Everyone's eyes were fixed on Timothy for a few seconds. Then, with a low chuckle, Timothy leaned back in his chair and said, "It's a joke."
Laughter erupted around the long banquet table, echoing through the golden-lit dining hall. Servants glanced at one another nervously, unsure if they were allowed to laugh as well, before bowing and returning to their duties. The only one who didn't join the merriment was Roman. He simply sat back in his chair, jaw tight, quietly crunching into a bright red apple as if nothing around him mattered.
When the laughter died down, Helena, seated gracefully beside him, tilted her head. Her red curls caught the light of the chandelier, giving her an ethereal glow. "I thought you were famished," she said gently. "You've hardly touched anything apart from that apple."
Roman wiped a drop of juice from his lips and reached for another apple. "I've lost my appetite," he muttered flatly, taking a slow, deliberate bite.
"You should still eat something," Helena pressed softly. There was worry in her green eyes. "You didn't have breakfast, nor lunch today."
Timothy, lounging across the table, raised an amused brow. "He might have eaten somewhere else," he said casually, his words laced with teasing malice.
Roman's icy gaze snapped to Timothy, sharp enough to cut. Timothy only smirked, unbothered, as if provoking Roman was his favorite pastime.
"Brother Roman didn't leave the castle today," Helena interjected, her voice firm yet polite.
Timothy's smirk widened. "I thought the king of Westfield had more than one daughter?" he asked, trying to redirect the conversation.
The king, seated at the head of the table in his stately chair, straightened with pride. "Indeed. We have four daughters. One is married, while the other two have gone to Eastfield to visit the queen's parents. Only Helena remained."
"You must have such beautiful daughters," Timothy commented smoothly, his dark eyes glinting with charm.
The queen, regal in her silk gown and glittering jewels, smiled warmly. "Yes, as you can see, Helena is a very beautiful young lady. She will soon turn eighteen, and then she shall begin to consider suitors." Her tone carried both pride and anticipation.
"Indeed," Timothy said, his voice low and deliberate. "Princess Helena is a very beautiful young lady."
Hearing the compliment from the striking king of Northfield, Helena's cheeks bloomed crimson. She lowered her gaze shyly, lips curving upward despite herself.
The queen, noticing, clasped her hands together with satisfaction. "I have heard that men from Northfield are well-cultured. I've always hoped Helena might marry from Northfield."
Roman, who had been silently gnawing his apple, suddenly scoffed. The sharp sound broke through the dining hall like the crack of a whip.
"Men from Northfield are cultured?" he repeated mockingly, his lips twisting.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
"What do you mean, Roman?" the queen asked carefully, her smile faltering.
"You should not make it so obvious," Roman replied coolly, his piercing blue eyes locking onto her, "that you are eager to sell your daughter off to the king."
The queen stiffened, heat rushing to her face. Embarrassment and anger mingled in her chest, but she masked both beneath a dazzling smile. "I would never do such a thing. It isn't the first time I've said I wanted Helena to marry from Northfield." Her words were measured, her tone polite, but there was steel beneath the velvet.
Roman leaned back, watching her like a predator. "Strange. I've never heard of it. You should have told me sooner. I've spent a fair share of my years in Northfield. As her brother, I'd gladly introduce Helena to the cultured men I know there." His grin was sharp as he deliberately turned to Helena. "What do you say, little sister?" He drew out her name, savoring it in a way that made her squirm.
Helena, caught between her brother's sharpness and her mother's expectations, flushed scarlet. She gave a helpless, wry smile. "Anything you want, Brother," she murmured, her voice soft yet strained.
Timothy, who had been watching the drama between the queen and Roman like a spectator at a game, hid his amusement behind a sip of wine. He admired how Roman's words had rendered the queen momentarily speechless.
Abruptly, Roman pushed back his chair. "Where are you going?" the king asked, brows furrowed, as Roman rose, plucked another apple from the table, and turned to leave.
"I have work," Roman said shortly. "I trust King Timothy will be well entertained during my absence." Without another word, he strode out of the dining hall.
-----
Roman climbed the winding staircases until he reached the rooftop of the castle. The night air greeted him, cool against his skin. From where he stood, the small towns stretched below, their outlines faint beneath the silver glow of the moon. Lights shimmered from the windows of houses.
It was calm...so calm it felt untouched by time. The stillness wrapped around him, and for a fleeting moment, the world appeared peaceful, distant from the unrest that clouded his mind. The view was undeniably beautiful but he was tired of seeing it, it looked the same every single time.
He sensed the approaching footsteps before he heard them. He didn't turn. "Did you find out?" Roman asked, his voice calm, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Sylvester bowed deeply. "Yes, my prince."
Roman waited in silence.
"It appears Prince Edward orchestrated everything," Sylvester spoke, his head still bowed down.
Roman nodded slowly, lips curving faintly. "As expected. His so easy to know what goes on in that head of his." He chuckled under his breath, though there was no humor in it.
"Your next assignment," Roman continued, his tone clipped, "is to find out whether the lady you tried to kill is safe."
Sylvester hesitated, then dipped his head. "Yes, my prince."
But his hesitation lingered, gnawing at him. Roman caught it instantly. His eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
Sylvester swallowed hard. "Forgive me, my prince, but… I do not think it wise for you to become entangled with that lady."
Roman laughed softly, a dangerous edge to it. "Don't worry. This will be the last time we'll meet. Just make sure she is unharmed."
Sylvester exhaled in reluctant acceptance and bowed once more. Yet, as he departed, unease weighed on him. He still couldn't believe Roman had summoned King Timothy here just to protect that woman. The risk unsettled him.
The rooftop fell quiet again. But not for long.
Roman stiffened when he felt a presence too close, almost brushing against him. He stepped aside instinctively, and a body tumbled over the ledge.
Timothy.
Roman's eyes widened, but before Timothy hit the stone courtyard below, he vanished.
"You shouldn't sneak up on me like that," Roman said dryly, turning his gaze back toward the town.
A voice, smooth and mocking, rose behind him. "It was only a little game. I thought you might enjoy playing with me." Timothy reappeared, standing with an infuriating smirk.
"What do you want?" Roman asked, not bothering to turn. His hands rested against the cold stone rail as he surveyed the sleeping kingdom.
Timothy clicked his tongue, strolling casually until he stood beside him. "You're worked up over that girl again," he said, his playful tone fading into seriousness.
"There's nothing to be worked up about, Tim," Roman replied flatly.
Timothy tilted his head. "Isn't it captivating, though? To see her again after so many years?"
Roman finally looked at him, eyes sharp as blades. "It hasn't been that long. I met her a few years ago."
Timothy frowned slightly, studying his expression. "What is it?"
Roman's hand went to his chin, his thoughts restless. "Her eyes and hair are different. Yet the face… the face is the same."
"You think they might not be the same person?" Timothy asked, intrigued.
Roman's mind drifted back to the forest. He remembered the girl's bruised face, how even her pain couldn't dim her beauty. Her green eyes had ensnared him, luminous yet beautiful, and though she seemed pure, a veil of darkness clung to her. There was something about her that drew him in. Something he couldn't quite place yet.
Timothy broke his reverie. "I do not want you wasting another thousand years chasing shadows, Rome. Stay away."
He placed a firm hand on Roman's shoulder, as though anchoring him in place, before his lips curved into a grin. "But before you go to bed, how about a hunt? Like old times?" His dark eyes glimmered with mischief.
Roman remained silent.
Timothy sighed dramatically. "I came all the way to Westfield, and you won't even have a little fun with me?"
"I'm going to bed," Roman said curtly. He brushed Timothy's hand off his shoulder and strode toward the stairwell. "And don't roam about like a ghost in this place. This isn't Northfield."
Timothy's smile lingered as he watched his friend vanish into the shadows, the echo of his boots fading into the stone halls.