Act I. Scene III

CALE

The middle and index finger slipped through the inner part of his hand, it was an almost communal affection since that incident. Even after the cut closed, even after so many months passed - Cale could still feel that scar hurt, and burn. It was like a constant reminder of what he had done.

He huffed.

Not even death, they left him alone.

"Sir? Did you even hear what I told you?" Veiner seemed upset, but that had stopped being surprised, after all, Veiner always seemed upset.

"I was talking about the dance." Cale muttered, her eyes closing slowly, "I don’t have time to go to a dance, and I’m still Lut-..."

"Mourning lasts only six months, my dear sir." The butler let loose harshly, "Do not think that his majesty will tolerate certain...", behaviors based on the grief of those who lost.

Cale snitched.

He had used those bastards as an excuse, and it had worked, but even now that wasn’t enough. Not even for that.

Sighed.

"Right...", his eyes opened staring at that dark ceiling, "I will attend the next ball inside..."

"I will advance the papers and announce that you will attend this ball." Veiner said in counterpoint, "His Majesty will attend, so I must make it clear that the new archduke would not miss and leave the queen alone."

Cale’s tongue popped into the roof of her mouth.

"The crown prince, where is he?"

The butler smiled at me.

"The ball is being arranged by his highness, the crown prince."

'Of course, he is,' was the first thing he thought. All that silly prince used to do was dance and engage in piercing romances that would embarrass any sensible being who knew him.

A long sigh escaped from Lestrad’s lips.

Of course.

It was for this and many others that Cale had practically taken the place of the crown prince in the queen’s heart.

"Have the carriage prepared," he said in that apathetic, calm tone, "if I’m going to have to attend, then allow me to do my best. I will escort your highness the Queen."

The old man smiled.

"I think the queen will be happy with such an answer."

'Certainly.'

His eyes went to the window next to his desk, the one that overlooked a dark and almost lifeless garden.

"And hire gardeners," he murmured, "if you intend to keep me alive in this place, then at least give me a good reason to want to live."

The butler snitched, it was almost as if the boy could hear him speak: how much nonsense coming from someone so young?

"What kind of flowers do you want to grow?"

"Roses." Cale said with a distant gaze, "I want yellow roses."

An eyebrow rose on the grey-haired’s face, but there was not even a reason for him to deny or even question, so he remained silent as he stared at the young boy.

Even so, Veiner’s mind continued to question. 'Yellow? What heart does this little thing intend to shatter?'

Cale smiled, a brief smile like the one he remembered something pleasant.

Yellow.

He had always liked yellow roses.

***

The being in front of him was like a suitable version of that time and moment, suited to his new title.

Archduke of Lestrad.

The great Archduke of London.

The queen’s hound, the young man who grew up next to the crown prince. The cursed Cale Lestrad, the darling of his majesty.

Long black hair - fastened in a ponytail by a red ribbon. Black robes with crimson details, black shoes, and gloved hands.

A large ring on his little finger with a ruby was carefully carved into a snake shape. The animal’s coat of arms of his family.

"Archduke Lestrad?" The voice of one of the servants finally made him get out of his trance, "The carriage is ready, waiting for you. Should I have the coachman prepare it after dinner?"

"No," came out clearly and succinctly, the eyes of sparkling amber, "I will not dine. I told Veiner to inform the cook."

"But, sir, I..."

"Tell the coachman I’m coming down." If he held back, a large breath of air was released from his lungs.

A few hours, a few hours and I’d be free of that snag. A few hours and the queen would be too busy to remember him.

A few hours and the prince would have fallen in love with some average girl.

A few hours - maybe 2 and he would be in a rented carriage, returning to his warm and comfortable bed.

Yes.

Only a few hours - he thought, but when the queen’s arm took him and they both passed through those golden doors of the royal palace. Cale realized it was wrong.

There were too many eyes.

Eyes that looked for marks of torture or curse.

Eyes that hunted defects in their posture, physical structure, and manners.

Eyes that devoured him so unreasonably that they even burned his absurdly pale skin.

And between all those eyes, there were those two pairs of eyes.

Green eyes, like emeralds and jade.

Eyes that did not detach from his face for a moment.

Flattering - he recalled.

Gemini.

Redheads.

Insistent.

Faithful to the church.

Sighed. Whatever they wanted to do. Cale was not interested. He did not want to be anyone’s experiment, he did not want to be a project of redemption for faith-filled children.

I was tired of it.

"Smile, Cale." The queen told him with some joy. "Many young women are watching you. Smile and let them see how charming our duke is."

He sighed.

"I do not wish to be charming."

The woman’s eyes stared at him with a certain melancholy.

"Honey, there’s something beautiful out there waiting for you. Don’t isolate yourself like that." He sighed, "Sometimes he wanted me to be more like Henry." The blue eyes like the sea stared at the dark-haired, "who was not afraid to love."

Cale’s face became empty, apathetic.

"Love is a human fantasy, Your Majesty. It exists in this world as much as the magic the church is so terrified of."

His words were laden with pain and scars; and perhaps that is why the queen, with blond hair and light eyes - could not go against what that little boy, who carried the world on his shoulders, had just said.

'Poor Cale' was all she designed to think.