1695, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City
Ring around the roses,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes, ashes,
We all fall down.
Deep, thoughtful blue eyes gazed up at the portrait hung on the wall, though he did not see the face of his mother and father. Instead, all he saw was a black veil.
When the plague first struck the southern city of Beaummiers, he was quickly shipped off to Kestramore City to stay with his cousins, while his father and mother remained behind to help curb the plague. A massive wall was erected overnight surrounding the city, keeping the citizens in and the outsiders away.
Prince Anatole's plan was a success, and the plague never made its way out of the confines of the city.
Well, the historians from the neighbouring cities were the ones who viewed it as a success, partly because no one ever claimed otherwise. Which is largely due to the fact that over two-thirds of the citizens of Beaummiers died during the plague.
None of the historians had seen such a plague before, one that caused the victim to profusely bleed from every orifice on their body and every pore on their skin, one that made the victims cry blood. It vanished as quickly as it came, and it took the Prince and Princess Consort along with it.
"What will happen now ?" his cousin, Princess Demitria asked softly as she stood behind him, tearfully watching his sunken figure. "Will you stay with us here forever, Niko?"
Nicholas let out a sigh and slowly turned around.
"No," he whispered in return. "The queen-- your mother, has decided my fate. I will be sent to Devereaux to become a soldier."
Demitria gasped in shock. "Devereaux ? Isn't it terribly cold there ? And you hate the cold, Niko!"
Nicholas did hate the cold. And the queen knew that.
His father, the late Prince Anatole had been King Guillaume's fraternal twin brother. While his brother was a robust and charismatic man, Anatole himself was quiet and reclusive, preferring to wear long, loose clothing to hide his limp arm.
Guillaume had spent his youth travelling the continent with his best friends, Elliott de Fontaine and Maximillian Van Den Berg, the Crown Prince of Amaris, while Anatole obediently married Morgana Antonia of House Breckenridge as his mother had wanted him to.
As a result, Anatole had already produced a legitimate heir while Guillaume clearly had not. This ired Queen Isabel, back then Crown Princess Consort.
Her firstborn had been a girl, and as the days passed, she became more and more resentful towards the innocent little boy, wishing that he would fall down and break his neck, so that he could never reach for her throne.
And now, even after she had gotten a son, her resentment still had not faded.
"I am the Grand Duke of Devereaux," Nicholas said to his cousin. "It is my duty to protect it, especially now that the Amarisians are attacking the border. I will train to become the greatest soldier you've ever seen, and I will defend my homeland from those invaders."
The very next morning, he was placed in a carriage and brought over to Devereaux, where he would remain. It will be a very, very long time until he comes home.
1711, The City of Lynchens, Dexereaux, Northern Ravaeryn
"Just look at him, Athenia! Isn't he the most beautiful creature you've ever seen ?" the ditzy young serving girl squealed as the soldiers walked into the tavern, with the Duke of Devereaux standing at the very front.
Athenia let out a sigh as she listened to the girl's whimsical fantasies and endless whines.
"He looks so lonely, doesn't he Athenia? All he needs is someone to love! Oh, just imagine him falling in love with you! It would be the most romantic thing that has ever happened!" Una giggled as she poured cheap malt beer into wooden mugs, ready to be served up.
"That won't happen," Athenia hissed discreetly. "That man cuts his enemies in half without blinking an eye, and cracks their heads open like you would crack a walnut. He has no heart. Even if he does, it is frozen solid like a rock."
Una's eyes lit up, and she gave Athenia a bright smile. "Well, I just so happen to adore such men."
Athenia could only shake her head as Una strutted off, a tray of beer in hand.
"Come on, drink up Nicholas !" Baron Robert Fiennes said as he wiped away the traces of beer foam at the corners of his lips and roughly slammed the mug onto the table. "The Amarisians aren't coming for us yet, so let us indulge ourselves first, lest we die tomorrow!"
"You would rather get drunk and die than to actually figure out a way to fight the Amarisians ?" Nicholas replied cynically.
Robert cleared his throat and reached for a second mug. "No, no. I won't die," he slurred. "I'm too strong to die. The Amarisians can smash my head with those bronze shields of theirs and I still won't die. But I know that I'm not very bright, even my mother said so.."
He raised his fist and tapped his head with his two knuckles. "Hear that?" he chuckled. "Empty! I wonder if this will someday cost me my life!"
Nicholas's lips curved into a sardonic grin, and he reached for his mug and downed its contents.
"You mustn't be afraid," he began. "You lacking a brain has proved your undoubted desire for life, as humans cannot survive without a brain. You will survive, so do not worry at all."
Although his words were harsh, deep down Nicholas did care about this silly subordinate of his. Afterall, the Fiennes of Lynchens were the first to offer friendship to him when everyone else ostracized him.
The young duke was unused to the cold climate of Devereaux, and he caught a terrible flu mere hours after arriving there.
It was Robert's late mother, the then-Baroness of Lynchens who invited him into their home and force fed him a heaping bowl of steaming hot rabbit stew while nursing him back to health.
He would be lying if he said that he did not care about the Fiennes.
"My sister will be hosting a feast this Friday. It is the third anniversary of Mother's death, afterall. It is too bad that we can't attend this year," Robert suddenly said.
"We can hold a feast at the barracks to celebrate her life. I am sure that the soldiers must be itching for some decent food," Nicholas suggested.
Robert chuckled and turned around to face his friend. "And with what funds ? We get just enough to feed the soldiers, and now you want to hold a feast !"
"I will pay for it," Nicholas asseverated. "This is the least I could do for a woman who welcomed me with open arms when everyone else didn't. "
He lowered his gaze towards the mug of beer, and his deep blue eyes danced around as he watched the foam swirling on top of the golden liquid.
"I see why she favoured you," Robert murmured, choking back a sob. "You aren't the type of person to forget another's goodwill."
Nicholas smirked as he took another sip from the mug. "My mother passed long ago, so I grew to regard the Baroness as my own mother."
"Your Grace!" one of the soldiers cried out as he wriggled closer towards the Duke and the Baron. "Why do you never talk about your family ? Especially about the princess, I would love to get to know her."
The young general frowned, and his previous warmth completely vanished, leaving behind a dangerously cold husk.
"Are you dumb ?" Robert hissed at the soldier and roughly shoved him away, out of Nicholas's view. "You can't simply ask questions like that!"
In the entire world, it was Robert who understood Nicholas the most, and he knew that talking about the royal family pained his dear friend.
"He's just stupid," Robert chuckled as he turned back towards Nicholas. "Ignore people like him. They are not worthy of your time."
The general looked away, brushing off both Robert and that drunken soldier. He was barely angry at all. Instead, all he felt was a sense of melancholia.
Nicholas understood perfectly why the soldier was so keen to know, but he had no intention to relieve his itching curiosity.
He was the King's nephew, the Crown Prince's cousin. Any man of his standing and position would be indulging himself in the King's glittering court, but here he is, sitting in a dingy tavern surrounded by his subordinates.
People wondered, people whispered behind his back, "Why had he chosen to live this way?"
"Did the royal family throw him out, and exiled him to the north?"
And Nicholas would only chuckle. In a sense, he indeed was thrown out, but he was the one who cut of relations with the royal family first, long before they even thought about doing so.
Now, he sees himself as a single raft floating amidst the black sea, its murky depths swirling menacingly, threatening to swallow him in a single gulp.
There is no land in sight, no comfort, no shelter. It is as if he is all alone in this world. There is no room for love in his heart, only the desire to survive, to live.
And he had no intention to change that.