Raul snatched Sylvester’s arm and pried it away, at last regaining his vision.
“Do you want to die, you bastard?!” Sylvester snapped at him, voice dripping with hostility.
“And who are you suggesting will kill me?” Raul huffed back haughtily. “You? Or Claudia with her beauty? If it’s the latter, I would welcome death’s sweet—”
His eyes finally met Claudia’s, and he froze completely. His mouth hung half open.
Sylvester ripped his arm out of Raul’s grasp, then plunged his fist right into Raul’s stomach.
“Guh!” Raul choked, doubling over. “You asshole, I can’t believe you…”
They had been amicable enough moments earlier, but they had devolved into name-calling. Sylvester was ready to fight if the situation required it—and, having recovered from the unexpected punch, Raul was eager to pay him back.
“If you two are going to resort to blows, take it outside,” Claudia told them, steel in her voice. What had they come all this way for? Sighing, she motioned for the men to take their seats once they displayed a willingness to back down.
Lestea insisted on taking the seat immediately beside Claudia, which earned her a glare from Sylvester. He didn’t fight her over it, though, since he knew he was prohibited from touching Claudia until the Saint’s Festival ended. Claudia also preferred to keep her distance to be on the safe side. Sylvester sat across from her, the coffee table between them. Raul took the seat beside him, opposite Lestea.
How long has it been since we sat across from each other?
Since confirming their feelings for one another—no, during a date before that, actually—Sylvester had insisted on sitting beside her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d refused to concede that spot even when Virgil was present.
Although it was still early in the evening, light in the monastery was limited. Darkness was creeping into the rooms and halls. The oil lamp hanging from the ceiling bathed the room in a soft orange glow; it dyed Sylvester’s silver locks a vivid gold, to the point that they looked like honey. It enhanced his natural allure, and Claudia swore she could smell the sweet scent in the air.
She was reminded of the first time they met, when they had tea together. Sylvester had been so beautiful and aloof that he’d reminded her of a porcelain doll. That impression was long gone. The marshmallowy plumpness to his cheeks had faded. Sylvester had matured into a handsome man, his face all sharp angles.
While she was reflecting on the past, Sylvester quirked a brow at her. “What’s on your mind?”
“I was remembering the first time we had tea and sat across from each other like this.”
“Ah, that.” He nodded. “You were more mature than most ladies your age. Those fearless blue eyes left a lingering impression on me.”
“Did I really seem that impertinent?”
“Not at all. I was the impertinent one,” Sylvester assured her.
She remembered his scrutiny. She’d found him, and the whole royal family, intimidating.
“You didn’t offend me,” Claudia told him, “but you did make me nervous. That feels so long ago now.”
At the time, she had no way of knowing how intimate she would become with the crown prince.
Sylvester smiled at the memories—all the months and years they had spent together since.
Next to him, Raul leaned his cheek against his fist, looking intrigued. “Huh. Claudia’s childhood? Now that’s something I’m interested in.”
“Don’t picture it. You’ll taint it,” Sylvester barked at him.
“Why do you treat me like I’m a plague?”
They were getting distracted again. Claudia needed to bring their attention back to the topic. They didn’t have much time, certainly not enough to waste on these shenanigans. The church had allowed this visit, but the group had been warned to keep it brief.
“My apologies for getting preoccupied by such sentimentality,” said Claudia. “Prince Raul, I assume the reasons you and Lestea are in Harland are the Saint’s Festival and the refugee crisis?”
Raul didn’t seem bothered by the abrupt change of topic. He nodded. “The church has approached Bari about accepting refugees as well. After some negotiation, we have agreed. We’ll be providing as much assistance as possible, but you know what my brother’s like. I came to ask if there’s any other way I can contribute.”
Bari was closer to the conflict zone than Harland was. Understandably, they’d been quicker to agree to the church’s request.
“The refugees will be entering our borders through Parte,” Sylvester said, picking up where Raul left off. “We’ve already decided how many will be sheltered in each region. Your father will probably have more information for you later.”
The negotiations were finally over, then.
“It’s taken a while,” Claudia noted. “I only hope this doesn’t cause chaos for our people.”
“Yes, we’re committed to avoiding any clashes between our citizens and the incoming refugees. We’ll be publicizing the decision ahead of time, but especially at the start, we should keep the refugees separate.”
Harland had the wealth and resources to support the incoming refugees, but it also had impoverished citizens of its own. If the people felt that the crown and its administration were prioritizing the refugees over its own populace and dissatisfaction festered, they could have a rebellion on their hands. It was better to keep the two groups separate and observe the situation to prevent that scenario. However, it was up to each regional lord to make the call on how to handle the refugees allotted to their care. That put quite a bit of pressure on the leadership.
“We’ve implemented a temporary policy to put control in the hands of the regional lords.” Sylvester massaged his brow as he spoke. This policy was probably a result of the prolonged days-long negotiation in parliament.