Delphine Inland

Adjusting the collar of his black shirt, the head of the palace gendarmerie nods and takes his leave. Massimiliano observes the two tails of the white suit waving. The click of the man's heels echoes in the monumental corridor, which separates two wings of the building.

“With air, there is a smell of lavender,” observes Camelia.

Massimiliano looks at her and then approaches the open window through which fresh air comes. It is summer, and many windows remain open at night to ventilate. It is not uncommon for the winds to bring with them the smells of the garden, the station, or the surrounding countryside.

Massimiliano sniffs the air, leaning over the parapet.

“Yeah, it smells like lavender.”

“The gardener must have planted it recently.”

Massimiliano turns towards the maid, shrugging his shoulders.

“It comes from the labyrinth. I doubt the gardeners have anything to do with it.”

Camelia sighs. She keeps her head bowed, her hands clutching her skirt.

“Look, about Your Holiness.”

“A bad affair. When a Witch of her caliber is…” Massimiliano cannot find the words, letting the sentence fall.

Camelia raises her head. Her eyes shone.

“Do you believe what she said?”

“Are you talking about poisoning? About the magical attack?”

“I speak of the Noble Princess. Do you believe that Viola-Maria, that the Princess… no, she is a young girl, how could she?”

Just like you.

Massimiliano holds back that thought. He wants to preserve good relations with the young maid. Deep down, he likes her, and she is sixteen. She is much more adult than the Princess. About which…

“I do not know. The Third Witch can be obscure. I have been in office for four years now. I can guarantee that she can also be ruthless. But I do not know. There is something weird.”

“Are you talking about tonight? Calling us that in the room, the sudden obsession with her appearance, that book?”

“And those clothes, too. And, also, those bizarre clothes in the garden. Instead of the dress.”

Camelia looks down again. Massimiliano says nothing, going back to looking out the window. Towards the labyrinth, only night darkness. The leaden sky even covers the stars.

“I think we need to go.” Camelia's voice is weak but enough to break the butler's concentration.

“You are right. Our duties are unfulfilled yet.”

Four years of service and the large empty spaces of the building still disturb Massimiliano. The butler walks among rows of crystal busts, twisted columns, metal doors, and precious wood. The echo of footsteps, except for occasional distant sounds, is the only company allowed for much of the time.

Fifty servants are not enough for this house. Lately, I have been able to spend time with Camelia often. Her apprenticeship is not over yet.

Thinking about the girl, Massimiliano arrives at the door of Your Holiness and husband's room. From the room of the Praetor-Duke Judas Delphine, no sound comes. Man must be immersed in some nocturnal study, knowing it.

Massimiliano knocks.

“Your Beatitude, please listen to me. I am Massimiliano.”

After a moment of silence, a baritone voice comes from beyond the door.

“Do you think it's time? I'm busy now. You'll talk to me tomorrow. For heaven's sake, Massimiliano, go to sleep. The hands of the pendulum point to past midnight!”

“It concerns your wife, sir.”

“Yes, I heard the gendarmes. I know that you found it. Thanks for your concern. Now go ahead.”

“Your Beatitude will be pleased to know that Your Holiness has summoned your presence. She awaits you in the dining room.”

A loud whistle from a chair scrapes the floor, and some birds fly up and make high-pitched sounds. Steps. The heavy wooden door opens.

The Praetor-Duke reaches the threshold along the aviaries next to a bookcase. The red evening coat, embossed in gold with the family emblem, highlights the build of the former man-at-arms. The short beard covers the probably freshly shaved cheeks and chin. The smell of peach aftershave is still present.

The Praetor-Duke has black hair with some white threads, the tired look of insomnia.

Seeing him, Massimiliano thinks back to the rumors. In the palace, some believe it is a curse from the wife. It is an informal way to spite or punish him for some unspeakable sin.

Nonsense. Some servants have too much free time.

“So?”

The Praetor-Duke observes the butler from his height.

Despite its grandeur, the butler feels a melancholy in observing it. Judas Delphine is a middle-aged man whose splendors are past. Like all men, he does not have the Witches' gift of youth. The ones worth talking about, at least.

Witches die young, suddenly.

Dies surrounded by equally young husbands. How much time do you have left before she replaces you, Judas?

How much longer will I have to wait? I may not be a Duke or a Praetor, but I am the youngest man in this house. Sooner or later, Viola-Eleonora will have to notice me.

“Massimiliano, I am waiting.”

Hurry in a bow, Massimiliano regains control of his thoughts. It is the tiredness, the late hour. It makes him so inefficient and vulnerable. Yes, it has to be that way.

“Your Beatitude is summoned to the dining room.”

Rising from his bow, Massimiliano feels the weight of a large hand on his shoulder.

“Massimiliano, is there something I need to know?”

Judas Delphine's gaze is severe, his hand heavy. Massimiliano hesitates for a moment, misinterpreting the meaning of those words. But it is only an instant, chased away by years of practice in the 'art of' serving.

“No, sir. Your Holiness wants to speak to all the family members. I do not know why.”

The hand rises, and Judas mutters something. The nobleman turns, closes the door, and walks away.

“Fine,” he says, walking away. “If that's what my wife said, I won't keep her waiting.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, the butler sets off towards his next destination.

The room of Prince Crisante Delphine is halfway between the master bedrooms and the dining room. Massimiliano knocks on the door but does not have time to announce himself.

“What do you want?”

“Noble Prince, are you still awake?”

“How dare you order me around!? You're Massimiliano, don't you? Say something, and I'll have the hounds tear you to pieces.”

The butler takes a deep breath.

“Noble Prince, Your Holiness requests your noble presence in the dining room.”

Silence.

“Noble Prince—”

“Fuck you. I'm not deaf. Now go away. You're distracting me.”

“What would I be distracting you from, Noble Prince? Your Holiness will not appreciate this attitude.”

“Blah, blah, blah. That Witch will manage. Just because I'm her son doesn't mean anything! Witches suck. When I become a powerful wizard, I will destroy them all.”

Massimiliano tightens his face in a disgusted grimace. The contempt he feels towards the Prince comes to mind every time the two meet.

Patience, patience, that's what's needed, lots of patience.

“Noble Prince, wizards do not exist. Entertainment, that's all.”

“Wizards exist. The church is led by a wizard.”

“The church is a means by which witches deceive the most fragile men. The Ethnarch of the church possesses no power.”

“Blasphemy. Are you putting me on the same level as beggars who go to pray?”

“I would never dare, Noble Prince.”

Sound of footsteps. A key turns and clicks a lock, opening the door to the room. The figurine of a child emerges wrapped in silk and lace pajamas, with a skirt and bows. He has green eyes and blonde hair like his mother, unkempt curls. Massimiliano has to hold back a grimace of contempt, seeing him leave with that stupid and arrogant expression.

You may be Viola-Eleonora's son, but you'll still be a ten-year-old brat.

“So, here I am. What does a creep like you want at this hour?”

“Actually, you should be in bed, Noble Prince.”

“Fuck. I sleep when I want. Dad is always awake. If he can do it, I can do it too.”

Better let it go before I slap him and have my hand cut off.

“Your Holiness awaits you in the dining room. Together with her, there will also be Your Beatitude and her sister, the Noble Princess.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Have I already said it? Blah, blah, blah. With my magic, I will wipe out all those witches. I will be a hero.”

“Noble Prince, who put this nonsense into your head?”

The Prince sticks out his tongue and stands with his arms folded.

“I won't tell you.”

“Okay, I will tell Your Holiness in due time.”

“No, you won't!”

“Aside from respect, I owe the Noble Prince no obedience.”

Crisante starts to turn red. Perhaps he realizes the possible consequences. Massimiliano anticipates the consequences and despises that spoiled boy. Like all male children of witches, he is useless, yet he believes he is ‘so important.’ How annoying, how impudent. Twenty years earlier, the butler had been his age.

I crawled under machinery in factories and shoveled coal. But what do you know about what a family of ordinary people does? You called them beggars who pray. My mother and father were honest people. It's only thanks to them that I didn't end up maimed by some machine or a vagrant.

Massimiliano tries not to let those thoughts shine through. Hating the Prince is one thing. However, throwing away the decent life built with years of sacrifice is another.

Crisante runs into the room and slams the door.

“Say whatever you want to Mom! Tell her she's a witch. I hate her, I hate her!”

Sighing, Massimiliano walks away.

Knocking on Princess Viola-Maria's room door, the butler feels tiredness coursing through him. Usually, he would be in bed by now. Regardless of the facts, the alarm clock is at four, and there is very little time left to rest. His eyelids droop as she knocks again.

This tiredness is shared with Camelia and some others, but it is a little consolation for me.

“Yes?” A faint, sleepy voice.

“Noble Princess, I am Massimiliano. Your Holiness wishes to see you in the dining room.”

“Hmm, but it's almost one in the morning. Is my Holy Mother in urgent need?”

“Very urgent, Noble Princess.”

“Okay. Thanks, Massimiliano. Let me change myself. Would you mind accompanying me?”

Actually, I'd like to go to bed.

“If you wish, I will accompany you, Noble Princess.”

“Thank you. You're so kind. Wait just a second.”

The sounds of doors opening and closing, footsteps, and moved stuffs, comes from beyond the door.

Massimiliano waits patiently, standing in front of the door. Sleeping makes him less alert. He gives himself a couple of slaps on the cheek without feeling awake.

An open window, the evening air comes in from here, but there is no longer the smell of lavender. Thinking about it, however similar it was, it was not lavender.

The door opens. Massimiliano quickly comes to his senses.

Wrapped in clothes similar to those of her little brother, although embellished with jewels, the young Princess comes out smiling. She is holding the long-haired cat given to her for her previous birthday, placid and with big blue eyes.

Her wavy black hair falls to her shoulders. Massimiliano observes the smiling face, although sharp in its features, of the young woman. She has inherited her father's traits and, somewhat in awe, her butler notes that she is now as tall as he is, despite her age difference.

“We want to go?”

Massimiliano bows.

“Honored, Noble Princess.”