The queen studies him with a frown.

“Yves. Punctuality is a virtue one would be wise to learn, especially considering your.. status.”

Is he supposed to be ashamed of his less than noble heritage? Of his mother, instead of that useless lump that called himself his father? Ha.

“As is giving enough future notice before an unexpected appointment. It’s common courtesy, or so I’ve learned from my tutors. I’m sure you’re well aware of it, of course.”

The air is immediately laced with tension. Oh, he knows her face is flushed with anger, even without looking. The fact that hunger from waiting for his arrival surely gnaws at her as well is only the cherry on top. It’s a good thing he’s decided to eat beforehand. All the better to relish this vindication that sweeps through him. 

Being a petty asshole pays sometimes. Especially when it results in such a lovely shade of puce on the queen’s face. Maybe she’ll be the first to die of an aneurysm. What a pleasant thought.

“...Perhaps the maid was lax in relaying my message. I suppose they’ll need to be retrained.”

The maid visibly flinches out of the corner of his eye, but Yves ignores it in favor of straightening up from his bow, regaining the queen’s attention with a mocking smile. “A servant's mistakes reflect on their master, I’ve learned. Any fault with them would thus also…”

Lie with the master.

The queen’s eyes narrow at the implications. Good. All the anger should be on him. If he is already going to be on her bad side, there is no need to drag worthless nobodies down with him. While he wouldn’t care much either way about the servant’s fate, he could never pass up the opportunity to spite the queen. 

Before she could reprimand him, Yves continues. “Of course, I had to prepare to meet with you as well. I couldn’t possibly present myself before your majesty without a suitable appearance.”

He hasn’t changed a single thing about his attire, not that anyone else would know. No one, of course, besides the maid who had seen him in the morning, and he ignores her incredulous glance at his bald-faced lie. Yves doesn’t need any fancy clothing to look presentable, not with a face like his.

In comparison, the queen is dressed as elegantly as always, with finely embroidered silks and laces. With her dark red hair swept back in a regal updo, she looked like the quintessential queen. Nowhere near as pretty as he was, of course. Just look at those ghastly eyes, so much like her thrice damned son. Dark blue and filled with the same infuriating sense of superiority, as if Yves were some source of disappointment. 

He ought to pluck them out. 

Though, as much as he hates to admit it, they had similar tastes in fashion. Ugh.

Heedless to his thoughts, she raises a hand, gesturing to the breakfast spread before her. “Come, eat. We will discuss more after breakfast.”

Yves slips into a seat across from her, but does not touch the food. “I wouldn’t dare eat before Your Majesty.”

Highly unlikely as it is that the food would be poisoned, he still couldn’t resist making her eat first. A mild dig at her untrustworthiness, wrapped up in just enough modesty to make pointing it out a faux pas. Something she is well aware of, judging by the minute narrowing of her eyes. 

She takes a breath before releasing it in a controlled sigh. Scoops up a spoonful of porridge and eats with a deliberate calmness and a pointed look. Most unfortunately, she does not drop dead foaming at the mouth from poison. What a tragedy.

At that, Yves begins eating as well, pretending it is her heart he is piercing with his fork instead of a slice of fruit. 

He could do this all day long, if it meant he could see the way her face twitched in anger. It’s a dangerous game to play, provoking her ire like this when he already has so few allies here. This ploy will only cause her dislike of him to worsen, and he mentally prepares for more assassination attempts in the future. 

That’s fine with him. People were more willing to slip when driven by their emotions, after all. If it meant making enemies of the entire palace then so be it. He was never here to make friends.

After a couple minutes of the world’s tensest breakfast, she begins to speak again. A pity. He was just about to partake in some of the buckwheat pancakes. 

“I’ve heard about that dreadful incident, and wanted to check in on you.”

Ha. Of course she did. It’s funny that she is the one to check up on him, instead of his most honorable father. Despite the furor that had arisen from that dreadful incident, not once has he checked up on Yves. Besides sending the imperial physician his way, of course. Not that that comes as a surprise. 

Yves has never seen the man more than a handful of times, quick fleeting glimpses of tired faces and ever distant words. The closest he has ever come to him was in his previous life, when his lifeless body laid before him. Even then, he had barely spoken to Yves, nothing more than a few useless words to his long lost son, come to wreck a bloody path through the kingdom.

Watching her tap her fingers as she awaits his reply, bright red lacquer clicking on the table, Yves makes sure to chew as thoroughly and slowly as possible before replying. “I appreciate your concern. Truly, you did not have to call for me.” 

He suppresses a smug smile when her eyebrows twitch at his contemptuous tone. There is no need to make an outright enemy of the queen just yet, but there is also no need to play too nicely with her. He is simply here to determine if she is one of the many aiming for his head, and getting to lose their temper, even if only a little bit, is an excellent way of revealing someone’s true colors.

Based on what he’s observed so far, it only confirms his suspicions: the queen may heavily dislike his presence, but she doesn’t seem to actively want him dead. Out of the way of her precious son’s life, perhaps, but not dead. Of course, things might’ve changed after his behavior today, but that is not a loss he will miss.

So then, who is behind the attack? One of the many noble houses backing her own formidable one? Are they doing it with her knowledge or not? If so, does she think she could evade responsibility by claiming she had nothing to do with it, that they acted of their own accord? Or is she truly as divorced from her previous family as she claims to be?

Much to think about. He simply has never paid her as much attention as he did her son and his father. If anything, she was more of a footnote in his life, a vague nuisance overshadowed by the people actively opposing him.

“This was caused by the lacking palace security, and thus, I shall take responsibility in remedying it. Rest assured that the guards will be given their due punishments, and more will come to replace them.” She takes a sip of her tea and pauses, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Speaking of which…what are your thoughts on having a personal guard?”

A personal guard? Yves blinks, blindsided by the suggestion before realization sets in. Ah, so that is where she is going with this. How… boring. Such a boring and predictable tactic, it’s almost surprising she’d go this route. 

“While the security will be fortified, it is still appropriate for you to have your own guard, one who will be able to stay by your side more often. It’d be better this way, for someone to be fully dedicated to your safety.” 

What is she getting at? There is no way she is genuinely concerned about his safety. Yves has a sinking sensation where this is leading. 

“I believe the imperial palace’s security will be enough, and…” Yves looks her in the eye. “I don’t believe I am quite comfortable with a stranger next to me just yet.”

“I understand it may be a daunting thing to think about, especially with how little people you may know, considering your… background, but rest assured. There is no need for you to worry. I will take the liberty of choosing your personal guard myself. Their quality will be assured.”

Oh. Oh hell no.

“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself. I’m sure no one would dare disrespect the royal family like this again,” Yves says. Does she think he’s stupid? Perhaps if he were a normal child, still dealing with loss and willing to grab onto any lifeline with terrified hands after that assassination attempt, he’d be grateful for her help. So shaken after the incident, he would have teared up, leaned into her embrace when she inevitably comforted him, so desperately lonely after his mother’s death.

As he is now, he can see the blatant attempt in putting one of her own people by his side, reporting his every movement, poisoning his food, his thoughts. How terribly boring of her. It might have been more convincing, had she at least attempted to look more concerned about him, instead of eyeing him like he was a potential threat to her precious son. Which, he supposes, is a valid concern. 

Yves will kill her son one day, will cut his throat and present it as a pretty gift just for her. 

“You’ve much to learn, if you think this is the end. It’s understandable, of course. You’ve never had anyone to properly guide you on the aristocratic ways, have you? Then, let this be my first lesson to you, as a gift.” She sets her teacup down with a click, the sound loud against the surrounding silence. Fixes the full weight of her attention on him, and if he were a normal child, he’d shiver under it all. So this is the true face of someone who’s clawed her way to the second highest position in the kingdom. 

“Little… rodents are always lying in wait, ready to forget their place and take what is not theirs. Which is why we must keep constant watch for them. Who knows when one will bite? No, best to crush them now, don’t you agree?”

Yes, Yves thinks, meeting her gaze head on as he nods. Pests should be taken care of long before they become a threat. One of the exceedingly rare times he will agree with her. Shame they had different ideas on just who exactly was that pest.

Calmed by his silent assent, she settles back in her seat. 

”You may think this is coming out of nowhere, I’m aware. However, with the crown prince away with his studies, there is no one else for me to worry for here. Will you deny a mother’s concern?”

And with that, his previous smugness vaporizes. The sheer incandescent fury nearly overwhelms him. Mother? Mother? The only mother Yves had, the only one he will ever have, laid dead in a puddle of her own blood. How dare this woman even suggest Yves to consider her as a suitable replacement? He’d sooner leave her in a pool of her own blood than entertain the thought.

Yves looks at the queen, really looks at her, and contemplates it. Sitting just a few feet away from him, sipping tea from her damned cup with impeccable manners, Yves looks at her bare throat and thinks. 

It would take an instant to lunge across the table, to flip the entire thing and wrap his hands around the pale delicate throat and snap. His hands may be smaller now, softer and weaker, but if he were to put his weight behind it, it’d be more than enough for that delicate neck of hers.

Or, Yves considers, weighing the fork in hand, he could pluck out her eyes, the damnable things. The silverware gleams in the light, finely made and just sturdy enough to plunge into soft flesh. He could do it, could take out one of the people he is sure will be standing in his way in the future. Yves could kill her, could dig the fork in and twist before the horrified guards could pull him back.

He could leave that bastard motherless as well.

How intoxicating the thought is. And yet.

He remembers thin hands carding gently through his hair, the pungent smell of medicinal herbs filling his senses when he pressed closer.

Yves, my sweet child. I recently came across something interesting while reading. They said to turn the other cheek if you are slapped. How silly. If there is anything you should learn, it’s this. If someone were to slap you, you should slap both sides of their face and yank their hair for good measure. Return the favor tenfold.

He hadn’t quite understood it then, young as he was, but he does now. Death is not the worst thing that can happen to someone. This, he knows intimately. No, there are far better way in letting someone suffer, to take away the easy escape and force them to experience every last drop of torment. 

“There is no need for that because,” Yves says in a slow and measured tone, brushing against the polished silver one last time before placing it down deliberately. Not yet. He inhales. Compresses the vengeance and fury into something that sits cold and sharp in his throat. “I would like to take care of finding my personal guard myself.”

She tilts her head, displeasure returning to her expression. “You doubt my ability to find you a suitable guard?”

Ha. Oh, he is sure she can find a suitable guard alright. He is willing to bet she already has a puppet in mind, ready to report his every move. It’s tempting, almost, to agree to her just to see who that is. Better an enemy he's aware of than one he's not. 

Shame that he refuses to acquiesce to a single one of her demands. 

“Investigating the assassin is something I know you are investing a lot of time into, in addition to your duties as the queen. I can’t possibly add more to your workload. Let me take care of this, at least. Surely an insignificant task is unworthy of your attention.”

There is not an ounce of belief in the queen’s face at his saccharine tone, which is fine as even he doesn’t believe his own words. The next few, however, are genuine.

“Your health is very important to me,” Yves says. “I say this with the utmost sincerity, but I genuinely wish for you to live for as long as possible.”

She studies his face for any hint of mockery, but Yves knows she will find none. For he truly does want her to live a long life.

How else will he see her face when he kills her son, when he brings everything she’s ever cared for to ruin. What sort of expression will she have, when he presents the bastard’s decapitated head to her? Will she scream and wail? Collapse without a sound at the sight? Maybe she’ll even lunge at him, desperate to avenge her son. It’d provide an excellent excuse to cut her down, but that option doesn’t sound nearly as enticing as it is to let her live, make her cradle his macabre present to her chest. 

Yves smiles at the thought. Picks up the fork once again with a light hold, and puts a bite of cake in his mouth. It’s soft and airy, and deliciously sweet.

He can’t wait to find out.