Epilogue – Ephraim
Epilogue – Ephraim
Prince Ephraim Echtarch smiled as he turned the last page and closed the book, running his hands over the luxurious leather binding and turning it to the front, his fingers running over the title, To Snatch a Gilded Laurel.
He opened the front again, going back over the dedication:
For my Izzy,
May the world remember and know you the way I do: a bright, driven woman of great intellect, immense respect for duty, and love for her family and myself.
Love always, ma cher,
Remy
Ephraim smiled and closed the book, standing and leaving his personal quarters, moving towards the great hall. He walked leisurely, taking in the sun of the warm day, tempered by the cool ocean breeze coming up the cliffs from the coast. Servants bustled by him as he walked, and he greeted them briefly, pausing to help Milla as her bundle of laundry nearly toppled over.
He knew Bertrand would scold him for going this way and interrupting the servants’ work, but it was the most direct way to the great hall from the royal quarters, cutting through the courtyard. Ephraim couldn’t help it if the hall was largely unused.
Still, he made his way over and opened the large doors. The room was dark, and he set the book down on a covered side table before heading over to the large curtains to draw them back.
In the days of Laurentino and subsequent Echtarch emperors, the great hall would have been ready to host a banquet at any moment. Now, Ephraim could only imagine what it was like, for his own halls had been quiet since the fall of Emperor Julius Echtarch. In the fallout, many of the celebratory portraits of emperors and the imperial family had been confiscated or destroyed.
Save one.
It took no effort to draw back the heavy velvet curtains, but he fumbled a bit with the thick cording until he managed to tie the curtains back to let enough light into the room. He went back and collected the book and held it to his chest as he stood in front of the joining portrait of Isabella Echtarch and Remy Legrand. She was seated, a hand in his claw, her expression warm and full of joy. Behind her, Remy’s snout almost touched her hair as if to nuzzle her gently, affectionately.
Ephraim stood in awe, his heart warming as he held the book, staring up at the pair, who had endured so much in their time together. Cross-species joinings weren’t as common then, but Izzy and Remy had blazed a trail with long lasting effects. By many accounts, without their union, the integration of Branch Caillan would not have been nearly as successful. They were, by all accounts, a happy couple, though Izzy did not bear any of Remy’s children, as the medicinal magic required had not been invented. Another way their joining had changed Aurelian culture and marriage.
He heard someone enter the hall, and from the purposeful footsteps he knew it was Bertrand. He turned to the older man and smiled, gesturing to the portrait.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Bertrand? Their love shines through after so many centuries. You can even see the magical accents on the pearls of her brocaded gown, or the gold accents on Remy’s vest. Incredible.”
Bertrand stopped and gave him a short bow, though it was completely unnecessary. “Prince Ephraim, you’ve given the servants a fright coming this way and—”
Ephraim waved him off with a little huff, turning to look back up at the portrait, “Vetro di Mare is my home. I should be able to go where I please without spooking anyone.”
Next to him Bertrand sighed, “As you say, Prince Ephraim.”
They stood in silence for a moment, Ephraim staring up admiringly at the detail in the portrait. He knew there were preservation spells on the portrait, but it looked so fresh, as if Isabella had just stepped into her pearl-laced brocade gown. As if Remy was about to pull her close and whisper sweet nothings to her.
“It must be nice,” he commented softly.
“What is, Prince Ephraim?”
“To be loved the way they loved each other.” He sighed, wistful. “I suppose you would know.”
Bertrand chuckled softly, moving closer and Ephraim felt comforted by his presence. With his own father long gone, Bertrand had been the one to raise him through his teenage years. Well, was still raising him in some ways, Ephraim supposed.
“If I may, Prince Ephraim?”
Ephraim gave him a look. “Of course you may. You know that.”
Bertrand smiled kindly, a sad and yearning smile that tugged at Ephraim’s heart as he wrapped an arm around Ephraim’s shoulders. He glanced up at the portrait and Ephraim followed his gaze.
“You’re young, Ephraim. One day, you’ll be the primary of our branch and I’m sure you will find someone to love you just as much.”
A family. To find someone to love and be loved in return. It seemed like a simple thing, but…
Bertrand chuckled. “Chin up, Your Highness. You’re only twenty. There’s still plenty of time.”
“Kassandra would say that I shouldn’t settle for anyone.”
Bertrand let out a derisive snort. “The esteemed duchess, as a young widow, may do as she pleases, but none of her paramours have lasted very long. I would listen to your own heart, Ephraim, as you know it best.”
Ephraim smiled gratefully at the older man. “Thank you.” He turned back to the portrait and they fell into a brief silence again, taking it in. Then he had a thought.
“Bertrand, this book was just published. Do you think the Vicomte is still alive? He’d be almost a millennium old, but…” He smiled brightly, an idea forming in his mind. “Yes, I think I shall write to Lysander the Ancient. And have the servants wrap the portrait and preserve it for our trip to Yaventown.”
Bertrand withdrew his arm, shifting his posture into Ephraim’s most trusted attendant once again. “To Lysander the Ancient?”
Ephraim nodded, resolved. “Yes. If the Vicomte is still alive and well… I’m sure he would have a much better place to put this portrait than where we have it now.”
Bertrand smiled, soft and warm, the crows feet around his eyes crinkling. “That is a kindness, for an old man.”
“Well, the story Great Aunt Portia tells is that Lysander himself threatened to freeze the Linklaters alive if they even thought about touching anything with Remy’s likeness in it.” Ephraim chuckled to himself at the thought. “I’m sure he’d appreciate knowing the portrait has been taken care of all these years after.”
Bertrand inclined his head. “I’ll let our curator know to start preparations.”
“Thank you. I’d like to stay a moment longer.”
Ephraim soon found himself alone again and turned back to the couple. He could only hope that one day, he himself would be able to pen a love story, a memoir as full of joy and love as the one he just read.
Glancing around the room, he found a chair, pulled it over, and opened the book once more, starting at the beginning again.