Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
L eander awoke the next morning with the sun shining brightly through his open curtains and cursed his drunken self for forgetting such a simple task of closing them. Groaning, he rolled out of bed, extricating himself from the sheets as he did so and rubbed his eyes.
There was a knock at the door.
“Yes?”
The door opened and his father’s butler poked his head through. “Lord Leander, you asked for a wakeup call.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“No, my lord, you misunderstand, the slave came to wake you, but you were not to be roused in your state.”
Leander dragged a hand along his face and tried to remember why he had asked to be woken up. What event was so important that he had had to ensure he was there on time ?
“It is the queen, my lord,” the butler prompted, unsmiling.
… shit .
He jumped to his feet and ran to his wardrobe, where he threw on what clean and pressed clothes he could find in his wardrobe—why didn’t the slaves stay on top of the laundry?—and threw them on with record-breaking speed.
“You would be best to take the carriage, my lord,” the butler intoned from his place by the door where he watched Leander struggle with fastening his attire.
Ordinarily, it required one of the slaves to act as valet, but Leander didn’t have time for that.
Sighing, the butler approached and helped Leander, who was fiddling with his cufflinks.
“You will take too long if you walk, and you do not want to appear late and dishevelled if you run to the palace.”
Leander nodded. “If you can have it made ready, please.”
“It already is. It returned by your father’s request once it had dropped him off at the palace earlier.”
Leander wasn’t sure what to make of that, knowing his father and he were attending the same court event and Flavian had deliberately left the Talius residence without him. It was almost like he was waiting for Leander to fuck up.
Once dressed, Leander dashed downstairs and exited the manor to find the carriage waiting. “The palace,” he ordered the driver, who was moving as soon as Leander had sat down.
The journey didn’t take long, but Leander couldn’t stop bouncing his leg and starting out the windows, willing the carriage driver to spur the horses on faster and praying the pedestrians would move out of the way quickly and not hinder his journey.
His agitation was building. Today was not a day he wanted to be late for, even if it was just his aunt, the queen—rather than the king—whom he had to petition.
Alighting from the carriage before it had even been brought to a stop, Leander stumbled but managed to keep his footing enough so as not to fall on his face completely, which would have made him look even worse when he presented himself to the queen.
His head was pounding something fierce, and he tried to remind himself of what he was petitioning for.
It wasn’t really what he wanted anyway, it was what his father had suggested.
This exercise was more academic than anything else: a chance for Leander to learn more about court and role he played as a lord.
Had he remembered about his day, he would have exercised more restraint instead of drinking so much.
He wasn’t at the point where he was slurring, or walking with an uneven gait, but he had the worst fog resting over his mind. He wasn’t sure if he could pull this off. A part of him wished that he could have slept through even the butler coming to wake him.
Walking through the palace, Leander worked hard to avoid the gaze of other courtiers milling about.
He was headed for the throne room, where the queen was undoubtedly waiting for him…
and his father. He stopped and caught his breath as he reached the doors to the throne room.
After a moment’s pause, he indicated to the guards to open the doors and announce him.
All turned to face his way as he entered. Leander stared straight ahead, once again preferring to avoid eye contact from those in the room, lest he see the judgement in their eyes. He got enough of that from his father.
“Your Majesty,” Leander stopped and bowed deeply at the waist when he came close enough to his aunt. “I apologise for delaying your morning, and I thank you for waiting for me.”
Queen Melanie was not smiling, but her face wasn’t one of anger either. If anything, her face was serenely composed, giving nothing away. “That’s quite alright, Lord Leander.”
“Thank you, aunt?—”
There were titters around the room as Leander immediately realised his mistake in being so informal with the queen. Would that he could take it back, but he couldn’t, and he felt heat flush up his neck and cheeks with the embarrassment at his impropriety.
“My deepest apologies, Your Majesty,” Leander said again.
The queen dipped her head but said no more, waiting.
On with the show, he guessed, there was no time for dawdling, not after he had made Queen Melanie’s morning run behind with his lateness.
“I have come before you, Your Majesty, to petition you for a small loan from the royal treasury to secure funds to repair the Fording Bridge over the river in the city. This bridge is a lifeline for so many, it is on a major trade route, forming part of the artery of this city. With it damaged, people’s businesses are suffering, the society has been broken in two without hope of renewal. ”
“Society has been broken in two? How dramatic,” Melanie intoned. “The bridge has been damaged and out of commission for less than a week, Lord Leander. I am sure people have not been as deeply affected at you claim them to be.”
There was, at Melanie’s words, more tittering laughter and whispers of derision from around the room at Leander’s expense.
This time a rush of nervous energy shot through Leander, a tingling sensation that could not be described as pleasant.
His knees suddenly felt weak, and he feared they might give out from under him.
“Perhaps what Lord Leander means to say, Your Majesty, is that if this… Fording Bridge… is not repaired in expeditiously, there could be far reaching consequences to the community, to the economy, and even to the wellbeing of your subjects.”
Leander hardly dared turn around as his courtly rescuer approached to stand next to him with his own bow.
Once again, Jarryn was there to salvage the situation where Leander had not the skill to do so himself.
“Yes,” Leander continued after sharing a glance with the prince and turning back to the queen to continue his petition.
“Your Majesty, this bridge is not inexpensive, I appreciate that, but money should be no object when we consider the essential nature of this single structure. Whilst people can use other bridges across the city, it is fundamental to the cohesion of Saeren.”
Jarryn was nodding beside him and Leander, enthused by his support, continued to speak, and began gesturing as he did so, trying to drive the point home. But, in his efforts, his hand collided with a vase of flowers situated just south of the dais on which Queen Melanie sat, knocking it over.
He instantly stopped speaking as he watched in horrified slow-motion as the vase toppled on its axis and tipped to the side. The clash of pottery shattering as it hit the floor reverberated around the room.
Leander, who had quickly moved to hug his own body, didn’t move.
“I liked that vase, Leander…” Melanie said quietly. “I think it might well have been my favourite. Commissioned by your grandmother and gifted to me on the day of my wedding.”
Leander tore his gaze away from the fragments of pottery lying on the floor, evidence of his carelessness, to meet the gaze of his aunt, who was visibly upset as she levelled him with her emerald green scrutiny.
“I…” he couldn’t apologise a third time without it seeming utterly insincere. Verin had previously made it clear to him that he apologised too much and maybe he had a point. But maybe he wouldn’t need to if he didn’t constantly fuck up.
“Ah, Leander… first you drink enough to drown a navy, and now you smash my favourite vase.” Melanie spoke when Leander couldn’t think of anything to say to his aunt. “Tell me, do you plan to destroy anything else today, or shall we consider your efforts complete?”
“Your Majesty,” Jarryn was smooth as ever with his silver tongue and carefully chosen words. “Perhaps mercy is in order? After all, a vase—though priceless—can be replaced. But a loyal, if somewhat clumsy, nephew? Not so easily. ”
Queen Melanie was staring down her nephew with a cold expression.
No longer was she serene. “How touching, Prince Jarryn. Defending my nephew’s carelessness with such enthusiasm.
Tell me, does his regret come with the same fervour as his mistakes?
I think not, given that he never appears to learn his lesson, but this will be the last time I indulge such… unbecoming behaviour.”
Leander, trying to make himself appear as small as possible without actually curling in on himself, stood silent and still.
“Lord Flavian, discipline your son. And be reminded that the next time he is in my presence, he will be expected to show the dignity of a member of this court, not the recklessness of a drunkard. And should his behaviour slip once more, he will find that the consequences will be far more severe than the shattering of porcelain.”
Lord Flavian, who had appeared at Leander’s other side, bowed towards his sister silently. When he glanced down at his son, his expression was full of disdain. He jerked his head, demanding Leander follow him from the queen’s presence.
Leander did as his father bid, barely having the chance to glance in Jarryn’s direction to thank him for his efforts in helping or defending him.
Hopefully he would get the chance soon because, whilst he hated being in a position to need rescuing, he did love the fact that it was always Jarryn whose mettle was being tested for his sake.