The times we spent together (5)
Father?
Coming home?
Adrian's thoughts echoed dully in his head. But on the outside, both he and Eleanor remained perfectly calm, indifferent. Their expressions didn't shift, their breathing didn't change. It was as if Charles had said nothing more than a weather report.
"So then what?" Eleanor asked bluntly, flat, bored.
"He'll be staying for a while," Charles replied.
"That's only your business, isn't it?" Eleanor shot back.
And she wasn't wrong.
Even though Henry Niviane was their father in name, he was never truly their father. The Count never cared for Adrian or Eleanor, never acknowledged them, never looked at them, never once asked for them during his rare stays at the manor. To him, only Charles existed. Charles, the eldest. Charles, the rightful heir. Charles, the son he molded and claimed.
Every time Henry visited the manor, Adrian and Eleanor were nothing but shadows, insignificant.
So if Charles had called them here now, it meant something more than a simple announcement.
Eleanor knew that much. Though she sat with a casual posture and a blank face, she was watching Charles carefully, waiting for the real reason he summoned them.
Charles inhaled slowly before continuing.
"After that, I will leave for some time."
Eleanor's gaze sharpened.
She listened without interrupting, every word drawing her deeper into attention.
"And I want you to take care of Mother," Charles finished quietly.
Eleanor's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
Adrian's posture stiffened, the faintest shift of his shoulders betraying him.
Take care of Mother?
Charles never asked such a thing.
Never once had he delegated his responsibility for Juliana, if anything, he was the only one who ever visited her at all. Why would he suddenly entrust her to them?
Something was wrong. Eleanor felt it first, Adrian sensed it next.
Whatever Charles was hiding…
…
"Will do," Eleanor replied simply.
"I knew I could rely on you, Ellie," Charles said with a gentle smile.
Eleanor stared at him for a long moment, her expression calm. Then she spoke, cutting straight to the center:
"Aren't you going to tell us?"
Charles didn't answer
Adrian had already grown tired of the vague tension hanging in the room. He shifted his posture, lifting one leg over the other and leaning his elbow against the small table beside him, his hand supporting his cheek. Then, with a tone halfway between boredom and impatience, he added:
"This place has a weight to it."
Charles blinked.
"…What are you talking about?"
"Nothing, so when will the Count visit?"
"About a week from now."
"hmm."
Adrian's eyes drifted up toward the ornate ceiling, tracing the patterns in silence before he continued
"It's not like this is the first time you've been like this, anyway."
His words weren't cruel just honest.
With both siblings acknowledging the strangeness but refusing to push further, Charles seemed to settle back into himself. A faint smile curved on his lips, the kind that never quite reached his eyes.
"Thank you. Both of you," he said.
He leaned back against the sofa, letting his gaze drift toward the wide window beside him. Outside, the forest swayed silently under the fading light, shadows stretching long across the ground.
"To me, matters exist solely to be resolved.
If I speak of something. It means it can no longer be ignored."
Then he turned back to his siblings with that familiar, perfectly shaped smile, the one that hid more than it ever revealed.
His words flowed quietly, calm, as though nothing about this conversation carried the weight of impending change.
Finishing his sentence, Charles rose from the sofa. His expression remained gentle, but the motion was firm, decisive, practiced. He left no space for Eleanor to corner him with further questions. If she pushed him now, he wouldn't answer; and Eleanor understood that well enough to let him go without a word.
As Charles walked toward the door, he paused briefly, his back still turned to them.
"But I think Mother would be happy to see you both,"
"Will she?"
Adrian replied, his voice flat, dismissive.
Charles didn't answer.
He simply resumed his steps and vanished into the corridor, the soft click of the door marking his departure.
The moment he was gone, the room fell into quiet.
Eleanor exhaled softly through her nose.
"He's been up to something these days"
"You know he's always been like that" Adrian responded, leaning back and stretching his legs out.
"Has he?" Eleanor asked, unconvinced.
She stared at the door for a long second, her eyes calculating, unreadable. Then, brushing the weight of Charles's presence off her shoulders, she turned back to the small table before her and opened her book again.
Seeing that she intended to stay and read, Adrian spoke again.
"Have you still not made up with him?"
"There is nothing between us,"
"Charles thinks you're mad at him."
"Good."
Adrian let out a long sigh and turned his gaze toward the window, watching the treetops sway beyond the glass, smiling a little.
"Our princess is in her rebellion age, I see," he teased.
Eleanor flinched, irritation flickered across her face; she lowered her book slowly, clearly no longer reading a single word of it. Adrian's jab had struck home.
"It seems not only Charles has been strange lately," she said coolly. "You've also gained some nerves."
"Is that so, my little sister?"
Adrian shot back with a small, smug smile.
Eleanor didn't respond immediately. Instead, she studied him for a moment, then smiled at him sharp. She held that smile for a long, uncomfortable second.
Then she added:
"I see. You've gotten bolder ever since you started meeting that peasant girl."
Her voice was smooth, gentle… and cutting.
Like a blade hidden under velvet.