In all honesty, Anthony was all but sure that his plans would work. Yet now he had crossed the point of no return. Even if his plans to kill Castor had been ruthless and heartless, he would not let the death of a promising young man go to waste. Yes, this had been partial revenge against the treatment he’d gotten from his brother, the king. But he was not a complete degenerate.
For a long time, he had known that Castor was the only true barrier between himself and Isabelle. It seemed as if Isabelle’s brother had taken the role that her father really should have. Now it would just be a matter of trying to win her over from her father, and she would be his. Or at least, that was the plan. There were no guarantees in this game. Not to mention that if anyone were to find out that he had been behind the young prince’s death, it would surely mean that Anthony’s fate would be the same.
He turned around when he heard a voice, recognising the sound just before she came into view. He gave her a soft smile. “Me neither,” he said, shifting a little to offer her a place to sit next to him. “But these times are anything but normal. They’re making me think,” he said, now shifting his gaze to look into the distance.
One thing Anthony was sure of was that Isabelle would not like the king’s practices of trying to wed her off. Luckily for him, that was exactly what the king was trying to do. Almost like he wanted her to run straight into Anthony’s arms. “I do not like the current state of the kingdom. Much less the way your fa-… the king is handling things.” Looking back at her, he sighed softly and gave her a compassionate look. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. Are you holding up?”
The brunette can’t say she’s entirely surprised to find her uncle has come for a visit but she had never suspected he’d ever known that this bench was back here. Though, given that he’d grown up here before her, maybe he had known before she and Castor had.
She smiles faintly and takes the seat next to him as he gives her room to sit beside him, hands folding in her lap as she does so. Green hues stare ahead at the roses blooming on the shrub not far from them before she hums in response to her uncle, a sign that despite her gaze being elsewhere, she is listening.
A soft sigh as she brushes her bangs from her face, “He’s doing his best.” She murmurs after a moment, though it’s a half-hearted attempt to defend her father. She understands that Castor’s death has affected him too but men will never understand the struggle women face. It’s not just about Castor dying, it’s that her father has jumped into the time old practice of attempting to sell off one’s daughter. “He won’t be happy when he hears I’m back early...” She mutters before turning her attention to him once more, “I never realized until now that Castor managed to hold them off for so long. I almost feel as though I wasn’t that great of a sister.”
