The Picturesque and Scheming Ones

Back in the east wing, Marianne accompanied Ain once again after breakfast for another walk around the manor. She thought it odd of the knight to be moving about so much, but assumed it was because he was just curious. That’s how he acted at the dining table earlier too.

He didn’t need to eat, but Akari was curious about the cuisine, whether he could actually taste it, if it was good or real. Was this whole world a story writing itself based on what the manuscripts had? Did it generate the inbetweens by itself, like AI? Hopefully not. Then again, Haruka could’ve written whatever he wished in his version, he was after all the better writer between him and Akari.

He stuck to simple dishes: bread and butter, a stew made of veal and some lamb and these vanilla slices set aside as “dessert” but it seemed a little out of place. He guessed they weren’t meant to be there.

Aside from the light breakfast, he could at least confirm that he could taste food. Though, there lacked the satisfaction of no longer being hungry, since he wasn’t even hungry in the first place. It was like knowing you’d get the award regardless of the work you did. Disappointing.

But apart from a nice tasting meal and the unsatisfactory end of it, Ain found himself frozen still before a portrait down the hall to his room. Marianne had only noticed when she stopped hearing footsteps behind her and quickly rushed back to his side to see what was wrong.

“Sir?” she asked, almost whispering.

The portrait he was stuck staring at was of the younger prince, Kaleth. It was surreal and incredibly bizarre, because this painting was of the exact concept work Akari had drawn himself, only that was months ago. He was shocked to have noticed it so late, especially when it was just a few steps from his room. Oddly enough, it was a true eye opener to the fact that this was just based off of everything Akari and Haruka had been working on. From dialogue shared between the characters so far, the events, the places, the characters themselves. It was a sudden whiplash.

“Sir, are you alright?”

Marianne was right to ask if he was okay, after all, he’d been standing and staring for a while now.

Kaleth was like the Crown Prince in terms of appearance, no doubt, since they were siblings. They both took after their mother, sharing her black hair and brown eyes, though Kaleth had a remarkably younger countenance, despite only being two years younger than his older brother, if memory serves Akari correctly. They weren’t so distant from one another in terms of ages but their personal relationship to one another was another story entirely. It was marred by their duties as royalty, and further tainted by how they were treated as children. One lived on a pedestal and the other, in his shadow; that was the shorter version.

“I’m okay,” Ain responds plainly, as his eyes drop from the painting and to the small plaque sat at the bottom of the portrait’s frame.

PRINCE KALETH UROS BLANC

At least the names were the same, roughly based off of French names from the earlier weeks of planning, they were the only parts of the story that had barely changed all throughout development. Not much thought had been put through, but Kaleth was supposed to be a name derived from his brother’s. However, Akari couldn’t remember it, not for a while now actually.

How was he having trouble remembering the second protagonist’s name?

He assumed it might’ve been a symptom from his abrupt appearance in this world, perhaps light memory loss, but after everything he could remember, it just felt a bit atypical of him. But it didn’t matter, he’d soon meet him, since that’s how this story continued on.

After finally pulling his gaze from the portrait, he retreated to his room, he’d thanked Marianne for her company during their short morning hours and once the door closed, a sense of renewed determination surged through him. He had to stay ahead, he told himself. It was his greatest advantage, knowing—almost—exactly what would happen next. It was an upper hand and he was failing to realise that.

He’d kill to have that kind of ability in real life, but then again, it wouldn’t be as fun. It wouldn’t be authentic to call living. It would just be existing.

Akari guessed he’d stay in the manor for a few more days and soon, perhaps in a week, he’d be taken to the capital for the celebration, dressed in the uniform Salaeus had been planning for him to wear so he could play dress up again. He wished he knew what it looked like or was at least given a sketch of sorts. It was a design Akari himself was never able to finish, since he was too indecisive. He was equally anticipating and dreading the day, with reasonable notion.

With an outstretched hand, the prince gazed down at his newly appointed knight, the blade shifting off of his shoulders like a leaf drifting off a branch and he stood up with aid of the royal’s pull. Two gloved hands shared a slight warmth, however one failed to feel anything past subtle pressure. Though they did not know one another, the connection built upon in seconds had quickly come together, whole and unanimous. A knight like him and a prince like that, it was a heroic duo; one that would make legends.

Ain sat at the mahogany desk, arched over the top with a quill in one hand as he tickled his chin with the end of the vane, the thin barbs grazing across his skin. That was all he could remember off the top of his head, of what chapter three involved at a least. It was shortly described in the manuscript, but since he was reliving here, it may not go as smoothly as he wanted when the time came.

Languidly, he bent forward, resting his head down onto the table beside the paper he had hastily scribbled on. The smell of the ink was completely new to him, and as he stared at the quill in hand, he scrutinised it before putting it back into its inkwell. Don’t pens exist here? Not that it would make a difference, he would write with a piece of chalk if given the chance. But a pen, or anything portably efficient would help him jot things down from time to time, since having to rely on his memory alone was risky and unreliable. Having a notebook or some kind of small journal on his person would be helpful, and as a knight it wouldn’t look suspicious.

Rising from the desk, he cleaned up the slight mess he had made from spilling a bit of ink, after all, he’d never written with a quill before. He picked up the paper full of his reiterations and looked up at one of the sconces on the wooden beams up the wall. Yanking it out of its place, he put the candle to the page and set it aflame, letting it eat up the parchment before letting go to leave it wither in a slow blaze on the wooden floor. Snuffing it with his heel, he shuffled the decorative rug over it, continuing to stomp it out with his other foot for safe measure.

The last thing he wanted was Salaeus or even Marianne learning that he also had something to hide.

He knew he shouldn’t raise any suspicions to himself, try to keep his slate clean until he had more power to muck about, and of course, he was referring to until he was in the hands of the Crown Prince. At least under his charge, he would answer only to him and not Salaeus.

With that out of the way, he continued his day as normal, leaving momentarily for lunch in the greenhouse with Salaeus to discuss what his life would be like in the royal palace, explaining how being a personal knight to the prince would allow him great privileges, but at the same time he would describe the arduous tasks he’d be given by his hand. Of course, Akari listened carefully, remaining stoic in the face of hearing this seemingly stress-inducing work, but to him it just sounded like a corporate job where your boss wasn’t too concerned about you, not as a person or even as an employee.

“Whatever the prince asks of you, you will do it, won’t you,” Salaeus said with a heavy sigh, less as a question and more of a command.

Ain nodded softly, his eyes lowering to the table filled with an abundance of snacks and treats, from hot pastries and cakes to biscuits and other cream-filled delights. But he resisted the urge and kept to a simple cup of the tea served. It was enough to keep him occupied when he wanted to drown out the mage’s voice.

“Ain,”

“... Yes?”

“Tell me, what are your duties?”

I remember this, it was the last few cryptic words Salaeus ever says to Ain, mostly concerning his loyalties despite them not existing yet, but slowly he put down his tea cup and raised his gaze up to the mage’s matching the same firmness in unrivalled contact.

“To serve the Crown Prince, unconditionally,”