Five: Etiquette 

The King did not take kindly to Everett’s failed attempts with Lady Matilda. The next morning, Everett was called into the throne room, where his father and Adelaide sat, unmoving like marble statues, skin sickly pale and glistening. Everett thought to himself then if he could even recall the last time he had seen his father outside of this room. He could not. 

That was all he did, Everett thought bitterly to himself, he sits in this room and pouts and complains! 

“Clearly.” The king begins, voice loud and obnoxious. So much so that it causes Everett to flinch in his own skin. “Eda has not provided you with adequate lessons of etiquette. Maybe she is not as efficient as I thought her to be.” 

Everett bit his tongue. Eda was kind, deserving, and intelligent. She did not deserve belittling, especially when she was out of earshot. If he was going to berate her, at least do it when she had the opportunity to defend herself. This was just cruel! Who bullies an old lady who just wants the best for everyone?  

“Because of this, I will be assigning you a different mentor.” He bellows, and a strange looking man makes his way down to the front of the throne room. His hair is wild and dark, short and spiky at the top of his head. He has annoyingly small, round glasses perched way too high on his nose and clothes that look like they came from wherever Floryn was from. Exotic and eccentric.  

Although, there was a difference in the way they dressed. Floryn’s look seemed authentic and genuine, where as this man’s attire was worn in a performative way. 

“This is Sir Henry. He will be teaching you how to behave from this point onward. If you so much as act out of line in the slightest of ways, he will let me know of it.” 

The prince offers a kind nod to the tutor, who offers glances to him and does nothing more.  

Everett did not need etiquette. The prince was kind and thorough and did his best to always be polite. He was thoughtful and gentle and sweet. He would not need this tutor’s help, but by the look on his father’s face, he knew he had no say in the matter.  

He would have to re-learn the rules if he liked it or not.  

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ 

Sir Henry settled them in the old library for their first lesson. Everett did not much come to this library or even like it. Every time he came to read, he kicked up century-old dust that made him sneeze and drool until his eyes burned red and he could not take it anymore.  

So, he perched in the corner with watchful eyes, bottom set on a fancy red pillow on the floor. He would watch for that wretched dust and keep his nose away at all costs.  

“We shall start with dinner etiquette, something your father brought to my attention that you seem to be lacking in.” He started, stern but not impolite. He flipped open an old book and set it out on the table for the prince to see. The prince did not move to gaze upon the book’s contents, instead, he leaned back on the wall and narrowed his gaze. He was not about to be taught any of this, not when he knew it by heart.  

“Fine then.” The prince scoffs. “Go ahead and start.” 

A harsh slap to his wrist has Everett snapping his head up, alarmed. Sir Henry had produced a thick wooden paddle in his left hand, and he had slapped it down so quickly Everett had barely any time at all to process it.  

“Perhaps we start with my expectations first, instead.” Sir Henry leans forward, so close that Everett can feel his hot, deathly breath on his own face. Just what did this man eat? “I am to receive respect at all times. This includes now, so sit up and listen to me or I shall strike you again and again until you do so.”  

Everett slowly fixes his posture, dropping his hands to his side and clasping one hand over the other. He refrains from moving much more, glancing at the already reddening strip of skin on his wrist. He did not wish to be smacked again. It may not have hurt him much the first time, but he knew of the paddle’s pain. He knew that the strikes added up. He had experienced the raw skin that turned so red that it bled and left him sore for days.  

Sir Henry continues, using the handle end of the paddle to point to various words scribbled out in his makeshift handbook. Did he think Everett could not read, or something? 

“Typically, I teach these lessons only to women.” He speaks the word women like it’s bile on his tongue. Everett’s mouth screws up, teeth grinding until it hurts. Sir Henry was quickly becoming a pain in his side, and to his ears and eyes. “You should feel shame in needing a repeat.”  

He seems like he is dreading talking about it, but Everett did not understand how. His father likely paid this man a small fortune to sit in this dark library and read off a list. A list that Everett already knew by heart.  

“And when I do occasionally teach royal men their proper behaviors, they are much younger than you.” Sir Henry admits, brows furrowed. How long was this man going to blurt out complaints? Was he ever going to get on with the lesson, the whole reason he was here?  

Everett fidgets with his fingers, starting to feel impatient.  

SMACK! 

Sir Henry slaps the same wrist he had slapped before, this time much harder. Everett yanks his wrist back into himself, cradling it with his other hand.  

“What was that for!?” Everett asks, face distraught.  

“You quit paying attention. I could tell by your eyes.” Sir Henry clears his throat. “Remember that you must respect me at all times, and that is especially required whilst I speak. If you learn this first, hopefully then you could get a lady to fancy you.”  

“Well, pardon me for getting bored!” Everett grunts, raising to his feet and throwing the rule book off the table. It slams into the ground and shuts closed dramatically. Sir Henry watches in silence. “All you’ve done so far is drone on about useless things! You care more to insult me than to teach me. What kind of teacher does that?” With every word, Everett gets increasingly enraged. “And, by the way, I know it all already! Never slouch nor spit, complain nor sigh, burp nor belch, cry nor whine. No elbows on the table. Never talk with a full mouth. Never use your hands to eat your food. Always smile when spoken to. Pray before you eat. Use your napkin, never your sleeve!” 

He gasps for breath, “Am I missing anything, Sir Henry?”  

The older man says nothing. He just stares, eyes widened and mouth agape.  

Everett turns on his heels and hurries to the door while the man is stunned. Before he makes his smooth exit, he courtesies, pretending to lift a gown he was not wearing by his fingertips and bending his knees dramatically.  

“Good. Day!” 

The door of the library slammed behind him.