The middle of the afternoon is much too soon for the fishing boats to return to shore, and yet, there they were, speeding into port.

None needed wonder what chased them back so early, for the threatening storm clouds rolling in at their heels was enough of an answer.

On this one day, the Isle of Yalia seems to be paying for the good weather it has enjoyed for longer than any human could remember.

Rain fell with a vengeance, thunder boomed as the bright sun beams are cut off from the Isle by a thick veil of grey clouds. All that illuminates the land is the occasional crack of lightening ripping through the sky.

Ludovik’s screams are in perfect harmony with the world’s chaos. 

He keels over, tears streaming down his face as he crumples the letter against his chest. 

“Finally!” He gasps through sobs, “Y-You finally call… for me!”

He could sense his father’s displeasure through the storm. Tendrils of cosmic energy— too deific for humans to perceive beyond a spark on the surface of their skin, crackles in the air.

Contrarily, Ludovik is mad with elation.

He pushes off the floor, and with a swing of his hand the office’s windows are thrown open, moaning winds sending papers and tulips scattering all around him.

The air is a cooling fondle against his dark skin and through his onyx curls. Ludovik leans against his desk with a sigh, more relaxed than before, but still showing his fear through his trembling fists. 

All the restraint he’s learnt is blown away, and it’s a struggle not to immediately abandon Yalia and cage her in his arms. 

“I’ll wait.” He orders himself. His shackle has been shattered from the moment he revived the offer for camaraderie. He’s assured of this when he calls, “Da… Darlin...” fearful and unsure.

Had Ludovik been dreaming, the entire fort would be smote on account of his insolence to speak her name.

He marches to the window, his grip on the sill splintering the hardwood. “Darlin.” Ludovik grows bolder and the thunder booms to match his racing heart. 

His father’s unhappiness be damned. “Darlin!” This moment is nothing short of divine. Ludovik’s chest inflates with a deep breath, his voice entwines with the storm, “DARLIN!”

*****

Flora’s mornings no longer begin with yellow rays of light and a tender rousing. 

At seven on the dot, the ringing of a bell drags her into consciousness. 

Make no mistake, it is no gentle tingle, but a brutish clanging that may as well be hammering spikes into her skull.

The only thing worse than the accursed bell is Gretchen’s snide face looking down on her, bereft of any leniency.

The very first day she was awoken this way, Flora threw a tantrum, yelling how such treatment is akin to torture, that Gretchen is unbelievably rude despite being a guest in the Rayne house, how Heinrich would never tolerate it if he knew what Flora is forced to endure.

Gretchen was not impressed. She halted such babble with a crisp slap to the younger woman’s beautiful face. 

Flora had never been hit before— not once in her entire life. So many feelings came from this unpleasant experience; humiliation, confusion, pain, self-pity.

Her tears did nothing to move Gretchen’s heart, however. The Countess went on to order the maids to get Flora ready for the day, and those who lagged, aired an expression of disagreement, or took a second to offer the blonde comfort, got a fulfilling taste of the riding crop. 

The servants and Flora looked to Howard or Isabelle to interfere, but between the will of the Fritz Duchy, and the mire that has become of their individual social circles, their hands were tied.

In the atmosphere of misery, Darlin takes peppy steps towards the dining room while humming a rather melancholic melody.

Gretchen Dalton is truly beyond Darlin’s expectations. Who knew that boy’s shitty lineage had anything good to offer? The “good” only being seen from Darlin’s sadistic perspective. 

Each day Darlin awakens from a string of nightmares, her gloom’s time is short as soon as she wonders what new ways Gretchen will raise hell in the Rayne household.

These days, Darlin has even taken to having meals with her family just to have a clear view of the show.

Normally, the sight to greet Darlin would be her parents and half-sister in cheery conversation she is naturally excluded from.

Now? It’s completely different~! Their discomforted mannerisms as they ate through a heavy atmosphere brought a twinkling smile to her face.

“Greetings, father, mother, Countess Dalton. I hope your nights were pleasant.”

Unlike the couple, Gretchen is full of enthusiasm. “As always, you are a pleasure to my eyes! …Unlike a certain someone.”

Next to Darlin, Flora’s sobs louden, though not by much with her bottom lip between her teeth. 

She’s pinned down in a curtsy by three thick books atop her head, and the fear of Gretchen. Flora’s face is pale from the effort, limbs shaking from maintaining the same position since— Darlin assumes— she first entered. 

Noticing the direction of her gaze, Gretchen giggles, “That must bring back so many memories, yes?”

Darlin agrees with a nod. “How kind of you, Countess. The Dame never let me off with any less than six books.”

Flora almost fell over. This? This is considered “kind”?! In a helpless way, she has to agree. Her neck will surely break under six.

With a laugh Gretchen gestures for Darlin to join them for breakfast. “The more vigorous the training, the higher Dame Jules’ expectations, my dear.”

She’s being strangely kind… and watchful. Though Darlin pretends to be unaware, she’s joggling thoughts in a bid to uncover the intent in Gretchen’s amber eyes.   

“Magnificent… Truly magnificent.” Even the act of spreading butter is riddled with such sophistication! “Forgive my staring, I simply cannot get enough of you!”

“You overpraise me, Countess.”

Howard’s auburn eyes glance between his daughters— pity for Flora, irritation for Darlin. 

Unable to stand this discrimination anymore he slams his teacup on the table. “At least you’re aware of that much.” He scolds Darlin, “You’re receiving praise over nothing, don’t you find your behavior—!”

Gretchen’s cane makes a much more intimidating sound. “How dare you besmirch the Dame Jules’ best work!”

Howard gulps and is about to shrink when he remembers; this is not Felicity, so he can afford a retort. “I… I only meant Darlin is not as noteworthy as you think.” He points at the white haired girl, “This child was spoilt by the Dame, she does not know the merit of hard work and endurance like Flora does.”

“Spoilt? Definitely not by the woman I know.” Gretchen fumes, her laugh almost threatening. “My Lord, what do those words mean for I and the Duchess who were also the Dame’s students?”

The lie Howard used to comfort Flora was repeated so many times he’s come to believe them and forgotten what sort of weight the name “Dame Jules” carried back in the day. 

His words then mean Dame Jules either favored Darlin more than she ever did the two noblewomen, or they are just as spoilt and unremarkable as Darlin.

Gretchen scoffs watching Howard pale. Idiot. “Goodness, you two were born with little brains, but a great deal of luck. Or is it…” She peeks at Darlin. Did the gods take their sense in exchange for such a child? It’s the only logical explanation she can find.

Whatever the case, “Lady Darlin is indeed exceptional, and she is the only exceptional to not break under the Dame’s high demands.”

While Howard’s accusing finger withers with the revelation, Gretchen confidently holds out a hand in Darlin’s direction, continuing, “The Dame always knew that after Lady Darlin her standards would become unattainable for any other. Lady Darlin is the peak of Dame Jules’ career as a tutor!”

Howard and Isabelle look at Darlin with newfound awe. “…Is she so amazing…?” The latter voices their thoughts. 

Back then, Flora was upset at all the time Darlin got to spend in the Fritz’s manor, so Isabelle and Howard showered her with even more time and attention. Darlin’s great feat completely went over their heads, or were whittled down to help Flora not feel insecure.

Write an epic, why don’t you? Darlin was not so sure of what Gretchen preached. 

While her etiquette has reached impressive levels, she attributes this to her many chances to refine herself. In all her lives, Dame Jules retired after having her as a student, and, as far as Darlin is concerned, this was the Dame’s intention— exalt herself through Darlin’s capabilities, pocket a favor from Felicity, then totally bow out of the political war to come.

It was Gretchen’s turn to scold, “I cannot believe you are this clueless of such matters concerning your own child. Then again, we all know the Lord and Lady’s dotage belongs solely to little Flora over there.”

“That— That’s not true!” Isabelle’s stomach drops, and Howard wears a most humorous look of inconvenience. 

Through her lowered posture, Flora manages to steal a peek at Darlin. Darlin is… My sister is… “amazing”?

Her parents have never complimented Darlin like that before. Their looks of wonderment fill Flora with the poison of inferiority.

Everyone always told her how bright and lovely she is. She is a joy, someone who is charmingly unlike other noble girls. Flora Rayne is humble, unbound by status, honest, and kinder than anyone else in the world. 

In fact, Flora’s often found herself needing to defend Darlin to Heinrich, their parents, and her friends.

Certainly, Darlin has flaws, but people tend to misunderstand her because she’s unfriendly and strict.

Others have also told Flora how Darlin fails to take their advices. In fact, she’s uttered rude words when they tried to give her an amiable correction, and they daren’t push the matter for fear of Fritz’s Duchess Apparent holding a grudge against them. 

At those times, Flora wondered if it was alright for someone as prideful as her sister to hold a high position like Duchess… If… If it were… someone else, sister wouldn’t be criticized so much. Heinrich, mother, father, and everyone would be happier too… She would think. 

Now, there is “someone else”, and everyone seems worse off for it? Nothing is going how Flora wants.

Perhaps because of the days Gretchen spent criticizing all of Flora’s movements and actions from waking to sleeping hours, Flora’s developed something of an eye for etiquette, finally seeing just a bit of the world through the lens of a noble.

She could now see the effortless flow in Darlin’s mannerisms, feel the unspoken allure like the emotions within an art piece. 

Flora thinks back on Gretchen and Darlin’s earlier exchange and frowns. At such a young age, Darlin was learning like this under the Dame… What was I doing? 

Flora was lovesick, the ache in her heart worsening when Darlin received the betrothal.

Then, Darlin was gone, most of her days spent in the Fritz manor, and under the tutelage of a person Flora did not care to know of.

When Darlin was home, she poured over books, practicing motions, backtracking, then retracing them to correct whatever minuscule error she made. It looked mind numbingly boring to little Flora. 

Flora began to vaguely recall how Darlin was back then.

Howard always said things come easily to Darlin because she’s slightly cleverer than most, because Dame Jules spoilt her, because Felicity favors her, but the Darlin in Flora’s memories looks more bone-weary than any child should at that age. 

A sharp pain in her neck jolts her back to her reality. What’s so great about it? At the end, it’s just posturing— a way of boasting about one’s own status. I’m not that shallow a person! Still, this ache of littleness would not depart from Flora. 

It weighs on her, her thoughts in a tizzy from a combination of emotional turmoil and hunger. Before she can do anything to stop it, her knees give out. 

Each book’s thud was deafeningly loud in the quiet dining room.

Gretchen’s chair lets out a jarring scrape as she pushes out of it. Flora’s whimpers were uncontainable at this point.

Darlin hides her smile behind a napkin, She’s making a face as if it’s the end of the world.

Flora shut her eyes, expecting anything from a slap to the riding crop lashing on her skin. Gretchen has shown herself more than capable of such violence over the past few days.

The Countess stops a pace away and smooths back a strand of her lilac locks with a click of her tongue. She didn’t address Flora, but Cara, who is on standby, “She will have breakfast in the garden. Also, prepare some tea.”

Howard and Isabelle heave a relieved sigh, but Flora is skeptical. This woman is she being nice all of a sudden?

Her suspicion is easily perceived by Gretchen. Flora may have become a tad sharper, but prudence is a long way from being learned.

Gretchen walks past her, assuming Flora will follow. 

That being the last thing she wants to do, Flora turns to her family for help. Her parents are full of weak smiles that irritate her to no ends, and Darlin won’t even look her way. 

When did sister become this way towards me? It seems like ages since Darlin placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, or uttered words of comfort and encouragement.

Heinrich springs to mind, unsought. At the same time, Darlin’s indifferent eyes happen to meet with Flora’s tearful own.

The blonde’s heart leaps into her throat. Before she can wonder why the sudden urgency, she decides not to face it. The ache in Flora’s body is forgotten as she makes her escape.

There is a heavy silence after, and Darlin didn’t care to stay in it. As lovely as it was to see them all helpless under Gretchen’s thumb, His Highness hasn’t replied yet! The napkin in her hand is strangled as consequence for her stress.

Rising, she says, “I will be taking my leave.”

Howard glares at Darlin’s arrogant back with gritted teeth. He could barely believe the extent of her cruelty. 

She just sat there, enjoying Gretchen’s praises without trying to defend Flora, and now that there’s no one preening her feathers, she’s leaving? 

“You wicked thing!”

“Honey?” Isabelle questions, confused.

“Don’t you see?” Howard accuses, “She’s trying to spite Flora!”

Hearing it concerns Flora, Isabelle can’t helping casting Darlin a wary glance.

Darlin pushes an innocent expression through the anger. “I am not sure what you are talking about, father. I—“

“Silence!” Howard barks. Ah, there are no words for how much his heart aches for Flora’s plight. She must be feeling so alone, yet this terrible child is enjoying making Flora feel lesser all because of her jealousy!

“All this time, what have you been doing to help Flora in the slightest?”

Darlin shot back before she could stop herself, “No more than you are able to do.” …Dammit.

“Darlin!” Isabelle shoots out of her seat with her hands planted on the table.

Darlin wanted to kick herself. Before she can attempt to amend her words, Howard’s shocked face twists into fury. He snatches what’s closest to him, a teapot, and hurls it at her.

The shock of it all took the time Darlin would have needed to avoid it. All she could do was shut her eyes and await the shatter of ceramic against her skin, and tea scalding the cuts the pot would leave. 

…Except it never came.

Slowly peeking an eye open, Darlin takes in the back of a maid’s uniform. 

The maid caught the pot at the cost of it spilling over on her hands. She drops it and curls over with a small scream. 

“Dear gods!” Cara and Isabelle rush for the maid at the same time.

The other servants do as well, and the only ones who keep their place are Howard and Darlin.

The former is in shock over what he just did. Even Howard has to admit flinging the teapot was more than overzealous— regardless of how impetuous Darlin was being. 

Howard roughly scratches at his head, wondering how to keep word of his actions from making it to the public. It will do Flora no good at this point in time.

The latter? She is in disbelief, to put it mildly. 

When has anyone in this house ever moved to help her? Not Isabelle, her mother, or Cara and Marin, who she’s known since she was born.

Red pupils sharpen on the maid. Curious. She sidesteps to take a cup of water from the table and dump the ice into a napkin.

“Use this,” Darlin hands it to Cara, who nods gratefully and presses it to the sniffling maid’s reddened hands. 

Darlin kneels by her mother, but still can’t get a good look at the maid, who is still hunched over, her profile curtained by peach locks.

“I will take care of her, so make sure what happened does not get out of this room.” Darlin whispers to Isabelle.

The older woman nods and Darlin sidles between Cara and the maid. “You poor thing! You need treatment before if you want to avoid a scar.” And Darlin needs to get away from her man-child of a father.

In the hall, Darlin involuntarily lets out a shuddered breath. For all Howard’s shortcomings, he was yet to leave Darlin long lasting bodily harm. In this alone, he was less guilty than Isabelle. Until now… Darlin thought bitterly. I’d better stay out of his way till I can leave this shithole for good.

As soon as he hears the doorknob click, Doctor Niall shoves the canister of booze into his desk drawer and poses as casually as possible.

There’s no point when the air stinks with cheap alcohol, but Darlin chooses to ignore it. “Hot tea spilled on her hand.” She said as she directs the maid to sit.

“Oh dear. Come, come, let’s have a look.” The Doctor kneels in front of the maid and offers his hand. “Pardon me, Miss.”

Darlin was barely a minute into wondering how to keep the maid from pursuing legal action when a groan and thud pull her attention towards Niall.

The doctor is strewn at the feet of the maid who suddenly has a very imposing presence. The previously sniffling young girl almost seems like a figment of Darlin’s imagination. 

“Ha… I knew it was odd I could not recognize you.” Well, there are a number of servants she doesn’t recognize, but after five lifetimes, a majority gained a fogged presence somewhere in her mind.

Darlin wasn’t half as calm as she pretended to be. “Well, you have me alone, so what do you want?” She could only keep the maid talking as should the interloper choose to attack, all the white haired girl will be able to do is scream. Probably not for long either, seeing how quickly the maid disposed Niall. 

Shockingly, the maid pinches her skirt, bows her torso, and lowers her caramel colored eyes. “Forgive me for the suddenness, Milady. I am Collette. I hope you will believe I mean you no harm.”

Darlin arches a brow. “Charmed. Pray tell, what are you doing posing as a servant of this house?”

“I was sent to deliver a message, Milady, and also to ensure your safety

Darlin did not speak for a bit, yet Collette did not break her curtsy, nor show an expression of uncomfortableness. 

Darlin doubts her endurance is out of genuine respect— this is their first interaction, after all. Therefore, she surmises, Colette is trying to make her feel safe.

There could easily be nefarious reasons behind her efforts, but she did help Darlin earlier. I suppose she’s earned the benefit of the doubt. “You may stand.”

Collette does as she flashes a grateful smile. 

“Whose orders are you under?”

Collette reaches behind her apron and Darlin stiffens, but what comes out is no weapon, but a sealed envelope.

She takes one careful step forward, only taking another when Darlin’s frown eases some. With the distant closed between them, she takes a knee and holds up the letter.

Darlin’s breath catches, heart hammering against her rib cage. 

The envelope is stamped with the insignia of a dragon grasping lightening bolts in one clawed hand, the sun ensnared in its tail. 

“T-This is…”

With a hand over her heart, Collette solemnly vow, “By the command of the rising sun, His Royal Highness Prince Ludovik Von Taivaria, I, Collette, will serve and protect your Ladyship even at the cost of my life.”