1708, Avionne

JULIAN was never very fond of studying philosophy or rhetoric, and he found arithmancy to be a massively sleep- inducing subject.

Needless to say, he was undoubtedly eager to finally leave Breckenridge Academy, where he had spent the previous seven years of his life in, learning about politics and trade, as well as strategies of war and battle.

Breckenridge Academy was an excellent, prestigious institute that only the wealthiest of the wealthy could enter, and the tutors there were hand-selected from the very best.

It was not their fault, it is just that Julian was not very keen on studying.

If he were just another nobleman's son who could live idly without causing trouble to anyone else, perhaps it would not be such a large headache.

However, Julian was the Crown Prince of Ravaeryn, the great King Guillaume's eldest son, and his education was national business. Of course, no one would want a clown to sit on the throne.

All his life, he had been surrounded and suffocated by throes of tutors and teachers, all trying to shove their textbooks and essays down his throat and fill his ears with lectures, to the point where he grew to resent learning altogether.

That night was the final night that he would spend at the academy. After seven years, Julian was finally free to do as he pleased, although his father would likely not allow that. But at the very least, he was not required to submit eight rolls of essays, each two feet long, by the end of every week.

Dressed in nothing but a thin white shirt and trousers, Julian ventured into the empty hallway.

A heavy thunderstorm was brewing outside, and he felt chilled to the bone. Perhaps he should have been more tactful in selecting clothing. However, Julian was already halfway down the staircase, and he might as well go on.

The grand dining hall of Breckenridge Academy's main building was not as half as opulent as the halls in Aethiel Palace, where Julian grew up in, but he found the intricate Renaissance era paintings on the hall's dome interesting and eye-catching.

While Julian was not keen on numbers and words, he greatly appreciated art, and the paintings in the halls were a feast for the eyes.

         He was admiring the painting of the legendary siege of Fallerie City, which occurred roughly four hundred years ago in the neighbouring kingdom of Phoenicia, when he heard the sound of rustling fabric, followed by loud, rapid footsteps descending down the stairs.

           "Miss," a voice cried, breathing heavily. "I don't understand why we can't wait in the room until tomorrow morning. It is freezing cold out here."

          "You're feeling cold, Rosie ? Wait, I'll give you my scarf. It is not that I didn't want to stay there, but I don't want to see that Marguerite le Prince's face. Seeing her face would ruin my holidays !" a soft yet arrogant voice answered, disdain and displeasure lacing her words.

          "Ah, I see! I agree Miss, that Marguerite is a nasty piece of work! She acts like she owns this place, but we know that the le Princes are bankrupt," the other voice replied cheerfully, as if taking joy in House le Prince's misfortune.

This piqued Julian's interest. How come this person has the nerve to say such things, even in private? Furthermore, how did she know?

The voices came from the other end of the hall right near the entrance, which was completed flooded in darkness. Julian grabbed a torch that was hanging on the wall and made his way over to the other end of the hall, and he heard one of the voices whisper, "Shh, be quiet."

From afar, he could see the silhouettes of two young women, one clearly the mistress and the other, the maid. Both girls wore frumpled clothing and sported wild, unkempt hair, but they did not seem to care.

       "Trying to escape the academy, are we ?" Julian chuckled heartily, attracting the girls' attentions towards him.

While her maid had retreated in fear of this unknown man, the other girl stood her ground, her sparkly black eyes ablaze with pride and arrogance.

         "No, of course not," she retorted. "We are simply waiting for our carriage to arrive."

        "At three in the morning ?"

        "Why, is it a wrong thing to do ? It is not I that is aimlessly and suspiciously loitering around in the hallways now, it is you," the girl spoke, but her voice gradually became slower as she spoke the last sentence.

Julian felt that her prideful and arrogant way of talking rather familiar, so he lifted up the torch, illuminating a small section of the hall, casting light onto the girl's face.

         "You must be Rafael's little cousin, Catarina, aren't you ?" he said, smiling at the raven haired lass that stood in front of him. Whenever he smiled, Julian was used to being flaunted over and praised to the heavens, but this time, Catarina showed no reaction nor interest.

         "I am. So what ?"

Julian had the sudden urge to cough, shocked by her blatant disinterest. But of course, he was used to people trying to strike up conversations with him, not the other way around.

        "He is my bestfriend."

        "I see. He has many friends, which one are you ?"

Now, Julian wanted nothing more than to reveal to this prideful little girl that he was the prince, and watch all the blood drain from her face, but that would be too easy.

       "His closest, bestest friend, Bastien !" he quickly said, plucking one of his many middle names.

With a name like Julian Philippe Arthur Bastien Aurelius James de Lavilliers, there was surely no shortage of names for him to choose.

"He never mentioned a Bastien. Are you sure he considers you his friend ?"

Julian smiled thinly, his chest full of embarrassment and humiliation. "Well, his other friend is the prince, so I
believe he ought to talk more about him, then."

Catarina's eyes lit up as she clasped her hands together, and she said, "He does, actually. Quite often too. Rafael told me that the prince is a mama's boy, and that she would wake him up every morning by tenderly patting his cheeks and sing lullabies to him at night time."

Furthermore embarrassed by this blatant slander, Julian took a step backwards and covered his reddened face with his hand. Catarina, however, assumed that Julian was having a fever, and ever so kindly she retrieved one of her scarves that had not been washed in months and threw it in his direction. It fell onto the floor with a thud, and Julian looked at her in confusion.

"You're going to have a fever if you don't cover up. You should be thankful since I never lend my things to anyone. You're the very first person."

Julian gingerly picked up the musty cashmere scarf that was caked with dust in several sections, obviously having been left under the bed or on the top of a cupboard for months on end. "Yes, many thanks."

Catarina then went back to her maid, leaving Julian alone, standing awkwardly in the middle of the hall. Not wanting to return to his room just yet, he decided to talk more with Catarina.

       "Even if you want to go home as soon as possible, why wouldn't you wait inside your room ?" he began.

Catarina breathed sharply, and when she opened her mouth, a slew of words flowed out. "Have you ever been loathed by someone so bitterly that you don't even know what you had done wrong towards them? I mean, it's not my fault that I am far more beautiful than she is-"

        "I think I can see why-"

        "-and she should blame her father for their businesses going bankrupt, not mine! I have never met a more detestable and horrid person, and I hope that I will never see her again."

Recalling the conversation she shared with her maid earlier, Julian assumed that this 'horrible person' was Marguerite le Prince, whose family was indeed at the brink of destitution, but very few people knew about it.

       "Is it the daughter of Count le Prince, Marguerite ?" he guessed, feigning ignorance. Catarina looked at him in awe, her eyes gleaming like precious black pearls.

       "How come you are able to guess so precisely ? Did she do wrong to you too? Oh, she is truly awful, don't you think so? We are like martyrs, both of us."

Julian nodded briskly. "Yes, yes. Terrible."

At that moment, the thunderstorm outside began to slow down, and Catarina's maid, Rosie, called out for her so that they could sleep on the floor together until morning arrives.

"You should take that scarf with you," Catarina said. "Whenever you have the time, come and visit De Fontaine Castle in Lorewell, and return it. I'm sure Rafael wouldn't mind."

"Does this mean that we are friends now ?" Julian asked laughingly, and Catarina smiled back at him, albeit rather mockingly.

"Well, you are quite a decent person. I like you enough, so I'll let you become my friend."

Little did Catarina knew that she was due for the shock of a lifetime that winter holiday.