𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫

2.4 || Luminary

"Young Master, you called?" From within a large home estate in Kyre came the voice of an elderly but sophisticated woman. She stood by the door of the room she just entered at the behest of a white-haired boy, Alexander Maximillion.

"Georgia, I want this letter delivered," Alexander ordered, forming a gentle breeze with his fingers and flying the envelope in the butler's direction. There was a hint of amusement hiding in the crease of his eyes, but it didn't go unnoticed by the observant worker.

"Of course, Prince Alexander," Georgia bowed as she promptly took the letter. "I see that you are in a good mood tonight. May I assume it is because of the—" she glanced at the address written on the envelope—"receiver?"

"You read me too well," Alexander shrugged. As his obsidian eyes peered out the window of his study room where he sat, a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. Over two weeks have passed since he last saw the Second Prince, and his father mentioned just a few minutes ago that the boy traveled through Kyre for his inspection of Cambriage. The Duke was sending a letter in regard to the mine, but who was to say that Alexander couldn't also send a letter to his dear companion?

"Well then, for the happiness of the Young Master, I will ensure that the letter is sent properly," the butler announced as she left the room, closing the door and leaving the Duke's Heir alone.

The chair Alexander was sitting on creaked as he leaned back, relying solely on his air magic to keep him from falling back, before he sat upright again and furrowed his eyebrows. The Second Prince, if he recalled correctly, was supposed to head to Cambriage the upcoming week—he shouldn't already be in his manor. Many of the nobles living in or near Kyre were preparing for his arrival, regardless of whether he was staying in an inn there or not, so it wasn't strange for Alexander to be aware of the Prince's trip. But to get there a week early with no word beforehand, especially in the midst of a long storm? Something must have happened.

Alexander brushed back his hair as he resumed studying, tossing away any presumptions. It definitely wasn't a scandal, as rumors of a scandal burn like a wildfire through gossip-loving nobles and he hadn't caught any news of such an event, meaning it must be a more private matter. If that were the case, it was none of Alexander's business to pry.

But that didn't mean he was any less curious.

'Click, click, click, click.'

The sound of Alexander's pen rapping against his table echoed quietly in the room. He wasn't one to be so interested in someone else's life; though most people try their best to hide scandals, their mouths became an opened dam the moment they do something noteworthy. There were not many who would refuse to talk about themselves like the current Second Prince, good or bad.

White-colored eyelashes drooped pleasantly as the boy hummed.

His days have been boorishly lacking any form of entertainment despite the parties he partook in (more like was-forced-to-partake-in-by-Christopher), and it seemed like he couldn't run into the Second Prince when he would visit the Imperial Castle the few days before he left for his home estate for the school break. To not catch a glimpse of the golden-tinted mint strands slipping down a sleeping face, to not see the furrowing eyebrows in response to any of his remarks, it made Alexander's days less satisfying, to say the least.

It was quite a surprise for the Duke's Heir who never really found an interest in anything. He did have his days where he found enjoyment in games or a fact in history, but to be interested in a person who he had known for most of his life simply because there was a change in personality?

Alexander was not one to be curious about anybody outside of surface-level questions: why do they wear a certain ring every day, how did they come to the Vivian Educational Institute, what was their purpose in a meeting, etc. Those questions would always be quickly answered, however. And then his interest would be naught.