The last cherry blossom falls, a clock chimes and the sun climbs its way into position as the morning begins.

"Un... deux... trois. 

Enin... Eji... Eta.

Waahid... Ithnaan... Thalaathah."

A land not so far away. A castle. A compact room. Five wine walls, two on opposing sides eclipsed by dark, ebony shelves and wide book casings, whilst the others stayed exposed to the eavesdropping light that was visiting through a glorious window which resembled an open book, two long pages,  portals to a world beyond. The thick, floral, burgundy, curtains shifted a bit, disturbed a pinch by the breezes that tried to squeeze themselves through the opening between, possibly also to listen in on the current lesson in session.

"Et encore, un fois s'il vous plait." (And again, one more time if you will).

"Un... deux... trois.

Enin... Eji... Eta.

Waahid... Ithnaan... Thalaathah."

"Bonne travaille votre Altesse Royale! Maintenant..." (Good Job Your Highness! Now...)

The tutor placed her ash-wood pointer down on the clean, polished desk, wiping the chalkboard swiftly before grabbing her chair and placing in front of her much smaller, smartly-dressed student, leaving only his table between the two. 

"Quelle main est t-il?" 

 (Which hand is it?)

Another morning routine as Madame Seastone conducted morning lessons. She exhibited two tightly clenched fists. Both wrapped in white, soft, satin, gloves; however one held something sweet and enticing and made the morning hours all the more worthwhile.

"Çelle-la!" (That one!)

An eager voice called out as a tiny white hand pointed towards the dainty, one.

"Quelle main?" (Which hand?) She repeated, failing to hold back a playful smirk. A pensive silence followed suit that made way for the beat of the clock's impatient hands to contribute to the conversation.

"Oh! Le-LA! La main à la gauuuuu-?" (The one on the lefff-?)

A not so subtle reaction.

-Droite! La Droite! La Droite!" (Right! The Right! The Right!)

"Pouquoi?" (Why?) Madame enquired, her aged bronze face tilting back slightly and revealing a white gleaming smile, squinting her ultramarine eyes in the excitement.

"Parce-que la main, avec les bon bon, est toujours serré plus fermement!" 

(Because the hand with the sweet is always clenched more tightly!) 

He proclaimed proudly with slight agitation, nearly as if the question had insulted his intellect.

"Ah! Vous êtes trop intellegent votre Altesse!"

(Ah! I've been caught out it seems your Highness! You're becoming too intelligent!)

She laughed as she turned over the hand to present the winner with his silver-wrapped prize. He took it happily, displaying a small set of teeth of his own, bright like the stainless suit and gloves he always wore.

"<Well, That's all for now. I shall take your leave.>"

"Thank you Madame."

With a curtsy and a bow in return Delphine returned her chair to its place sweeping her neat stack of books into her lean arms before making her way towards the exit. She paused casually,  her hand hovering above the little prince's head before gently trying pat it. He dodged. Again.

"No!" He pouted. Guarding his slick, silk, gelled, black hair with little arms.

She sighed a smile and gradually retracted the hand. 

"Alors, E-Emilia, will be back today... Just to inform you..."

"...Okay." He replied, frozen in place. He had never let his guard down. 

She continued for the door, with an Adieu. The end of the lesson marking the end of spring and guiding way for a well awaited summer. 

He began to write.

---

The empty castle hallway carried the sound of her padded soles from one end to another, guards breaking their stiff expressions to respect her, footmen and passing handmaids nodding a greeting in her direction. 

A landscape of greens and blues received her as she stepped through the welcoming; lavish doors of the castle's entrance and down the cream stone steps; into the calming hedge garden; breathing as she reflected; heading to her cottage home near a small spring.