for once, free of the worry lines that always graced it. His head had rolled to the side of the pillow, and his mouth was hanging slightly open. There was some dried crusted blood and foam at the corner of his lips, but otherwise, he could have simply been sleeping in peace for all I knew.

He was gone. He was truly gone. I grabbed the doorway to steady myself.

Tess and Clara were both curled up together on the side of his bed. While Clara clung to her sister, and was openly and silently sobbing into the curve of her neck, the latter sat upright, as still as a statue. There were no tears, no emotions on her deathly white countenance. Her ocean blue eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and lost in her own world, as she cradled Clara tightly with one arm, and held her father's body close to her with the other.

My throat clogged up.

All the Earls of Roche, including Ned, were kneeling around Lord Thomas' bed, still in their nightclothes. The maids and menservants of the Manor stood in a group behind them, all in complete silence. Hands folded, heads bowed, the light brown carpet beneath their feet was dotted dark with their tears.

I did not realise that a broken, choked sound had left my lips, until everyone glanced up at me in surprise. Upon seeing me, Ned stood up and strode towards me at once, his eyes rimmed red, and pulled me into a tight hug.

"How are you holding up, old chap?" I whispered.

"Awful," his voice broke.

I looked past his shoulder at Tess, who held my gaze, and nodded at me once. "Please come in, brother," she sighed, "come see Papa."

Ned released me. Lords Alexandre and Timothée, who were kneeling near the head of the bed, made some space for us between them. I rubbed my face clear of the drops of sweat and tears streaming down my cheek, as we began to walk towards them. However, we were hardly halfway across the room, when I sensed a sudden shift in the atmosphere.