Ashton stayed locked away in his studio for most of the day, absorbed in his latest piece. Misty came along around noon to keep him company and hadn't left since. The grown feline now lounged on the windowsill, fast asleep in yet another nap.
Unfortunately for her, the knocks that came at the door interrupted her.
Ashton cocked his head, looking over his painting of his mother's shop. He'd always loved the way it stood in its corner space near the entrance of the town. It had to be one of the most beautiful buildings in town. A true sight to see thanks to its white sign and pink curly painted words (courtesy of his six-year-old self) that told everyone the place belonged to Malina Ward, its tiny balcony littered with potted plants, and dark green shutters.
Perhaps he was slightly biased, though.
"Come in," he called over his shoulder.
His mother entered, her usual soft smile forming on her youthful face. Her hands were behind her back, too.
He shifted uncomfortably on his stool and turned his focus on the canvas again. Earlier, when he had stepped out to join them downstairs for lunch, his mother opted against bringing up the situation. He knew his sisters told her. It'd been so dreadfully awkward that he almost wished she would say something about it to break the tension.
"Why do you want your father's old formal clothes?" she asked, no sign of any negative emotions. Somehow, that made him feel worse about everything. "We could always get your own set."
"I thought... well, I suppose I thought it would be easier this way," he murmured. He heard her footsteps approaching, and he stiffened, bracing himself.
"I am glad, Ashton, because I think you will look ravishing in his clothes. Just as he did."
Finally, Ashton looked at her, and she pulled forward the folded set from behind her. A dark blue velvet doublet with silver buttons, black undershirt, and black slacks.
All these years, he'd either worn causal clothing or the standard trainee uniform. He almost feared ruining these clothes.
He glanced down at his hands and chuckled. "I'd take them from you, but..." His fingers were coated in pinks and greens.
His mother grinned and nodded. "I hope they fit well. I made just a few adjustments, since you are nearly his height and weight now."
"Thank you, Mother."
"But before you take them back with you, be honest with me: why do you want these?" she raised an eyebrow, yet her features showed no trace of malice. "It has nothing to do with the royal ball tonight, does it?"
Ashton shook his head. "Trainees are not invited. I, I merely wanted these in case I ever needed them."
Curiously, his mother beamed at this. "Has my little boy found someone special? Someone to impress?"
Ashton sighed, ducking his head and mentally scolding himself when he felt his cheeks burn. "It is nothing like that either, Mother."
"Oh, not yet, anyway." She walked to the nearest table that was clear of any paints and set the clothes down. She remained perfectly still for a moment, and he stared at her, wondering if she wanted to say more. He couldn't shake his anxiety. What if she asked him to stay?
If she did, he wouldn't say no.
"I love you, Ashton," she said instead. "Come join us downstairs for supper." She turned away, and he frowned.
"Mother, actually, I have to get going," he shamefully admitted. "I've stayed longer than I was supposed to. My, um, my friends are waiting."
"Ah, yes... yes, of course."
"I'm sorry, Mother—"
"Oh, it's fine, Ashton." she waved him off, smiling at him over her shoulder. "You are growing up, and I simply have to accept that." She started to walk off again, then stalled for another beat. "Oh, and if you see your father, tell him that I hope he is doing well and that I miss him."
Ashton nodded, the tightness in his chest making it difficult to breathe without a hitch. Fortunately, she didn't notice.
"I-I will," he quietly told her.
With that, she called Misty. The cat slowly rose and stretched before leaping off the windowsill and exiting the room with her. Ashton threw his head back, sending a silent apology to the Great Holy Deity for breaking his mother's heart.
He cleaned up the studio, washed his brushes, and put everything away. After ensuring his hands were also spotless, he snatched the clothes off the table and left. On his way to the stairs, he caught sight of something inside Ailith's bedroom. He paused midway and peered inside, just barely making out the portrait he'd painted for her a few years ago hanging above her bed.
And he smiled to himself.
---
"Wearing my own father's clothes to a royal ball that he will be attending," Ashton muttered as he finished buttoning the doublet. He shook his head. "Yes, this is wise."
"Quit your whining," Joseph called from the other side of the door. "I can hear it all the way over here. Are you ready yet?"
Ashton ruffled his black hair, curly from still being damp. He walked past the dresser, catching the sight of his journal. He inhaled sharply, pushing back the lingering guilt, and opened the door. Joseph leaned against the wall and immediately pulled away when Ashton stepped out.
Joseph looked him over and smirked. "That raggedy uniform doesn't do you any justice."
Ashton closed the door, ignoring the statement and asking, "Are you sure Richard couldn't join us?"
"No. He's too busy giving that dog all his attention. He mentioned something about how this is his second chance to bond with it more."
"It's a he, Joseph—and his name is Dasher."
"Does it really matter?"
"Have you never been fond of a furry companion? They can be quite nice to have around. I have a cat at home." Every day, he wished he could've brought Misty here with him. But she was better off in a home where she would get all the attention she deserved.
"They're fine," Joseph responded, shrugging a shoulder. "I can't stand cats, though. They make me itchy and sneeze."
Ashton nodded, deciding to let the conversation drop there.
"So, you haven't mentioned exactly how we're getting inside," he mentioned as they descended the stairs.
"Easily, my friend. We're sneaking in."
"Yes, I'm aware. But how?"
"The castle isn't as secure as you would assume—especially that ballroom. One of the windows behind the thrones has a broken lock. We just have to..." he trailed off as they reached the bottom floor. It was quiet since most soldiers had left for the night, but they still avoided making eye-contact with a few who had stayed behind.
Outside, Joseph continued with the plan. Sneaking in through a seemingly open window. Simple enough. Their only issue seemed to be the guards posted near the thrones. One of them would be his own father, of course. He would be right by Queen Anne's side.
"Fortunately for you, I pondered that little predicament," Joseph assured him, tapping the side of his head with his finger.
Ashton couldn't help but smile. "And what did your pondering conclude?"
"I have a man on the inside who will distract your father as soon as he gets the signal."
"What's the signal?"
"He'll be standing near the window. At the sound of a howl, he'll move into action."
Ashton chuckled. "At the sound of a howl? You're going to howl? That will certainly not be suspicious."
"No—" Joseph halted suddenly and turned toward Ashton. He poked Ashton's chest. "You're going to howl, my friend. I've heard the way you snore at night, so you'll be far more convincing than me." Ashton narrowed his eyes at him, and Joseph burst into laughter.
He shoved Ashton and said, "I'm just jesting. No, he'll be keeping an eye out for us and then move into action."
"That sounds more like it."
The ballroom was located on the lower East Wing, through a corridor next to the kitchen. However, its row of tall windows could be seen near the stables. The lights from inside were beaming out from them. They ran past them, ducking a few times despite being confident that nobody would even bother glancing outside. No, they had to be distracted by each other and their sorry attempts of making themselves look better than whoever they were speaking to.
They rounded the corner, and Ashton caught a glimpse of the thrones through the glass. The King and Queen were seated, admiring their crowd. Ashton idly wondered where their daughter was. He worried she, of all people, would spot them and expose them. Considering the things people said about her, he wouldn't be surprised if she did exactly that.
Because of his pondering, he hadn't noticed how far ahead Joseph had gotten until he heard him harshly whispering, "Over here."
Ashton hurried up to him, keeping himself crouched. He nodded at Joseph.
"My insider noticed us," Joseph told him. "Now we just wait for the distraction."
"I have a bad feeling about this."
"You always do. Can't you trust me for once?"
Ashton frowned and hung his head. Then he flinched upon hearing his father's stern voice. He whipped his head in its direction, finding his father following a young man to the other side of the room. He glanced upward, hoping Her Majesty wasn't upset that his father had left his post.
"One less guard out of the way, it should be a breeze getting past the royals," Joseph whispered. He stood upright and placed his palm against the spotless glass. Gently, he pushed open the window, letting his hand slide off.
Ashton eyed the foggy print left behind as Joseph climbed inside. He followed suit.
The space between the window and the back of the platform was cramped. Ashton hugged the wall, suffocated. Joseph closed the window and started scooting his way out of the tiny opening. Ashton considered going with him until he realized he could simply go out the other way. He would end up by Queen Anne's side, but it would be safer... right? His father wasn't there. Joseph would still have to sneak by the guard on King Reginald's left.
Ashton had one step left. He stalled, taking a few deep breaths and assuring himself no one would see him—especially not his father. A third breath and he slid out. Her Majesty above him laughed at something, and he covered his mouth, shielding his gasp. He didn't dare look up at her. Instead, he took long strides over to the nearest table, going behind the larger groups of people huddled together. Various desserts on silver platters were spread across the table. Aromas of mint, chocolate, and lemon assaulted his nostrils. If it weren't for his twisted stomach, he would've been tempted.
A bulky figure caught his eye. He turned his head and gasped aloud this time. His father was returning. Amid his panic, Ashton picked up one of the platters, hiding his face behind it. For added measure, he turned his body, allowing his back to face the man instead.
"Are you trying to keep all of those to yourself?" a feminine voice questioned.
Ashton gulped and peered over his shoulder. His lips parted, and his throat went dry as he locked eyes with a lovely women, no older than him. Her big blue eyes mesmerized him, jumbling his thoughts and ability to speak.
She raised an eyebrow. "Those lemon bars are Princess Beatrice's favorite, and I came here to get her a few. Are you going to deny Her Highness what she wants?"
"Princess Beatrice..." Ashton scanned the crowd for Her Highness, but he couldn't spot her anywhere. "U-Uh... n-no. Of, of course not." He turned back around and lowered the platter.
The young woman plucked three of the lemon bars. Then she smiled warmly at him. "You are not a servant. Who are you, really?"
Ashton set the plate back down on the table. He cleared his throat, briefly facing her. "I apologize, but I must get going. I must meet someone."
"Oh." she frowned.
Ashton's attention darted over to where he saw Joseph slipping onto the dance floor, a woman holding his arm as she followed closely behind. Ashton clenched his jaw. It appeared he was on his own now. He mustered a strained smile for the beautiful stranger in front of him, then excused himself.
He wandered along the edges of the room, keeping his head bowed. The atmosphere felt dreadfully dull. Why did everyone enjoy these balls so much? He recalled once coming to a ball when he was about five-years-old. The Queen decided to throw one to meet the families of the soldiers closest to her. And so, Ashton, his parents, and Amity arrived while baby Anice stayed at home with Ellen. Amity was almost too young to take with them as well, but she was so well-behaved and looked too adorable in her pink frilly dress.
Funny enough, they hadn't even gotten the chance to speak with the royals that night. It didn't matter. Ashton hadn't wanted to meet them, anyway. He'd been more enthralled with the mural of the past queens above them, each drawn in such poised positions and glowing like some heavenly creatures. There were large gaps in-between some of them, leaving room for the queens to come. One day, Queen Anne would be there, along with Princess Beatrice. It fascinated him to wonder how they would be portrayed.
And for the rest of that night, Ashton had assisted his parents once Amity became too sleepy and grumpy. They sat together in the corner, and Amity eventually curled into his lap and closed her eyes. Ashton hadn't minded this too much. What else would he had done, anyway? Dance? Not a chance.
Now that he was much older and at a ball once again, he still couldn't find the appeal of any of it. The music sounded like a quiet hum echoing throughout, making his eyelids grow heavy when he began to listen.
Ashton focused up on the mural instead. It was as breathtaking as he recalled, so at least there was that. He paused near the entrance of the ballroom and turned away before one of the guards could look at him. Except he then walked right into a stiff body, causing him to jump back and raise his head. And his heart dropped as he stared right into his father's cold eyes.
His father had shaved, and his hair had been neatly tied back—not a strand out of place. He appeared younger, almost. His attire looked like an enhanced version of his usual garb of dark breeches, burgundy tunic over chainmail, and leather armor. Ashton considered complimenting him, but that would hardly lighten the dreary mood between them.
His father squinted at him and finally broke his silence. "What are you doing here, son?"
Ashton glanced around, finding Joseph with that same woman again. Joseph stared at him, though, and his face blanched. He mouthed, "I'm sorry" to Ashton.
His father grumbled under his breath, and Ashton drew his gaze back to him.
"Do not tell me this was the idea of Whitman?" he asked.
"It... it was," Ashton answered, solemnly, "but I... I had a choice, and I chose to come here with him."
His father sucked in a sharp intake of air, and he let it out slowly as if mentally bracing himself for what he needed to say next. "Does your mother know about this?"
"No, sir."
"So, what did you tell her?"
"Nothing. But I told my sisters that I was staying here for the weekend to train more. I am fairly certain they informed her of that."
"Therefore, you lied so that you could sneak into a royal ball and... do what, exactly? What was your purpose in coming here tonight, Ashton?"
Ashton inwardly groaned. He took a step back and threw up his hands. "I-I do not know, Father."
"You do not know?"
"No."
"Then why would you agree to go along with this?"
"I do not know."
His father shook his head, his lips pursing for a moment. "I am very disappointed in you, Ashton. Do you realize how upset your mother must be? And how upset she will be once she finds out about this?"
Ashton gawked at him. "Oh, you're not going to tell her, are you?"
"No. You are."
"Father—"
"What is the matter, son? There is no shame in being honest and owning up to your mistakes."
"I-I didn't think you would get upset about this." Ashton gestured to their surroundings. "I'm here, aren't I? Here—exactly where you wanted me to be when I just wanted to stay home and paint."
His father leaned in closer, his complexion taking on a shade of red. And that vein in his forehead became more prominent. He said, quietly through gritted teeth, "But that is why you have the weekends for yourself, Ashton—to go back home. I wanted you here to train to be a good and honest knight, not to neglect your family."
A chuckle suddenly came out of Ashton, stunning his father silent. Part of him wasn't sure what truly came over him when he asked, "Such as how you did not neglect us?"
His father hissed Ashton's name under his breath, nervously ensuring no one was listening in. No one else cared about this, though. They all had their own topics to discuss about themselves.
And after he figured all was clear, he whispered, "I am there as much as I can be."
Ashton glowered. "You promised me you would be there more, but that hasn't changed anything in the past four years. When I was younger, you sometimes went months without seeing us. And, sometimes, I'd forget how you even looked."
His father blinked, his rough features softening. "Ashton, it wasn't easy, and it still isn't easy to leave Queen Anne's side. One day, you will understand that."
"You keep telling me that, Father, but that is not true."
"What do you mean?"
"I have yet to decide whether I am truly going to do your job—"
"It is tradition." His father nearly shouted, catching the interest of a few.
Ashton swallowed hard, ignoring the others. "Well, then, if I do this, that means I will not have a family of my own. I refuse to be the absent father that you are." He started moving past him.
"Ashton, where are you going?" his father demanded.
Ashton lingered by the wide stairs covered by a burgundy rug. He forced himself to meet his father's eyes one more time. "I... I am going out to practice... just as I said I was going to. If I am going to dedicate my entire life to this, I should train harder and get better at it, shouldn't I?"
His father, unsurprisingly, said nothing in return. Ashton stared at him a moment longer. He knew he physically resembled his father more than his mother, but that was as far as their similarities would ever go, and he understood that now. Too well.
Ashton headed up the stairs and waited for the guards to open the doors for him. He left the ballroom, unbuttoning the doublet and tousling his hair. Then he halted at the end of the hallway and looked back. He should have stayed home... again.