7.

"Caldor—"

"Traalas!"

"—fangs!" Marcel exclaims and viciously stabs his finger at August's sheepish aversion towards meeting his gaze. "You answered late again–!" Their carriage continues moving, and he's about to continue his reprimand when their carriage, jostling over another pothole, makes the teen inhale sharply.

"Brother, why are the roads here so horrendous?" Marcel pleads suddenly, increasingly envious of August's stoic expression as they ride over yet another pothole. "Please, brother. Do they have no dignity—?"

"No."

"—Avilême Court! The centre of our Nation's grand capital! Yet these countryside roads— did I hear you say 'no'?" Marcel gawks, gesturing hands returning to his sides as he leans forward towards August. They are both dressed in refined, pressed clothes, more tastefully tailored than what he's seen worn by his peers and elder nobility. The teen tilts his head at the older man, who in turn sharply raises an elegantly groomed brow.

Marcel once wondered why August was consistently the main topic of gossip during his playdates in his younger years. It was simple to realise his brother is regarded as a fashion 'pioneer'. As he learned later, August enjoys experimenting, as he has often done with Marcel's wardrobe with their family tailor, patiently considering his consequential childish ramblings.

His brother hasn't cared much about his appearance lately, especially at home.

"—I will provide guidance; however, I trust you will make your judgements—" August stops with a firm gaze, and Marcel catches himself lost in his thoughts. He grins and bites back a curse when the carriage jerks again.

"I hate you, brother. Subjecting me to this suffering. Your baby brother. These roads are most certainly contributing to the unrest. Of course, Sir Marl's mansion was broken into if these are the roads his people have. They're far better around his summer estate. These are trading liabilities! And not even a single flower around us! Only dastardly weeds! Overgrown as his ego! Please, brother, must we—this is not funny!" Marcel exclaims, tears building at August's sudden hearty laughter. "Do we truly have another hour of travel on these atrocious roads?"

His brother is too competent; Marcel scowls as he turns away from August's smile. Rural roads in their province are better paved and maintained than what they're currently on. He, along with their people, has also been spoiled by them.

"Sir Marl is a dirt-brained fool," Marcel mutters petulantly, struggling to keep his emotions in check while trying to reassure himself. Anyone with wit will notice how skilled and excellent his brother is.

"Brother," the teen calls out as a thought strikes him, and August hums attentively. His brother must seek an engagement soon, regardless of the civil movements. "As heir apparent, should you not consider courting a lady soon?"

Marcel snorts at the unexpected dumbfounded look crossing his brother's face, devolving into a delighted laugh, apparently identical to their mother. "Have you truly not considered it all?"

"...I have somewhat," August leans back with a sigh. His gaze shifts to the side, drawing back the white curtains and observing the fallen oak tree behind them. "I find myself reluctant."

August is about to continue when Marcel readjusts his position with a pained murmur. He notices his discomfort, and laughter escapes him.

"...I hate these roads, brother," Marcel mutters, clearing his throat.

"I find they are rather refreshing after a night of poor sleep," August beams. Marcel strikes his knee with a flurry of blows with the cushion pulled from underneath him, yelling furiously.