Chapter 13
Blinding sunlight offends the King and he roars in slumberous agony.
“What’s the meaning of this?!” the Queen demands.
Erik greets his parents with jubilance, ignoring their crankiness. “Good morning father, mother. I’ve been thinking, and I want to open a school for the common folk. Nothing extensive, but France would be a stronger nation if the layman could read, don’t you think?”
“Who are you, and what have you done with my son?”
“Oh, and I’ve invited the Roma to the ball. It’ll be great for relations!”
Erik laughed and closed the shrouding curtains to his parents four poster.
“Out! Get out! It’s too early for your blasphemy Erik!”
~
Charles jolts awake to the sound of the door to his room being slammed open.
“It is an hour past sunrise, Charles! Pray tell, just when were you planning on getting up and tending to your duties?”
Charles propped himself up on one arm, which gave out on him and he crashed back into bed.
“Was up late las’ night, sorry,” Charles murmured, already halfway back to slumber.
“‘Sorry?’ ‘Sorry??’ We haven’t had breakfast yet! When were you going to make breakfast?” Cain shrieked.
“You have two hands, make it yourselves,” Charles groaned, and stuffed his head under a pillow.
“I- Wha- Oh! You foul, wretched bastard…” Cain stormed out of the room, taking his string of profanities with him.
Kurt narrowed his eyes at Charles, who was already snoring. “Raven, go to the kitchens and put some eggs to boil.”
“What, me? Why can’t I fetch Moira, or Jean?” Raven protested indignantly, but Kurt put up a hand to silence her. Raven sulked down the hallway and to the kitchen, Kurt slammed Charles’ door shut behind him.
~
Charles finally rose mid morning, cursing as his vague recollection of Kurt and his step siblings trying to wake him up hours ago came into focus. He hastily dressed himself and stuffed his feet into boots, quietly, while listening for any sign of the Markos.
Finding them to be in the far room of the house, Charles snuck out the door and ran to the stables to start his daily duties.
He did not dare return to the manor until mid afternoon, when he and Logan had finished all the fieldwork. “I’ll make them strawberry tarts for dessert… the Baron may forgive me if I show deference.”
Jean was busy preparing supper, Charles gave Moira a silver piece and asked her to go to the villa two houses over and buy a pound of strawberries for him. He cleaned himself up, and re-entered the villa to face the Markos.
Kurt is not in the lounge, as he usually is this time of day, so Charles quiets and listens as best he can for their whereabouts. They are upstairs. Charles ascends noisily, so as to not catch Kurt off guard and anger him further.
Kurt, Cain, and Raven are in Charles’ room, looking through his trunk. Charles is aflame with anger, but he quickly remembers he is in trouble with them, and this is likely just some twisted kind of punishment from Kurt.
“What are you doing?” Charles says, anger audible but restrained.
“Oh, Charles! How nice of you to finally show yourself.” Cain teases.
“Can I help you find something? More silver ‘gone missing’ this week?” Charles balls his fists in anger, then makes himself relax.
“No, not this week,” Kurt says, brushing off the accusation.
“But, we did think it would be a waste of gold to buy a new tunic for Prince Erik’s ball when there’s a perfectly beautiful tunic buried somewhere up here,” Cain says as he pulls out Brian Xavier’s wedding tunic from the bottom of Charles’ trunk.
“These were my father’s,” Charles says with seething rage, storming up to Raven and snatching the matching shoes out of her hands.
“Yes, and now he’s dead.” Cain said with false pity.
Charles, without thinking, drew back his right arm and punched Cain square in the nose.
Raven screamed in shock, Cain screamed in pain, Kurt screamed in anger.
“I am going to rip your head off!” Charles storms towards Cain overflowing with rage, reaching for his father’s tunic. Cain stumbles backwards, eyes wide in fear.
Kurt tries to grab a hold of Charles, but Charles evades his grasp. Cain uses the moment to run out of his corner, still screaming.
Cain’s hand falls on a small book as he grabs the ledge above the hearth to catch his balance. He recognizes it as Charles’ mother's copy of Utopia.
Cain snatches the book off the ledge and turns to face Charles, holding the book between them as if it were a knife.
Charles falters as he recognizes the book in Cain’s hands. He inches towards Cain, but Cain moves the book closer to the fire.
“One step closer and I’ll destroy your mother’s book, I swear it.”
“I’ll rip your hair out,” Charles snarls.
“Choose wisely, Charles! Your Father’s shoes or your mother’s book?” Kurt demands of Charles.
Charles stares impossibly between the two objects, his anger quickly shifting to panic. How could he possibly choose, between his mother and his father? The tender wisdom his mother had imparted on him, that had made him more or less who he was- or his only remaining relic of his father, whose memory was already as faint as a phantom to him?
Charles tried to rationalize that the whole house had once been Brian’s so everything here that predated the Markos could be seen as a memento to his father-the house itself!
But the house was not his. All he had left without the tunic was his father’s name....
He had his father’s name. Without Utopia, he truly had nothing left of his mother’s. Nothing that mattered, anyways.
Charles’ throat tightened and his eyes welled. Of course he was going to choose his mother, he just couldn’t believe he had to choose.
His shoulders crumpled in, and he weakly raised his father’s shoes up to Kurt’s outstretched hand.
“There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Cain, feeling justice enough had not been served, flicked his wrist and tossed the copy of Utopia into the fire anyways.
“Nooooooo!” Charles screamed in terror and dove for the fireplace.
Kurt caught him by the elbow and held him off while the pages caught fire, Cain bubbled with vindictive glee and started to laugh as he walked away.
Charles sank to his knees, sobbing. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks while he watched the pages of Utopia curl upwards and turn black.
~
Charles was whipped, 5 lashes for laying hands on a member of the house.
A bitter part of Charles mused this was the end of the Markos being coy about stripping him of his rank. It’s fine that they were no longer pretending- better, really. He had no doubts about where he stood now.
Kurt had screamed at all the servants to retreat to their cottage when Logan had refused to wield the whip. Raven, having an immense pity for him, tended to his wounds so he would not have to do it himself.
Charles’ throat was hoarse and his eyes sore. He laid silently on his bed while Raven cleaned his lashes. Raven dug a little too deep into one cut and Charles hissed.
“Sorry! Sorry,” Raven drew back until Charles relaxed again. “... I understand why you did it, and he deserved it, but. You shouldn’t’ve hit him. He’s not worth it.”
Charles tensed up again, this time not from physical pain.
“I know.”
“Charles I’m so sorry all of this happened,” Raven said, her voice tight.
“I’m not,” Charles said, thinking of Erik more than of Cain, and how much he would miss him.
Miss him?
Yes of course. Of course he had to end it with Erik. Erik was a prince, and today had made abundantly clear that Charles was just a titleless servant.
He would tell him in person though. Erik deserved that much.