On the day of his departure, the entire palace was in chaos. Lyon stayed away from everyone, isolated in his room until the day he had to leave Lamia Scale.
...Or that's what he wanted everyone to think. If the servants could not tell the difference between a clone and his actual body, then it's not his fault.
Unfortunately, most servants avoided being assigned to the taciturn prince, which meant that his personal attendants consisted of his closest friends. Which also meant that none of them would fall for his ruse.
Which was why they have tracked him all the way down to the slums, where he had disguised himself in his Luca persona, visiting the children of a nearby church.
"Your Highness," Sherry hissed, hands on her hips.
It was frightening how similar both cousins looked whenever they are annoyed.
"Lyon-sama!" Toby wailed, lunging forward to paw at him. "If you wanted to visit the city, you should have called me! Am I not your coachman? Have I disappointed you?"
He tried to dislodge the distraught man clinging to his front, grimacing in annoyance.
"I'm visiting the city discreetly." He snapped, trying to rip Toby's hands off his cloak. "If I come riding into the slums in a carriage, that's defeating my whole purpose!"
"Why didn't you bring me along?!" Chelia demanded, coming over with a toddler in her arms. The church caretaker, Lira, was following behind the younger girl with two children in each hand.
Luckily, his servants were out of their uniforms.
"Luca-san, I'm so sorry for troubling you!" The young lady bowed. "Are... Are these your friends?"
She stared at a blubbering Toby attached to his front in unconcealed bewilderment. He stifled the urge to hide his face and pretended that he does not know these idiots.
"Unfortunately." He muttered, finally managing to pry Toby's hands off and kick him aside.
Lira giggled in amusement.
"Alright, children, we're heading back to the church now!" She clapped her hands loudly. "Hatsu-san should be done with breakfast!"
"We'll help." Yuka interjected politely. Before Lira could object, he helped to gather the rest of the children, ushering them off with the others.
"How is the budget for the church?" He asked, stopping next to Lira.
"Oh, we had an anonymous benefactor who donated a large sum of money last week." Lira brightened up. "It's really fortunate as our coffers are running low. We purchased new beddings and sheets and repaired the leaking pipes. There's still leftovers to procure some toys for these orphans."
"I'm glad to hear that." He smiled.
"I really want to thank you as well, Luca-san. You must be a busy man. For you to take time off every weekend to help out at the church…" Lira beamed, her eyes softening.
"No," he said quietly. "It's the least I can do."
"It's time to go back, Luca." Yuka interrupted, inclining his head respectfully.
Lira jumped in surprise, bringing her hands up to her chest.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I won't take up your time any longer then!" She cried. She quickly ran after the children, shooing the last of them into the church.
"Have you prepared the monthly stipend?" He questioned, watching the churchyard emptied of children.
"An entire year's worth." Yuka answered. "I have set aside an account for the church and a transcript for the outgoing stipend every month. Prince Jura will take over the finances once he ascends to the throne. I'm sure he'll take care of these children."
It wasn't like he was being selfless, for doing such a thing behind his grandmother's back. These were orphans of the war, children who have lost their families. Like what he told Lira, it's the least he could do for them.
"Alright," he closed his eyes. "Let's head back to the palace."
"You look wonderful, Your Highness." Chelia smiled, stepping back to study her masterpiece. "Really handsome."
She had dressed him in a slim-fitting eastern-style ensemble with a mandarin collar, in a soft royal blue cloth threaded in silver that popped against his rose fair skin. His silver hair was combed to one side, a long earring of mother of pearl stone swinging gently beside his chin. He absently ran his hands down the silky fabric, brushing against the crystal beading on his attire.
"If only making the Crown Princess swoon into my arms will win us the rest of the war." He said dryly.
"The notorious War Empress? Swooning?" Chelia snorted, raising a sardonic brow at him. "If only wars and politics can be won by fluttering your eyes at your enemies."
The door creaked open, and Yuka stuck his head in.
"If you're done with dolling up the prince, Chelia," He said drily. "The Queen Dowager has summoned His Highness to the throne room." He made to retreat, then paused, "You look good, Lyon."
The door closed behind the steward.
He rolled his eyes, turning his head slightly to glance at the full-length mirror. He looked like a peace offering all wrapped up for King Jiemma's daughter.
"We'll be waiting for you outside." Chelia murmured, touching his arm briefly.
The walk to the throne room was almost nostalgic. He had walked down this white hall countless times in the past; his footsteps imprinted in the floor, his hands impressed against the walls like a memory. This might be his last walk through this hall.
"Grandmother, I'm here." He announced.
Ooba was not on her throne but pacing back and forth at the base of the steps. Her gait was not urgent, so he wasn't worried. The guards have been dismissed, which left only the both of them in the throne room.
"You wish to speak to me?" He asked.
"As you're aware, Jura will be accompanying you to Sabertooth. He's there to finalize the peace treaty and to make sure everything up till the wedding day itself proceeds smoothly." Ooba said. "We have not set a date yet, and that is Jura's job to settle on a date for the wedding with King Jiemma and make sure that he does not tries to back out of our agreement."
He bit back the urge to tell her to get it over with. Ooba has a tendency to talk circles around you, and while Lyon was normally patient and well-versed with the intricacies of politics, he's not indulgent enough to deal with such indirect talk with people he's familiar with.
"Jiemma certainly has an ulterior motive, and I cannot figure out what the man is scheming." Ooba said sharply, her shoulders raising. "You have to watch your back in Sabertooth."
He knew very well that he's walking straight into the den of tigers. His closest allies would be out of his reach in Sabertooth, and his every movement would be watched. But vipers have venom of their own. They might be small, but one bite could end a human's life instantly.
It's not Lyon that Ooba was worried about.
"I want you to find out what Jiemma is planning." Ooba instructed. "If he tries to threaten this peace conference in any way, you will inform me."
"So not only will I be married off to the sole heir of Sabertooth, you want me to spy on them too?" He said tersely. He was not expecting kind words from his grandmother, but for her to treat their farewell in such a clinical and cold manner only worsened his mood.
"You have been fighting this war since you were fifteen. You understand the sort of man Jiemma is." Ooba replied. "That man is a war hawk, hungry for expansion across the world. He wants to consume more lands and steals more resources for his country, do you think he'll stop so easily now?"
He bit his lip, feeling the indents of his nails in his palms. Because of his fate, he was getting emotional about everything. He needed a clear head right now.
Once he's thinking clearly, he could understand Ooba's concerns.
"Your brother is an honest man. He'll be a virtuous and splendid King of Lamia Scale." Ooba said, her brows furrowing. He detected the slight warmness in her tone, the effortless shift in her demeanour whenever it comes to Jura. He ignored the pang in his heart and willed the bitterness away. "For all of Jura's strengths, politics and cunning are not his strongest points. He'll walk into the peace conference thinking the best of everyone at Sabertooth. Your job is to make sure your brother walks out of Sabertooth safely without compromising your position and Lamia Scale."
He remained silent. He has always been a dutiful grandson, playing the perfect 'spare prince'. This marriage might be a farce, but it's just another role he has to play.
Protecting the future King of Lamia Scale... Protecting his elder brother... At least in this, both he and Ooba could cooperate without argument.
"Your Majesty, the carriage for Prince Lyon is ready." A servant spoke carefully at the doorway.
With a suppressed sigh, Lyon gathered up his cloak, tossing it around his shoulders.
"Lyon..." Ooba started, then paused, searching for words. She settled for an impersonal, "Do your country proud."
What was he expecting?
He bowed out of the throne room, leaving his grandmother behind. He watched her ascended the steps, running her fingers over the throne. She cut a lonely figure at the top, her stooped figure beside that tacky velvet throne. Good riddance, he has never wanted that ugly chair anyway. Maybe with him gone from Lamia Scale, Ooba would stop worrying too much about an improbable civil war.