5 Cylus 718
He sat there, the warm water of the bath relaxing him finally. The initial moments of the heated water had been agony, as the wound in his hip was still extremely fresh and tender. Gustauv, who'd politely left him after helping the nude Lord into the bath, knocked on the door, his clear voice coming through.
"Morning tea, my Lord. You must have something..." He trailed off, but Oliver remained silent. His stomach was a knot of nerves, tangled deep within his chest. The pain from his hip had made him foggy, and he wasn't sure if he actually heard Gustauv, or only imagined it. However, the manservant popped his head through the door, pushing through with a tray of tea and morning cakes.
"Oliver, you know you should have something. Please," Gustauv added, making the request a favour for himself rather than Oliver. The Lord considered it, then nodded tersely, his lips pursed and thin. Gustauv set the tray down and began pouring the tea, handing the elegant porcelain mug to Oliver.
"Wiltflower. For the pain," he said, nodding. Oliver took a sip and screwed up his face, the bitterness of the tea leaving him no other choice. Still, though, he nodded his appreciation, still silent.
"Perhaps the traditional cane this trial, my Lord. There is no reas--" He began, but Oliver cut him off.
"No reason for what, Gustauv? To show my parents the pain the cane is causing me? To give them reason to ask questions about the injury or my plans for vengeance? Have faith in my ability to play the situation, Gustauv. My parents are excellent statesmen... But I am my mother's son," he said bitterly. His father, Manu, was a laid-back and open man, good at politics but not shrewd at all. Kalani, however, Venoran by blood, she was diplomatic and trained. It was said Ebony herself had taught the girl her prowess, and many in the duchy heeded that endorsement.
"Oliver..." Gustauv sighed, but he recognized the tone. Once the Lord Venora set his mind, he was likely not to be swayed, even in the face of undeniable truth. Shaking his head, he offered a plate with a small breakfast cake, lemon and blueberry. Oliver paled at the sight of it.
"I'm not hungry, Gustauv. It's going to be a strange day, and I'd like to not feel lethargic when Mother and Father arrive. They should be here in just over a break, and--" Oliver stopped as another knock sounded. Lennard's head popped in, a wry grin at Oliver's nudity on his face.
"Sorry to interrupt, milord, but the Great Lady and Great Lord Venora have arrived," he said, and Oliver's face drained to a sheet of white. He looked at Gustauv, whose stunned expression showed Oliver he was unaware of their early arrival.
"Cyrene's cunt," Oliver whispered, struggling to scrub himself clean. He should have known Kalani would arrive early, it was a tactic she'd taught him at a young age. Now, she'd be waiting for him, and he'd be on edge. Even amongst the Roses, Kalani knew how to play the game. It was both encouraging and terrifying.
Gustauv helped Oliver from the bath, dressing him deftly in a forest green shirt. The white suit he wore at the gala was added over it, and a wine red tie. He took up the basalt rose cane, the sharp petals cutting into the soft flesh of his hand. He had scabs from where the topper had cut him the previous trials, and they reopened as the rose dug into them again. Grimacing, he limped from the room, exquisitely dressed and impeccable composed.
He entered the rumpous room fully erect, limping hard on the cane to remain upright. His mouth was set in stone, but he greeted them both with a handshake from his dominant hand.
"My Great Lady and Lord," Oliver greeted them, his voice professional. They were family, and Manu's smile told him he need not maintain the façade, but Oliver wanted to ensure that Kalani saw him for the political skill he wielded. He kissed Kalani's pale hand, and then shook Manu's with a tight smile. All his weight was on the cane, but he was going to remain upright.
"Morning tea, my Lord. You must have something..." He trailed off, but Oliver remained silent. His stomach was a knot of nerves, tangled deep within his chest. The pain from his hip had made him foggy, and he wasn't sure if he actually heard Gustauv, or only imagined it. However, the manservant popped his head through the door, pushing through with a tray of tea and morning cakes.
"Oliver, you know you should have something. Please," Gustauv added, making the request a favour for himself rather than Oliver. The Lord considered it, then nodded tersely, his lips pursed and thin. Gustauv set the tray down and began pouring the tea, handing the elegant porcelain mug to Oliver.
"Wiltflower. For the pain," he said, nodding. Oliver took a sip and screwed up his face, the bitterness of the tea leaving him no other choice. Still, though, he nodded his appreciation, still silent.
"Perhaps the traditional cane this trial, my Lord. There is no reas--" He began, but Oliver cut him off.
"No reason for what, Gustauv? To show my parents the pain the cane is causing me? To give them reason to ask questions about the injury or my plans for vengeance? Have faith in my ability to play the situation, Gustauv. My parents are excellent statesmen... But I am my mother's son," he said bitterly. His father, Manu, was a laid-back and open man, good at politics but not shrewd at all. Kalani, however, Venoran by blood, she was diplomatic and trained. It was said Ebony herself had taught the girl her prowess, and many in the duchy heeded that endorsement.
"Oliver..." Gustauv sighed, but he recognized the tone. Once the Lord Venora set his mind, he was likely not to be swayed, even in the face of undeniable truth. Shaking his head, he offered a plate with a small breakfast cake, lemon and blueberry. Oliver paled at the sight of it.
"I'm not hungry, Gustauv. It's going to be a strange day, and I'd like to not feel lethargic when Mother and Father arrive. They should be here in just over a break, and--" Oliver stopped as another knock sounded. Lennard's head popped in, a wry grin at Oliver's nudity on his face.
"Sorry to interrupt, milord, but the Great Lady and Great Lord Venora have arrived," he said, and Oliver's face drained to a sheet of white. He looked at Gustauv, whose stunned expression showed Oliver he was unaware of their early arrival.
"Cyrene's cunt," Oliver whispered, struggling to scrub himself clean. He should have known Kalani would arrive early, it was a tactic she'd taught him at a young age. Now, she'd be waiting for him, and he'd be on edge. Even amongst the Roses, Kalani knew how to play the game. It was both encouraging and terrifying.
Gustauv helped Oliver from the bath, dressing him deftly in a forest green shirt. The white suit he wore at the gala was added over it, and a wine red tie. He took up the basalt rose cane, the sharp petals cutting into the soft flesh of his hand. He had scabs from where the topper had cut him the previous trials, and they reopened as the rose dug into them again. Grimacing, he limped from the room, exquisitely dressed and impeccable composed.
He entered the rumpous room fully erect, limping hard on the cane to remain upright. His mouth was set in stone, but he greeted them both with a handshake from his dominant hand.
"My Great Lady and Lord," Oliver greeted them, his voice professional. They were family, and Manu's smile told him he need not maintain the façade, but Oliver wanted to ensure that Kalani saw him for the political skill he wielded. He kissed Kalani's pale hand, and then shook Manu's with a tight smile. All his weight was on the cane, but he was going to remain upright.