Elliott, after finishing his tea, had finally left Aiden's chambers for his own.
They met again at breakfast.
The morning sunlight streamed through the tall, glass-paned windows, flooding the dining hall with a warm, golden glow. The lavish spread on the table looked like it belonged in a painting — honey-drizzled pastries still glistening, spiced sausages sending up curls of fragrant steam, bowls of fresh fruit dewed with cold water, and... pancakes.
Not just any pancakes.
Maple-syrup-and-chocolate pancakes. Elliott's favorite. The fact was no state secret. And yet, yet— the plate of them sat not in front of him, but across the table.
What had been placed in front of the Emperor, instead, was a sad, lonely bowl of white porridge and honeyed oats. Porridge. And oats. They actually expected him to eat porridge and oats while that syrup-soaked tower of perfection sat right there, untouched.
They began with the traditional silence. Prayer. Polite greetings. The clink of cups. Soon, breakfast began in earnest.
Gabriella sat at Elliott's side, sipping her tea with the kind of practiced elegance only a lifetime of court living could teach. Her gown was a deep, dark red today, the color flattering her hair and making her presence even more striking.
Her eyes flicked toward Elliott, taking in the faint crease between his brows — the only visible sign of his breakfast dissatisfaction. Otherwise, he looked disgustingly well-rested, his skin almost glowing in the morning light. Like a man who'd had the best sleep of his life.
Aiden, in contrast, looked like he hadn't slept in a decade. The dark circles under his eyes were darker than his usual "intent to kill" expression — and normally, that was the darkest thing in any room. His gaze stayed firmly anywhere but on another human being. His fingers tapped restlessly against the table.
The servants began serving food. Elliott received his porridge. Aiden's fork immediately stabbed into the pancakes with a little too much force, as if exacting personal vengeance on them.
Gabriella noticed. She didn't know the context, but she knew something had happened.
"Rough night, Prince?" she asked, her tone breezy but her eyes curious.
Aiden's jaw tightened. He muttered, "...I suppose."
'Ah,' Gabriella thought. 'So it is related to last night.' She raised an eyebrow, sipping her tea. "May I ask why? You look like you slept rather fitfully... or perhaps not at all."
Aiden looked away. For a moment, it seemed he might not answer, but then, with a quiet exhale, he said, "...You could say a bug got in my bed."
Elliott's head turned slowly. His eyes widened in that scandalized, how dare you sort of way. He rolled them immediately after, muttering something under his breath — something that definitely included "the audacity"— before, with great deliberation, reaching across for the pancakes.
Aiden didn't stop him.
Gabriella chuckled softly. "A bug, you say?" She arched an elegant brow, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "A bug kept the Prince up for the whole night?"
"...It was a very persistent creature. With little regard for others," Aiden replied flatly.
"Was it." She tilted her head, clearly enjoying herself. "Why not simply kill it, then? It was only a bug, as you said. Or flick it out the window."
Aiden's response was immediate, his gaze sharp. "No."
"And why, pray tell, is that?"
"...It was too endearing."
Gabriella's smile widened at the frankly illogical answer. This was far too entertaining to drop.
Meanwhile, Elliott, blissfully unbothered, was already chewing on the pancakes. His honor might have been attacked, but his breakfast was not. And in his mind, that was an overall win.
Gabriella noticed. She also noticed Aiden wasn't stopping him. Not even pretending to. The ever-dutiful shadow wasn't protesting while Elliott loaded himself with sugar like a child at a festival. He wasn't even looking at him— or at her— despite still conversing with her. His eyes were fixed on the table as if the sausages held answers to the mysteries of the universe.
And Elliott? Elliott was smiling. Not his usual polite, diplomatic smile. No, this was a smug, feline grin, the kind a cat wears after knocking over a vase and also getting the canary.
Gabriella set her teacup down with a soft clink. "You're both being strange," she announced.
Aiden was the first to react. "We're not—"
"I wasn't asking," she cut in smoothly. "I was telling. Declaring, if you want to say it fancily."
Aiden exhaled in frustration, lips pressed into a thin line. Elliott, mouth full of pancake, just hummed, deep in syrup-soaked bliss, clearly not interested in denying anything.
Gabriella's sharp gaze shifted to her son. Then back to Aiden. "Why aren't you stopping him from eating like a child at a fairground?"
Aiden rolled his eyes for maximum emphasis, but offered no reply. He wasn't about to hand her ammunition to dig deeper into last night's events.
Elliott, however, had no such caution. He swallowed his mouthful of pancake with triumphant ease and the kind of satisfaction that radiated I am winning. "Because he can't, Mother."
Gabriella's brow arched. "Can't?"
Elliott leaned forward slightly, a gleam in his eye, maple syrup glistening at the corner of his lip. He lowered his voice to something conspiratorial. "Because he's too busy thinking about bugs... and being crushed under the weight of his own propriety."
Gabriella's interest sharpened. She was beginning to connect the pieces: propriety... a bug in bed... too endearing to remove...
And then it clicked.
Just as a slow smirk of realization spread across her face, Aiden's own expression shifted into horror.
Before she could so much as glance his way, much less comment, Aiden abruptly pushed his chair back. "I have to... go. Inspect the barracks. Military things. We're on the brink of war. So."
It was spectacularly obvious he was overexplaining. And fleeing.
Gabriella's eyes narrowed knowingly. Elliott, for reasons only known to himself, still sat there radiating smugness, as if he were not both the cause and the primary offender of the situation.
His lips curved lazily, eyes narrowing into delighted crescents. He didn't even seem to notice the way Aiden's pupils had dilated just slightly when he smiled like that.
He waved his fork cheerfully. "Give my regards to the barracks!"
Aiden fled without another word, his face suspiciously red. Elliott assumed it was embarrassment.
It was not.
Gabriella turned back to Elliott, her gaze sharp and amused. "You're explaining this later."
Already reaching for a final dessert- a glossy pineapple pastry- Elliott shrugged. "No promises."
Gabriella sighed, but her eyes gleamed with more amusement than admonishment. She knew far more than she was saying and not just about last night. "You're traumatizing the poor boy."
Elliott looked personally offended. "Am not," he said lightly, before taking a decadent bite of pastry, completely missing the double meaning in her words.
In his mind, he'd won. He'd secured a perfect night's sleep, and a glorious breakfast. Victory was his. And it tasted like maple syrup and pineapple pastry.