Nanny's full skirts swished as she traced the familiar route to the Royal Bedchambers, carefully balancing a breakfast tray for Keith, who she had discovered, would forget about eating unless he was reminded to.
In the days that had passed since Allura's disappearance, she, Coran and the Voltron Force had formed an unlikely alliance, united by their concern for the Prince Regent.
While maintaining a healthy respect for his privacy, sharp eyes kept a close watch on Keith, trying to assess his health and moods, just as they had watched the Princess.
A pang of worry — for her Little Princess and for the Prince Regent — twisted Nanny's heart. It had been sixteen days since Allura's confrontation with Haggar — sixteen days without word from the Princess and Keith's condition was worsening everyday.
Nanny's face tightened, but she refused to allow her emotions to distract her from her appointed duties. As Mistress of the Household, Nanny was a beloved despot, charged with the supervision of the servants that served the Royal Family.
She looked around as the halls of the Castle bustled with activity of servants cleaning and polishing. Pointing out a thin coating of dust on top of a console table, she spoke sharply to the young maid whose responsibility it was to clean it. A smudge on a cheval glass mirror on another floor earned more words of reproof.
Pausing outside the doors to the Royal suite that the Princess was to have shared with Keith, Nanny took a moment once again to examine her surroundings with wistful eyes.
After the death of his beloved Juliana, a grief-stricken Alfor had ordered the Royal Suite — and the entire hallway that lead to it — emptied and closed up, until it was time for Allura to occupy it with her husband.
Allura, dutiful daughter that she was, had only been too glad to comply with her father's request, and had thrown herself into decorating the empty suite with enthusiasm.
Taking time from her busy schedule, Allura had given Nanny detailed instructions on how she wanted the Royal Suite decorated, instructions which the governess had carried out with her usual zeal for perfection.
Of course, there were differences, Nanny mused, eyeing the silvery metal that lined the walls of the hallway and the carpets that covered the floors. The castle Alfor and Juliana had lived was made of ancient stone, while Keith and Allura occupied the "new" Castle of Lions — which had miraculously risen from the scorched ruins of the old.
Personally, she thought new Castle was not as welcoming as the old one. She missed the graceful sweeping archways and the hidden little gardens that reminded her of the ones in the palaces of Cador.
Allura felt the lack of warmth too, Nanny realized with a flash of insight, remembering the many times she had seen the princess fuss with small household details that could have easily been delegated to the many maids that served in the castle.
But Allura's efforts were not in vain, Nanny thought fondly as she glanced around a castle that bore the imprints of Allura's distinctive touch. The princess had managed to transform the coldness of the new castle into a cozy refuge, an oasis of peace and warmth.
Keith would be pleased with it, Nanny mused, feeling a grudging affection towards the young captain, a man who reminded her of Alfor in many ways. Keen intelligence. Dry wit. A kind, compassionate heart. A sense of duty and service. Nanny began to see why her little princess loved him so much. If only he were of the blood royal, Nanny sighed, shaking her head as she squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.
Something woke Keith from his restless sleep and he reluctantly opened his eyes. The brilliant sunshine that filled the room was torturously bright on his aching eyes after the comforting cloak of slumber.
His mind circled a moment, groping for an awareness that returned in a flash. Allura. Had there been any news? He sat up with a jolt and wished he hadn't as the room spun around him.
He let out a long breath that trailed off into a groan. His head felt like it was about to burst. He slumped back against comfortable cushions of the sofa and rubbed his temples. Muttering a particularly virulent oath from between clenched teeth, he tried to find the energy to stand up and remembered painfully one of the first lessons he learned at the Academy: the blissful forgetfulness brought about by getting drunk was just a reprieve. He couldn't use alcohol as a crutch to distance himself from his fear and worry.
His sharp ears picked up the soft swoosh of the automatic door opening and the familiar sound of Nanny's feet shuffling across the floor. He opened his eyes with trepidation.
"Morning, Nanny" Keith greeted the governess in a strained voice, mentally preparing himself for a strident lecture about how his behavior was unbecoming of the Prince Consort of Arus.
"Good morning, Your Highness," she said quietly, setting a tray onto the low table before him. "Lance told me that you were not feeling well. I brought you some Yanta juice to settle your stomach."
Keith smiled wanly and accepted the glass that Nanny gave him. He would have preferred a bracing cup of bitter coffee, but he didn't want to disturb the tenuous bond that formed between him and his wife's former governess over the course of the last two weeks.
Taking a sip, he braced himself for the queasiness that he knew would follow and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the juice really did help settle his stomach.
Finishing the glass, he handed it to Nanny so that she could pour some more juice into it. His gaze wandered over to the breath-taking landscape framed by the huge window that took up one entire wall of the room.
Most Arussian days were bright and sunny, but this one promised to one of the more beautiful ones and Allura's garden rose to the occasion accordingly. In full bloom, it was a spectacular sight.
A melancholy smile crossed Keith's face as his gaze drifted over to the framed picture standing on the table.
Caught in the act of rising from her impromptu curtsey in the cathedral, Allura was a fairy tale princess surrounded by white flowers and candlelight.
A light touch on his arm jolted him out of his reverie. Keith looked up and met the governess' understanding eyes as she handed him his glass of juice.
"Do not underestimate the power of faith, Your Highness," Nanny said quietly, smiling down kindly at him as a maternal hand reached out to brush his bangs out of his eyes. "Our thoughts and prayers will not go unanswered."
"Will they, Nanny?" Keith asked bleakly. "I wish I had the strength of your beliefs. I can't help but feel that I'm letting her down. I can't shake the feeling that she's out there somewhere, needing my help."
"Perhaps Allura IS reaching out to you," the governess nodded as she gazed off into the distance, her eyes misty with ancient wisdom. "There is much we do not understand about the powers of the Daughters of Cador. Remember what Her Majesty Queen Orla told you. Just because something cannot be seen or touched, doesn't mean that it isn't real."
Stifling the urge to yawn, Lance glanced around the breakfast room. A stray beam of sunlight streamed through the windows, falling on the empty chair at the head of the table.
He had never really enjoyed mornings — and this one was one of the worst he had ever experienced. It had been years since his last hangover, and he had forgotten how what a torturous experience getting up the next morning was.
He was grateful about some things though. Breakfast this morning was a quiet, hushed affair, quite unlike the laughing, lively times that the Voltron Force normally had.
Having breakfast together was a long-standing tradition that Keith and Allura had started long ago, Lance remembered, stirring a heaping teaspoon of sugar into his cup of coffee.
He eyed the food in front of him without much interest. The Castle Chefs had prepared a delicious breakfast of native sausages, scrambled eggs, rice and toast, hoping to revive the Force's normally healthy appetites. But much to their dismay, their efforts were wasted. The members of the Voltron Force — except for Hunk — picked half-heartedly at their food, chewing and swallowing mechanically.
Pushing aside his plate, Lance leaned back against his seat and shifted with discomfort. The grease of the sausages he had just eaten sat heavily on his queasy stomach.
"So, Lance," Hunk said as he helped himself to his third hearty serving of sausages and rice. "What happened last night? Were you able to talk to Keith?"
"Yeah." Lance said, nodding. His brows drew together in an involuntary wince as the action set off hammers in his already aching head. "I was able to talk him."
"I'm surprised he was sober." Sven muttered under his breath, even as he lifted his eyes to meet Lance's. "I overheard some maids gossiping this morning. They said that he's made a sizable dent in Nanny's stock of Alanor."
Pidge's fork dropped onto his plate with a noisy clatter. "Keith drinks? It's been over four years since we arrived on Arus and I've never seen him drink!"
"Pidgelet," Lance retorted as he rolled his eyes in exasperation, "I hate to tell you this, but Keith is just as human as you. He puts on his pants one leg at a time, just like you do AND he needs to eat and drink too."
Pidge shrugged and picked up his fork. "So the bottle of Ginger Ale he keeps in his desk drawer isn't Ginger Ale after all," he said, idly fingering the tines on his fork.
"Ginger Ale?" Lance asked sharply.
"Yeah," Pidge said. "When I was giving my report to him, he pulled out a bottle from his desk drawer. You know, the one that he files all our mission reports in."
"Um, yeah, well... Keeping his liquor in a Ginger Ale bottle is an old habit of Keith's..." Lance remarked distractedly, as he mulled over the implications of Pidge's revelation.
It was an open secret to the Force that Pidge looked up to Keith with an admiration that bordered on hero-worship. In return, Pidge was the little brother Keith had never had and Keith tried to set a good example for Pidge to emulate.
Keith's uncharacteristic behavior caused worry to flash across Lance's features for a brief moment before he schooled his expression into a bland one.
"He HAS been drinking more than normal, hasn't he," Hunk remarked quietly. "And while it might not be a problem yet, it might be in a combat situation."
Sven nodded reluctantly, not liking what his duty required him to point out. "I would rather not put you on the spot like this, Lance, but I must ask you this question. Is Keith still capable of command?"
An uncomfortable silence fell across the room for another moment while Lance considered his answer carefully. "Look, Sven," he said at long last. "Keith may be having a bad time right now, but I'm sure he'll come through for us."
"Lance, let's not fool ourselves. Keith has been drinking heavily AND he hasn't been eating OR sleeping properly," Sven said, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his clasped hands. "I think we have to discuss this now. Is Keith capable of carrying out the duties of his rank?"
"What do you mean, Sven?" Hunk asked, setting down his fork and spoon.
"I'm worried about Keith," Sven admitted frankly. "He's not himself right now. He pretends to be in control, but he's not. And we're not doing him any favors by pretending that nothing's wrong."
Pushing back his chair, Lance stood up and threw his napkin down onto the table in disgust. "I don't believe I'm hearing this. Come on you guys, Keith just got married and got back from his honeymoon; his wife disappeared and he's trying to handle her job in addition to his own. I think he's entitled to —"
The strident sound of alarm klaxons interrupted Lance mid-sentence and ended his spirited defense of his best friend. "Sorry guys," he said instead, taking a deep, calming breath. "This discussion will have to wait. It's time to get to work."