Love comes in many forms.
Speaking about it, imagining it, and melting at the mere prospect of it can leave you giddy with its richness.
But defining it, expressing or experiencing it - that's a different game.
Elijah - the heir to the throne of...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
*SEBASTIAN - THE KING OF YANDESTINE'S POV*
The palace was tense.
Servants were running around with golden plates filled with fresh fruits and refreshments, newly ironed red carpets were carefully brought in with utmost care as they were rolled out from the entrance, and all that could be seen were massive smiles and busy laughter.
But it was all a facade.
Only the people that were wearing the said facade - didn't know they had been dressed in one. They were oblivious to the stiffer body language of the guards - stationed by every pillar - and they easily chose to ignore the lack of excitement or joy on their royal majesties' and highnesses' faces.
What else could they do?
They didn't know what was to come. They didn't know the warring thoughts swarming through my brain were practically killing me, and I didn't know whether to agree with the ominous voice within me telling me to cease all of this at once.
"Father?"
I turned around to see my son, who was standing there looking like nothing less than a nervous wreck.
"Son. How have you been?" I asked with a nod.
"You only saw me yesterday. Not much has changed since then."
Bitterness. That much could be sensed as he kept running his hand through his hair, eyes wavering everywhere. It was clear that he wanted to know more about the letter we had received a few days ago and I wanted to make it even more clear that he wasn't getting any information about the dancer's words, not before his coronation.
"I see. Well, make sure to get lots of rest before the pre-coronation celebration tonight. This is when we need to make a perfect impression among the masses, you have to remember that even if the sub-rulers are under our control, they still are royalty that have the freedom to judge and express. That-"
"-means they could easily tell me I'm not worthy of the throne," I raised my brow at him, urging him to continue. "And I would have to listen to them. I know, Father, I know."
Though I may have seemed composed and all-knowing on the outside, I was still surprised by my son's behaviour. He was acting strangely sour, his facial muscles frustratedly moving in a way that I only saw in my unreasonably arrogant (though somewhat lovely) daughter.
Elijah, however - from the age he knew how to speak - was smartly obedient, attentive and always prepared to serve with a will to sacrifice. An impeccable young man with all the princely qualities, therefore perfect for the throne of Yandestine.
Sometimes, seemingly too perfect.
I stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Elijah, are you fine?"
His head shot up to face mine, clearly startled by my question.
"Yes," he nodded sternly but I knew something was definitely troubling him, and I was internally glad that I could still read my son to that extent. "I'm fine, Father. I have to be. There's no reason to worry, right?"
