The Etiquette of War

Prologue

To what is a rose? But that which its petals could not blossom to be. A sweet sounding song, mesmerizing, and dear, a quiet diamond destined to bleed. Unfurled beauty; an immaculate creation. Sharp and yet delicate to hands of temptation. Beguiled by its most sweet lament. An everlasting hold in vines of a beautiful torment.

I wondered at the time if I was making the right decision.

Out from the window of the master bedroom, rain gently pattered against the glass, leaving only an illusion of moonlight in the room. The canopy bed was illuminated only by the dim candlelight on the nightstand. My father’s delicate breath played a sad song with the whispers of the rainfall. His eyes weren’t open, but his frail hand gripped mind with whatever last strength he had left. My rapier, sheathed and resting against the wooden nightstand, I somberly watched my father slowly die. He had long since stopped speaking, using the last of his consciousness to apologize for my current circumstances.

“How cruel of you, father.” I whispered with a whirly laugh thick with my unfallen tears.

How could I blame him for something he could not control? My gaze traced the paths of the wrinkles and curvature of his face. He looked so much older this way. He certainly wasn’t the same spry man I remembered before entering into the academy. I didn’t even know he was sick.

“Perhaps it is I who should have apologized instead.” My words falling once more to myself, my thumb tracing over the back of his hand as though hoping it would rouse him to hear me. If I had known, I would have never left. An entire year suddenly feels so much longer than I have imagined it would be. And yet in contrast, it feels shockingly short compared to all that has transpired. Our House had long since deteriorated from its former noble self, but a year ago it seemed to become cemented when my father had to borrow money from the capital bank. In shame, no noble house wanted to court me. I entered the military academy instead to free myself from such a begrudging obligation and to save face. Never would have expected to be called home a year later to my own father’s death bed. 

Alois was beside himself. Too young to bear the death of both parents, but old enough now to recognize the weight of the title of heir on his shoulders. To spare him from our father’s departure and the nightmares that would surely follow, I long since had Walter, our butler, usher him to bed. Now, with twilight approaching, I alone will hold this burden for him.

My breath delicately shuddered as my father’s hand loosened and my gaze drifted to the weeping window; the visage of my father’s warm smile lingering in goodbye.

No words of departure to be spoken. There couldn’t be. Since my mother’s passing when Alois was born, we promised ourselves that our little family would not give goodbyes, but smiles and memories.

“-Ha..!” Suddenly the irony overtook me and in my melancholy, I scoffed a laugh. A promise. An oath he has left me with as well it seems. My fathers passing words of apologies for the state of our house, embolden me to swear a revival, if only to appease him, but it meant so much more. Knights do not take promises lightly and I could not bear to leave the sorrow on my father’s heart.

It was an unfortunate truth. Our house has practically fallen and my father’s death has only solidified our upheaval. It is just a matter of time before another house will attempt to take our vulnerable territory with a frivolous reason for the conflict. Then my little brother’s head will be on the line.

I must restore our house.

When the candlelight faded out and the sunlight peaked through the rain, I released my father’s hand and kissed his cold forehead before I stood.

A promise left heavy on my heart, the rays from the window glinted against the rapier of my sword; a shadow of itself and mine, lingering behind who I once was, to the lady I am now.