Chapter Fourteen: The Time Is Not Right
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Silence wrapped the room like a heavy curtain.
Very quietly, Rakael reached out and adjusted the cover over the small prince's body, who had finally calmed down after a fit unlike anything he had ever known.
Before leaving, he nodded toward the door, and Yardmil followed him silently, closing it behind them.
In the narrow hallway, Rakael stood for a moment, then closed his eyes and muttered words with no clear meaning:
"Did you see? He only rests here."
Yardmil didn't answer, but something in his voice, in his stillness, said everything.
The phrase wasn't about comfort, and it wasn't about the place.
It was something deeper… something he would discover later, if he continued to listen closely.
---
His steps were light, but he was running.
He suddenly straightened up, took a deep breath, and looked at the gray, cloudy sky above the long corridor.
"It's been an hour and a half…"
Ayant whispered as he hurriedly adjusted his clothes.
There was no time for regret, only quick steps to return before Iswar got to the palace.
And
At the first turn of the corridor, he met the gaze of Rakael and Yardmil, standing as if they had been waiting for him.
They gave only a short smile and a nod. He wasn't questioned, and he didn't explain.
He simply passed between them like a shadow quietly retreating from the light.
At the other end of the hallway, as if the world had deliberately reshaped itself, Iswar appeared.
Their eyes met. No words were exchanged, nor was there any need.
They moved together, with matching steps, inward.
But something changed the moment they approached the palace…
The usual calm was broken by a faint, unfamiliar noise coming from the guest room.
They didn't speak, but exchanged a brief glance… then entered, cautiously, like someone preparing to face the unexpected.
And
As if time stopped at the threshold of the guest room.
She was standing there—a woman with snow-white skin, long brown hair cascading over her shoulders like a soft curtain, and silver eyes that concealed none of their sharpness.
She didn't move, but watched the world through the window, as if waiting for a confession or a sin.
On the couch opposite her sat Alex, in his usual elegant attire, sipping tea as if nothing had happened.
Between them… two little girls who resembled the woman, miniature versions of her firmness and kindness.
Iswar stood firm, while Ayant looked like the ground had vanished beneath his feet.
He looked at Iswar, then at the woman, then whispered as if trying to find a place in a scene that didn't belong to him:
"Mother?... Father? What…?"
But the voice that broke the silence wasn't his.
It was a sharp, soft scream from the one once called "Marquise of the South."
"You sneaked out of the palace? Without permission?!"
Then quickly corrected herself, her voice shifting into a calculated tone:
"No, wait… Your Highness, forgive my rudeness… Would you please explain what's going on, and what's with your clothes?"
Her face was stern, but her eyes never stopped tracing Ayant's features, as if trying to see a child not yet complete.
Ayant, sensing the seriousness of the moment, stepped forward slightly.
But Iswar, in his usual calm, took charge of the situation:
"Sit down, Mother, let me explain."
Ayant raised his hand in a submissive gesture. He had no desire for confrontation.
This family atmosphere… felt strange to him.
As if his presence in it was a staged scene, performed well, but not truly lived.
Antella approached him, then hugged him tightly as if reclaiming a lost lifetime.
When she let go, the two little girls stepped toward Ayant.
"My beautiful sisters…"
He said with a soft smile as he patted their heads,
"I'm already starting to feel jealous."
The older one, Angela, laughed, while little Melissa shyly bowed and greeted:
"Hello… Brother."
Ayant smiled, then pulled two small pearls from his pocket:
"I was planning to prepare a gift, but our meeting came first. Mother, you can make two lovely necklaces for them… instead of me."
Antella replied, her voice tinged with warm reproach:
"You're not the only one who brought gifts."
The four of them sat together in a corner of the room, while Iswar remained silent, sipping his tea, leg crossed over leg, as if the place didn't concern him.
Alex, meanwhile, observed the two boys in silence, laced with alertness.
After a few minutes, the two little girls went out to the garden with the servants.
The heavy calm returned to the room.
Ayant sat near Iswar, and Antella sat beside Alex, all of them waiting… who would break the silence first?
__
The silence was more present than everyone.
Even their breaths seemed to wait for permission to be released.
Finally, Alex placed his cup on the table slowly and said in a tone more reproachful than angry:
"Where were you?"
Iswar didn't answer or turn.
Ayant picked up the empty cup in front of him, filled it from the teapot, then said with a calm smile:
"Strolling outside… feels nice."
Alex watched him without blinking.
The answer didn't satisfy him, but he repeated the question in a different way, as if changing the words might reveal a different truth:
"And why did you go out?"
This time, there was no smile.
Ayant placed his cup aside and said in a low voice filled with quiet defiance:
"Today's schedule… was empty."
His words were complete, concise, correct in form.
But they weren't what Alex wanted to hear.
Antella raised her hand with a calm look, gesturing to her husband to stop.
"Not now."
She said it without clearly pronouncing the words, yet Alex understood.
At the same moment, Iswar stood lightly and said:
"It's time for lunch."
His words accompanied their steps toward the dining hall, and the narrator inside me began to speak silently:
(I noticed what wasn't said.
Ayant's glance that didn't linger on his mother…
His hesitation when rising…
The carefully measured steps, as if walking through an emotional minefield.
And that smile he painted on his face whenever he spoke to his sister…
Was he pretending?
Or trying to learn how to be someone?)
___ ___
Alex, walking behind them, paused at one corner.
He leaned slightly toward his two daughters and whispered:
"Here, you're not allowed to speak without permission. And don't start eating before the prince."
Then added, in a lower voice, pressing his finger in the air before them:
"No matter what you see… don't act recklessly."
Antella looked at him with a questioning glance and a quick whisper:
"What do you mean?"
Alex smiled sarcastically and whispered, pointing to his lips:
"In the imperial palace… even the walls have eyes."
---
Everything in the hall was arranged with suspicious precision.
The dishes aligned, utensils gleaming, and the scent of salty herbs gently rising in the air.
But no one sat.
No one reached for the food.
Iswar sat first, then checked the placement of the glass in front of him as if testing the world's balance from his perspective.
The others didn't move, as if waiting for an invisible signal.
He said calmly, raising his hand toward the servants:
"Looks like my servants need some discipline."
Ayant laughed a short, pale laugh, devoid of joy.
Then turned to one of the maids and said with more malice than usual:
"How will you explain this, Aisha?"
Aisha was about to step forward, but suddenly stopped.
A silver knife, surrounded by a dark aura, settled at her neck… Ayant's hand didn't tremble.
"Take one more step, and it'll be your end."
The maid froze in place, then bowed in terror.
"I knew the servants leave after serving… but I thought the Marquis's family… might need something."
Ayant slowly lowered his knife, then said:
"Behave as usual… and wait for punishment later."
The servants suddenly moved, leaving the hall one by one, the only sound being the echo of trembling steps on the smooth tiles.
Only Iswar, Ayant, and the Marquis family remained.
Iswar began eating, without a word.
Neither Alex nor Antella moved.
They knew what "absolute orders" from the royal family meant.
As for the two little girls, they remained stunned, not fully understanding what happened, but their admiring gazes toward their older brother were clear.
Perhaps because of the aura around him, or because they felt something dangerous had just passed… and everyone survived.
Conversation at the table flowed in a silent language, as if the ones speaking were the spoons and cups, not mouths.
But between Iswar and Ayant, there was no silence.
Whispers of work, decisions, veiled questions moved smoothly between them.
Glances, gestures, short words.
As Alex observed that suspicious communication, he asked in his monotonous voice:
"Which nobles are currently in the capital?"
The answer came lightly:
"The two dukes… Baron Festech… and Countess Arai."
Iswar turned his head toward Ayant, and the latter asked in a low voice:
"So… the duke is in the capital?"
Alex answered without raising his eyes:
"Yes."
"We'll leave in the afternoon."
Ayant said it confidently, raising the water glass and drinking it in one gulp.
Suddenly, Iswar stood up.
There was no explanation, neither on his face nor in his tone.
"You may finish your meal alone."
He said it and left.
His steps were fast. Unusual.
Alex stood up, tense, as if his body urged him to follow, but Ayant's firm voice stopped him:
"No use."
"What does this mean?!"
Alex shouted, his anger peaking.
But Ayant answered with only one sentence:
"The time is not right."
Then tilted his head twice and pulled out a small magic stone.
In a calm voice, he addressed his mother:
"I need your help to infuse it with a little energy."
But before she could move, little Angela beat her to it, approached her brother's stone, and gently placed her hand on it.
The stone lit up, glowing with warm gold.
"Oh… beautiful."
And instantly, the stone replied.
A young man with long white hair and vertical white eyes appeared.
He smiled sarcastically:
"Look who's calling me."
Ayant didn't look comfortable, but said:
"Where are you?"
The man answered dryly:
"I just finished coming down the mountain."
Ayant raised an eyebrow:
"As you know, the world now… is almost free of sorcerers. Even Iswar had to rely on people like you."
The connection was suddenly cut.
And only seconds later, a magnificent white portal opened in the center of the hall, and the same man emerged from it.
His beauty was as sharp as a blade.
"Where is he?"
He asked, agitated, looking in all directions.
Ayant replied calmly:
"In the attic."
---
The Marquis family was moved to another room.
Ayant remained standing, for just one moment, staring at the portal that had closed on its own.
—(The time is not right?)
Maybe…
But something has started to move now.
Silently… from behind the curtain.