Interlude - Chapter Twelve

The grandfather clock struck around twenty minutes past eight in the morning. He could see it from behind the glass door blocking his way. J.J certainly had a sharp sense of vision, and he often used it for his personal benefit, when he desired to take a look at certain interactions between two or more people from afar for example (obviously, on the very sly). He also had a sharp sense of hearing, and he used it to eavesdrop on conversations from a safe distance. In fact, he had pretty much every sense enhanced, that's why his father gave him the name of "the eagle hatchling" —Prince Richard being the eagle, of course.

But right now, every enhanced sense he possessed was driving him crazy, getting him on his nerves more and more every time. Standing there, in front of his father's office in the eastern wing of the palace, waiting for him to arrive.

The black quarter sleeve cotton shirt he had picked was perfectly light for the warm weather outside, but right now the collar felt too tight around his neck and it made him itch and sweat —his father scolded him when he unbuttoned his collar.

The sound the grandfather clock made echoed within his ears and gave him an unbearable headache, and it was simply maddening. He had woken up earlier than usual and had gotten very little sleep, as a special someone couldn't help but pop up in his mind every now and then the previous night.

He blinked intermittently every time Evan's face appeared in his mind, like trying to clear him away from his thoughts.

Evan was an adorable young man, he seemed naïve and harmless at first sight, but the boy certainly knew some good tricks about flirting. His face was ethereal, exotic, like straight out of an Elizabethan epoch play and complemented with contemporary attire and expression. And he couldn't do more than capture and attract J.J in a quite dangerous way…

He heard a couple of steps approaching him closer every time. His father was here, perfect timing to shake Evan Clarke out of his thoughts.

"Ah, you're here already. Earlier than the rest, just like I taught you, that's good." Prince Richard pronounced those words with a thick French accent.

"I believe it's more like you arrived over twenty minutes late." J.J complained, clearly annoyed but without ceasing to show respect towards his father.

"I told you plenty of times before, son of mine. A monarch never arrives late, his people always arrive before him." Was his cunning response.

J.J simply rolled his eyes.

"Whatever" He blurted out, impatient.

Prince Richard inserted the keys in the tiny keyhole and proceeded to open the door.

Prince Richard's office was always neat, tidied, and pristinely clean. The side windows were always perfectly shimmering and covered with regal translucent curtains, they let in the warm, blinding spring sunlight in the most delicate of ways, and offered a magnificent view to the majestic cliffs and the bright blue crashing waves in the ocean.

The murmur and singing of the tropical birds flying around the palace could be mildly heard. The polished dark wooden floor resounded with every short step the men took inside of the room. A painting of Prince Richard hung on top of the back wall, just above the fireplace that was now turned off due to the warm temperature. And the room itself smelt like light coffee beans and cocoa.

One could easily say that Prince Richard was quite an eccentric and even egocentric man. And such a bizarre fact was actually not a secret at all; after all, the entire kingdom knew about the ideas and thoughts of this certainly quirky man —brother of the current monarch, first in line for the throne if King Antoine ever abdicated or suffered a sudden, premature death. After all, Prince André had yet to get married for his father to choose him as his successor, despite being the crown prince.

Prince Richard sat behind his opulent polished dark ebony desk. The desk chair looked grand and excessively comfortable, covered in dark brown leather and adorned with characteristic small sunken buttons.

Prince J.J sat on the other side of the desk, facing his father on a black plastic desk chair that was certainly a lot more ordinary than Prince Richard's magnificent puffy leather desk chair.

"Son, please ring the bell for a staff employee to bring us some cafe au lait, croissants, and a plate of fruit. I haven't eaten breakfast yet." Prince Richard said with a solemn voice tone.

Prince Richard's voice always sounded coarse and imposing. Sure, people in Avevia thought he was drastic and his thoughts and opinion wouldn't ever favor any other than the Royal Family, so they often disregarded him and made him look like some sort of loony. But one thing was for sure: everyone in Avevia feared him and his short temper. Everyone but his son, of course.

J.J simply rolled his eyes. These eccentric petitions his father tended to ask were merely senseless most of the time, and this fact always managed to get him on his nerves. He thought that no matter if it was his own father, he was certainly a despotic man and at times he regretted being a part of his ruses.

"Why don't you simply tell me what ruse you're up to now? You can think of breakfast later on, father." J.J said, growing increasingly more fed up with his father's annoying baloney this morning.

"Prince Jean-Jacques of House Beaumont, be a good soon-to-be crown prince and do as your father says." Richard said, raising his voice in a demanding way that could make anyone startle in plain fear.

J.J sighed. First of all, he hated being called by his full name. It was so opulent and reminded him of his French heritage. He hated everything related to France or Spain, those countries and their people massacred and exploited Avevia's for so long. No member of the Royal Family should have been proud of their French heritage, just like no member of any noble house should have been proud of their French or Spanish heritage.

His stomach growled as he sat up to walk up to the bell. His father looked at him haughtily, raising his eyebrows to emphasize the fact that he was right this time. J.J glared at him, he hated it so much when his father was right…

"East Wing's service staff. What can we do for you, Your Highness?" The female personnel member said politely on the other side of the speaker.

"Bring me two cups of cafe au lait, six croissants, and a large plate of fruit, please." J.J mumbled in his ever so abhorred language, also known as French.

"Okay, many thanks for your order, Your Highness. The food will be delivered to His Highness Prince Richard's office soon."

J.J muttered a simple "thank you" as the light of the speaker turned off, indicating with this that the staff member had hung up.

He turned his glance to his father, raising his eyebrows.

"Happy now?" He blurted out.

"I'd be more pleased if you didn't act so waywardly." Prince Richard replied.

Then, he made a gesture with his hand, inviting his son to take a seat in front of him again.

J.J heeded him and sat down on that uncomfortable desk chair again.

"Tell me, why have you been acting so rebellious lately? I don't like this facet of yours, sarcastic, easily annoyed, always ditching your responsibilities as a prince. Tell me, Jean-Jacques, what is clouding your mind lately?" He asked, with a voice that seemed too worried for what he actually gave about his son's concerns.

J.J sighed again, let himself slide slightly down on the chair, and looked up to the ceiling. Evan's face suddenly appeared among his thoughts, like a pleasant intruder.

His lips drew a thin line on his face as he futilely attempted to find a way to make his father understand.

"Haven't you ever considered what I actually want?" He asked.

Prince Richard smirked and chuckled coarsely under his thick beard.

"Jean-Jacques, my son, my only son. I know more than anyone what you want. You're a free spirit, your biggest desire is to get rid of your royal chains and roaming free around the world, to explore the vast culture and history that this planet has to offer. I know, my dear child, I know."

Richard made a gesture with his hand, like lessening importance to his son's wishes.

"But I'm afraid I can't grant you such a wish. Unfortunately, you have been born to reign, to be my successor."

Prince Richard gesticulated with his left hand to put more emphasis on his words, as he let his chin rest on his right hand lightly.

"You see, my brother, King Antoine, who has done so much for the people in this country and so little for his family and heritage, he's already too old to rule, as I've told you many times before." He stated. "You already know of my intentions, I'll be the next king and you'll be the crown prince, the first in line to rule this kingdom. I'd be very glad if you granted me that wish, if not, you can always give me a grandchild or two."

Prince Richard simply chuckled at this last sentence, gaining a glare from his son.

"I'd rather rot sitting lazily on that disgustingly luxurious throne until the day that I die than having to raise a spoiled little brat along with some hysterical noble lady." Was J.J's blunt response.

Prince Richard let out a couple of hoarse, amused guffaws.

"There you have. When you're the king after my death, Jean-Jacques, you'll be free to decide who will come after you. In the meanwhile, I choose you as the first in line for the throne."

"You're talking as if you were the king already. May I ask what your current plan is? Remember my cousin André is getting married next month."

"Yes, I do remember that. But I'm also an observant man and I can see that your cousin, Prince André, is as interested in Lady Madeline as he's interested in collecting postage stamps or something of the sort that bores him as equally. That fact is awfully blatant if you only stop to look at his gestures and his expression when he poses for the pictures with her."

"Well, it's a well-known fact that Maddie and André are childhood friends, she's like the daughter King Antoine never had —a sister to André and Michel. Kissing her must be like kissing your sister to André, and whoever wants to kiss their sister?" J.J made a joke, not being able to suppress a light snort at that last sentence.

"You get my point, I see. Very well." Richard said.

"So? You've been rephrasing a lot of things and going around the matter too much. What do you want me to do?" J.J asked.

Prince Richard smirked and fixated his glance on J.J. It was at moments like those when J.J felt like a simple puppet of his father's. A child obeying his despotic father's commands over and over again. He felt like a trained dog who slowly grew into some sort of spy that served Prince Richard's shady orders and ruses.

"I want you to separate Lady Madeline from Prince André."

J.J frowned in confusion.

"How do you expect me to do that?" He inquired.

"Convince her to leave André by telling her to follow her heart or some nonsense like that. Find her another partner she'd fancy more. You can even make her fall in love with you. Anything will do as long as she leaves André in the church." His father replied, and his voice tone switched increasingly to an eager, almost maniac one on those last two sentences.

J.J led a hand to his mouth, pondering what his movements were going to be.

He was a skilled spy; he'd follow his father's instructions, but not in an expected way, and still, things would go as planned.

He'd need to gather as much information about Lady Madeline as possible. Flirting with her was his last option. Accompanying his cousins to every upcoming event and befriending her... that was more viable. If something else occurred in the meanwhile that could benefit the ruse, that would be awesome, but quite improbable. And he counted with little time to finish his act, so he was going to need to choose his movements as carefully as possible and still very quickly paced.

"What's going on in that sly mind of yours?" Richard asked, a curious smile drawn across his wrinkled face concealed by heavy layers of beard.

"I'll need to do a thorough investigation on Lady Madeline, like who she is, what she likes to do, what kind of places and people she frequents. I know it sounds exhaustive, but trust me, father, knowing my sources, it won't take much time." J.J replied, sketching a conspiratorial smirk.

Prince Richard chuckled at his son's response.

"That's my son. I'm very proud of who you have become, Jean-Jacques. And I'm also very proud of myself, of the way I've raised you." He muttered.

And it was at times like these when J.J felt worthy once for all.

He hated to admit it, even to himself. But he couldn't help feeling worthy, helpful, valid, and valuable when his father praised him. He didn't have a mother, and even when this fact was something that he had in common with his two cousins, all the three of them —his cousins and his uncle kept considering him an enigma.

His father was the only person he could rely on, no matter how quirky or arrogant he could be at times. And having his approval was most probably what mattered the most for him; unconsciously, always unconsciously, of course. Because the rest of the time he wouldn't have minded seeing his father's head embedded on a stake.

Two gentle knockings were suddenly heard from the other side of the shimmering glass door.

The breakfast was already there. Prince J.J took a look at the grandfather clock: a quarter past nine now.

"Come in." Prince Richard said loudly enough for the maid to hear him from the other side of the room.

The maid opened the door and pushed the food cart up to the desk.

Two cups of steamy cafe au lait were placed on each side of the dark ebony desk, a large plate of freshly baked croissants in the middle, filled with melted feta cheese and Bayonne ham and sprinkled with powdered sugar.

The plate of fresh fruit was left sitting on the cart, it boasted a bunch of plantains and red grapes, ten large strawberries, four ripe pears of a yellowish color, two mangoes, and six slices of juicy oranges. All of that was accompanied by fine cutlery and a tartan informal service set of napkins.

"Many thanks, young lady. You're dismissed, for now. I'll call you back when the dishes need to be cleaned." Prince Richard pronounced with his characteristic coarse, solemn voice tone and thick French accent.

The maid simply bowed deeply at the two princes before leaving the room to probably proceed with her personnel tasks.

"Now, my son, let the feast begin. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all." Prince Richard announced as he wrapped his collar with one of the napkins, ready to dig in the feast.