The night faded, giving way to the gentle embrace of dawn. The first golden rays of sunlight filtered through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow upon the chamber. One sneaky beam slipped past the defences, landing directly on Areion's closed eyes. With a faint grumble, he turned away, stubbornly clinging to his slumber.
Knock… Knock…
Areion pulled the sheets over his head, muffling his ears as he mumbled incomprehensible nonsense.
Knock… Knock…
The knocking grew louder.
KNOCK… KNOCK…
A deep sigh escaped his lips, irritation creeping in. "Who… is it?" he mumbled groggily.
"It's me, Romona, Your Highness."
Areion, still half-asleep, tried to piece together her words. Romona… door… morning…?
"What do you want?" he asked, voice laced with drowsiness.
"Today is your entrance exam for the Order of Odysseus, Your Highness," she reminded him, punctuating her words with another set of firm knocks.
The mention of "exam" and "school" made Areion groan. His sleep-heavy eyes cracked open just enough to glare at the door before he dove back under the sheets, thoroughly ignoring reality.
The door creaked open.
"Good morning, Your Highness," Romona greeted, stepping inside.
She approached the bed, eyeing the lump beneath the sheets before grabbing the edge and giving it a tug. Instinctively, Areion clutched it tighter, determined to preserve his heaven-like sleep.
Romona gasped at his stubborn resistance, puffing her cheeks in mild frustration. "Come on, wake up!" she insisted, her grip firming.
"Just five more minutes…" Areion pleaded, his voice muffled beneath the covers.
"No."
He peeked out slightly, one eye barely open. "Are you denying my orders?" he questioned, still refusing to release his side of the sheet.
Romona huffed, pulling back harder. "No, Your Highness. I'm simply doing my duty."
And so, the battle of wills began—a tug-of-war between a reluctant prince and a determined maid. Neither willing to surrender, nor willing to concede.
"But… I'm naked."
Romona froze for a moment, her hands still gripping the fabric. A beat of silence passed. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spread across her face.
"Oh? You think that'll work on me, Your Highness?" she asked, her tone laced with amusement. Without hesitation, she yanked the sheets even harder. "I have direct orders from Her Majesty, after all."
Areion's drowsiness evaporated in an instant. "W-What?! Maa said that?!" he stammered, eyes wide with panic.
Romona's glinting eyes confirmed his fears as she nodded with mock innocence. "Of course, Your Highness."
With a weary sigh, Areion's resistance faltered. After a few more futile tugs, he finally surrendered, releasing his grip in defeat. "Okay, okay! I'm getting up! Just stop before I lose my dignity."
Romona hummed in satisfaction, letting go of the sheets and turning away with a triumphant smile. "A wise decision, Your Highness. Now, go take your bath—I'll prepare your uniform."
And with that, the long battle for morning came to an end, with Romona emerging victorious.
"No need to be so dramatic, Your Highness," she teased, folding her arms.
Ignoring her, Areion hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a firm click. A moment later, the bedsheet was unceremoniously tossed out, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Romona sighed, shaking her head as she bent down to pick it up. "Every morning, the same routine," she muttered, smoothing out the fabric before setting it aside. With that done, she turned her attention to her real task—preparing Areion's uniform.
She moved with practiced efficiency, retrieving the pristine garments of the Order of Odysseus. A white cape flowed over a tailored white and black jacket, accented with gold. A red sash crossed the chest, above fitted white pants. White gloves completed the regal, authoritative uniform. the insignia of the academy stitched elegantly onto the chest. Every button, every fold, was in place—just as it should be.
Minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open, and Areion stepped out, steam curling behind him. His damp silver hair clung to his forehead, water droplets trailing down his skin.
As expected, Romona stood ready, holding his uniform with her usual composed expression.
"I see you're already prepared," Areion said, running a hand through his wet hair.
"Of course, Your Highness," Romona replied smoothly. "Now, let's get you dressed. You wouldn't want to be late for your entrance exam, would you?"
Areion sighed, already dreading the day ahead.
Dressed in the pristine uniform of the Order of Odysseus, Areion stepped into the waiting carriage with Romona following close behind. They settled into the plush seats, the gentle sway of the carriage accompanying the rhythmic clatter of hooves against stone.
As they began their journey, Areion gazed out of the window. His mother, Vivienne, stood at the entrance of her scriptorium, watching him depart. Despite her usually composed demeanour, today she looked slightly dishevelled—her hair slightly out of place, her attire less pristine than usual, her veil absent. Yet even in this state, an undeniable aura of strength radiated from her.
She tried to mask it, but Areion noticed—he always noticed.
He understood better than most. While he struggled to meditate for even a few hours in Suryāsthirh, Vivienne could maintain her meditative state for weeks without rest. It was an unfathomable feat, and though she concealed the strain, Areion saw through the facade.
As the carriage began to move, she smiled warmly, raising her hand to blow him a kiss.
Grinning, Areion playfully reached out and caught it midair, pressing it against his chest with exaggerated reverence.
Vivienne laughed—an unrestrained sound that filled the morning air.
Suddenly, a gentle but firm smack landed on Areion's knee.
"Enough, Your Highness," Romona said, feigning exasperation. "You're going to an exam, not a war."
Areion arched an eyebrow in amusement. "War and exams not much difference and Hitting royalty, are we? It seems you've grown quite confident over the past week."
Romona simply crossed her arms, turning away with an air of mock indifference—acting less like a maid and more like a friend.
Areion chuckled at the sight. Finally, someone breaking free from the rigid shell of formality and duty. He enjoyed being treated normally, free from the weight of royal pretence. Not that he despised the luxuries of his station—he appreciated them in moderation. After all, even sugar loses its sweetness when used too often.
The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels against the cobblestones provided a steady, almost hypnotic backdrop to Areion's turbulent thoughts. As the scenery blurred past the window, his mind drifted back to Raquel and Mateo's predicament. The weight of their situation pressed heavily on him—Raquel, struggling to maintain her composure, and Mateo, facing an uncertain fate. Today, while he was preoccupied with his entrance exam, the final discussions about Mateo's case would be taking place.
Romona observing him, broke the silence. "How is she managing lately?"
He sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken worry. "I don't know. I can only hope that everything goes well."
"Why are you so invested in this case, anyway?" Romona asked, her curiosity piqued.
Areion turned to her, his eyes searching hers for a moment. He remained silent, lost in thought. Romona shifted uncomfortably, the silence growing heavy. "What? It's a simple question."
He looked back out the window, his voice low and thoughtful. "Because I like her story."
Romona blinked, taken aback by his unexpected response. It was a simple statement, yet it carried a weight that surprised her. It was something she never thought she would hear, and it forced her to re-evaluate her understanding of Areion.
.
The morning light crept into Raquel's humble shed, painting the rough-hewn walls in a soft, golden hue. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and found a folded letter resting on a small wooden stool beside her cot. A sense of unease settled over her, but she reached for it, her fingers tracing the delicate script.
Unfolding the letter, she read the words, each sentence a bittersweet melody:
"Your husband is a great man, but there are some things are that we can't control. I will pray for his release. Your humble crown prince."
A soft, melancholic smile touched her lips. The words, simple yet profound, offered a sliver of hope amidst the despair. She placed the letter aside, a flicker of gratitude warming her heart.
Pushing herself to her feet, she opened the shed door. The sounds of children's laughter filled the air, a stark contrast to the somber thoughts that had occupied her mind. Her students, their faces bright and eager, waited patiently for their lessons. A wave of resolve washed over her. Despite the uncertainty that loomed, she would not falter. She would continue to teach, to nurture, to provide a semblance of normalcy for these children, even as her own world threatened to crumble.
.
As the hours passed, the scenery shifted, and soon, in the distance, a set of massive gates loomed into view.
Beyond them, towering against the sky, stood the impeccable castles of the Order of Odysseus—the place where legends were made.