The sun hung high in the brilliant sky above the grand Kingdom of Soura, its golden rays flooding through the tall, arched windows of Prince Edess’s personal chambers. The room was a study in excess. Heavy tapestries depicting the kingdom’s conquests draped on the stone walls, their deep blues and golds catching the light. Intricately carved furniture, polished to a gleaming sheen, filled the space. The prince refused to allow a piece of furniture as gaudy as a desk into his chambers; instead, he conducted business next to the windows overlooking the courtyards, sitting on a luxurious sofa with a tea table and chair across from him.
But for all its grandeur, the room felt suffocating with the sharp edge of unspoken tension.
On the sofa near the window, the prince sat slouched in his position, his broad shoulders hunched and his jaw set tight. His fingers drummed against the armrest, his dark brown eyes fixed on the courtyard below with a scowl that could sour milk. The warm breeze drifting through one of the smaller, open windows did little to temper the storm brewing inside him. His Alpha pheromones filled the room; a commanding, restless energy that clung to the air like an invisible fog.
Celestio, his lifelong advisor, didn’t seem to notice the pheromones that threatened to suffocate him. He moved to the tea table, his long strides carrying him to the pile of letters that awaited the prince’s attention. His fingers brushed lightly over the ornate wax seals, pausing on one that bore the familiar crest of Ambassador Varrus. He picked it up carefully, inspecting the stamp with a faint trace of amusement in his eyes.
“This one arrived earlier this morning from an exhausted courier,” Celestio said. “Penned by Ambassador Varrus himself.”
Edess straightened on his sofa, his scowl deepening. “I’m sure it’s filled with the usual drivel.”
“Perhaps,” Celestio replied, his tone neutral as he broke the seal.
He unfolded the paper with practiced ease, his eyes scanning the text with the precision of a man who had spent his life performing secretarial duties for the royal family. The script was elegant and the words deceptively polite. Celestio began to read aloud, his voice calm and measured.
“‘To His Royal Highness, the beloved prince of our esteemed kingdom,’” Celestio began, his tone devoid of any inflection that might betray his own thoughts. “‘It is with great admiration that I acknowledge your efforts in maintaining the affairs of the realm during our sovereign, King Conrad’s, noble crusade.’”
Prince Edess leaned forward. “Admiration,” he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Celestio ignored him. “‘Your resourcefulness in managing the kingdom’s modest yields and ensuring stability during these trying times is commendable.’”
Edess’s hand slammed down onto the armrest. “Modest yields?” he scoffed. “Is that what he calls it? I’ve improved trade tenfold since my father left!”
Celestio glanced up briefly. “Shall I continue?”
“Please do,” Edess growled, though his tone suggested he didn’t want to hear the rest.
Celestio returned to the letter. “‘In these uncertain times, it is the ingenuity and dedication of great leaders that inspire confidence in the strength of our kingdom, and you are no exception to this glorious lineage. May your efforts continue to bear fruit, however humble, in the days to come.’”
He lowered the letter, folding it neatly before placing it on the table. Then he looked back at Edess, who hopped to his feet and paced around his chambers. His movements were sharp, his pheromones thickening the air with agitation.
“‘However humble,’” Edess repeated, his voice a low growl. “He all but called me an incompetent child! Does he think I don’t see through his flowery words? The audacity….”
Prince Edess’s sharp words hung in the air, but the figure standing a few paces away remained unmoved. Sir Celestio, officially his Royal Secretary – unofficially, his lifelong carer and friend – stood with his customary poise. He was the perfect picture of calm, his carefully composed demeanor a stark contrast to the prince’s agitation. His dark hair caught the sunlight streaming in from the window, giving him an almost ethereal presence amid the Alpha prince’s agitation.
“Ambassador Varrus is a seasoned politician,” Celestio said, his voice soothing and measured, its calming quality cutting through the prince’s ire. “He knows precisely how far he can push without overstepping. His words are calculated, not careless.”
Edess folded his arms, his scowl deepening as he turned toward Celestio. His tone took on an almost petulant edge. “Calculated? To what; undermine me?”
Celestio tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting his prince’s with quiet assurance. “A test, but not of your authority, Your Highness – of your patience.” His words were delivered evenly, but there was a subtle undercurrent of warning in his tone – one that only Celestio could use without fear of immediate and swift retribution.
“Patience,” Edess repeated bitterly.
He paced in front of the fireplace, his strides long and purposeful, the long tails of his velvet tunic brushing against the floor. The Omega remained the anchor in the room, unshaken and steady.
“There is no weakness in restraint,” Celestio replied, his gaze following the prince as he moved. “But there is one in rashness. Had you reacted to him in the council chamber when he last came here to the capital, you would have given him exactly what he wanted – proof that the young son of King Conrad lacks the composure to lead.”
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Edess stopped abruptly, spinning to face Celestio. “And what do you think I should do instead?” he demanded. “Bow my head and let him mock me?”
“Not bow,” Celestio firmly corrected him. “But you can’t bare your teeth at every slight. You are the current ruler of this kingdom, and our future king. Every action you take and every word you speak must reflect that.”
Prince Edess opened his mouth to argue but stopped short. He turned and sat on the edge of his bed, still scowling with his arms folded, but his rage seemed to dissipate a little. “So what am I supposed to do, then?” he grumbled. “Smile and thank him for his veiled insults?”
“Not at all,” Celestio said, allowing a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. “But neither should you react in anger. Instead, you must show Varrus that you are neither a child nor a fool. Respond with the same civility he has shown while subtly asserting your authority. Don’t behave like a child having a tantrum for the world to see.”
Edess’s frown deepened as he considered his beloved advisor’s words.
The silence between them was broken only by the faint rustling of leaves in the courtyard below as a gust of wind blew around the castle. Edess stared at Celestio, his expression caught somewhere between defiance and reluctant understanding. He wanted to hate Celestio for defying him, but he couldn’t bear even the thought of hurting his closest and only friend.
Edess’s lips parted as if he were about to argue, but the words died in his throat. He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his brown hair. “You make it sound so simple,” he muttered.
“Nothing about ruling is simple,” Celestio replied. “That is why I am here – to ensure you do not have to face these challenges alone. You know that I will stop at nothing to help you grow into a man who is worthy to rule our kingdom.”
Edess looked at up at him, his expression softening despite himself. There was something about Celestio’s presence that always had this effect on him. The older man was the one person in the world he could trust implicitly, even in spite of his status as an Omega.
“Perhaps,” Celestio offered. “You should take after your father in a matter such as this.”
“How so?”
“You cannot reply personally to each letter yourself, but you still need to respond.”
“But you have told me to give my personal attention to all matters that cross my desk, no matter what,” Edess replied, his eyes widening as his frustration returned.
“I did,” Celestio replied. “But every individual word does not necessarily have to come from your own hand. Allow the Minister of the Correspondence Office to write your reply. His expertise lies in translating intent into the language of diplomacy. It might serve you better to allow him to craft the letter based on the intentions that you express to me.”
The prince’s brow furrowed, his pride clearly bristling at the suggestion. “You mean to have someone else speak for me?”
“Not at all. Diplomacy is an art and Varrus is a master of it. He has spent decades perfecting the skills of subtlety, to the extent that his writing rivals the king’s. An inexperienced response from you would risk playing directly into his hands.”
Edess’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Celestio worried that he would fold his arms again in defiance. “And what, then, would this minister say on my behalf?”
Celestio gave his prince a reassuring smile. “Something polite yet noncommittal. A carefully worded acknowledgment of his letter, thanking him for his observations while reminding him of the kingdom’s successes under your stewardship. A polite response that is direct enough to leave him with nothing to twist or exploit.”
Edess leaned back on his bed, his expression softening into something closer to contemplation, and he ran a hand through his hair again. “And you believe this will satisfy him?”
“Satisfaction is not the goal, Your Highness. The goal is to leave him uncertain as to whether his words have had any effect at all. That uncertainty will do far more to unsettle him than any direct response.”
For a long moment, the prince said nothing. He stared at the air before him, his fingers drumming lightly against the bed frame. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.
“Fine,” he said. “Pick the minister in the Correspondence Offcie most suitable for the role. And make sure they know exactly what I want to say – no unnecessary flourishes or embellishments.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Celestio said with a small bow. “I will see to it personally.”
Edess waved a hand dismissively, returning to his sofa and reaching for his teapot. “Good. Now, can we move on to something else? I’ve had enough of Varrus for one day.”
Celestio’s mind was already turning toward the next matter of importance. “Not quite yet,” Celestio said, his tone brightening. “There is also the matter of your birthday celebration. It is fast approaching and the preparations are well underway in the banquet hall. Ambassador Varrus will, of course, be in attendance, along with many other prominent figures from the court.”
The prince sat up straighter, his expression darkening once more. “And you think I should use the celebration to placate him personally?”
“Not placate,” Celestio corrected. “The celebration will be the perfect opportunity to showcase the kingdom’s prosperity under your rule. The bountiful harvests, the thriving trade – undeniable evidence of your success as our ruler. Varrus’s criticisms will be rendered meaningless in the face of overwhelming proof, and he would look foolish if he voiced any concerns to his fellow nobles.”
Edess frowned, his pride still wounded but his interest clearly piqued. “You think that will be enough to silence him?”
“I believe it will force him to reconsider his approach,” Celestio said. “He won’t be able to breathe any word against you when you have publicly demonstrated his words are false. And it will remind the court that you are not merely a steward in your father’s absence, but a leader in your own right.”
Prince Edess was quiet for a moment, turning his head to gaze out the window. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained reluctant.
“Very well,” he said. “But the celebration had better be flawless. I won’t have Varrus or anyone else finding a single reason to disrespect me.”
“I will continue to oversee the preparations personally,” Celestio assured him.
“Fine,” Edess said at last, his voice quieter now. “I will let Varrus have his little game. For now. But if he tries to cross me again, –”
“We will handle him,” Celestio interrupted, his confidence in his prince unwavering.
Edess sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if you enjoy making me still feel like a child, Celes.”
Celestio’s lips twitched at the familiar nickname, though he quickly recovered.
“It is not my intention, Your Highness. You know as well as I do that my only aim in life is to ensure your success. Now, shall we review the trade agreements with the Eastern Isles?” Celestio asked, already reaching for a letter that bore a green seal.
Prince Edess groaned, rubbing his temples. “Must we?”
“Unless you wish to give Ambassador Varrus another reason to question your leadership.”
Edess glared at him. “You –”
“You are late on your correspondence,” Celestio cut him off, opening the letter and holding it out in front of him. “Shall we?”
Edess leaned forward with a resigned sigh, and the two of them fell into the familiar rhythm of their work. They read through the letters, Celestio taking notes in his ledger for what the prince’s responses should contain. Outside, the sun continued its slow arc across the sky, casting long shadows over the castle walls. Inside, the tension lingered, unspoken but palpable – a reminder of the delicate balance they both worked so hard to maintain.
