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The fact that I dont want to be spoiled yet I love your art but I'm only on like, Chapter 6/Chapter 1?

Quite slow for I've been reading for days, but I do love it! The story and everything (definitely not because I've been hold captive by pirtae AUs)..

PIRATE AUS BEST AUS YAAARRR Most of the art I made for the fic is after "chapter 1?" to be honest, because it's when I started feeling more confident about it and talking about it lol 😭 so sorry about that~

Thank you so much for your kind message and please take all the time you need to read at your own pace!! <3 and I hope you will keep enjoying your stay!

#all artworks though are maginally spoilers tbh #like it's mostly fun bits and things that don't really ruin the experience if you know they happen #EXCEPT FOR ONE.#which i will refrain from cross posting on here for a while anyway </3 #god I love my fish.#rambles

“I’m stopping in Edena for the evening,” Jan explained, spreading honey on the bread that she’d set out on the bedside table, “—On my way to Sarajevo. Will I be driving myself? Remind me of Henry’s schedule.”

“Mrs. Collier is in Geneva for the week,” Matilde explained. “Mr. Collier left for the des Marais Building at seven this morning. His dinner reservations this evening are at Lux, with Mr. Perrin and the Archtrustee. Afterward, they’ll join His Grace in his box at the opera.”

“Sébastien will be overjoyed,” Jan observed, gesturing to the wireless. “He’s having a difficult afternoon.”

“Would you like Evangeline to send you the rest of your father’s schedule?” Matilde asked.

“No,” Jan insisted, picking up the pile of mail. “Henry’s day sounds busy enough as it is. I could do with the walk, anyway.”

“When is your train?” Matilde asked.

He leafed through the cards and envelopes.

“Half past five,” he said. “I have a little time.”

She unfolded and refolded the tuxedo shirt where Jan had left it by the vanity.

“How was Amsterdam?” She asked.

“I’m happy to be home,” he lied. “I saw a lot of old friends at the Carons’ last night.” He paused. “—Hannah was there.”

Matilde straightened the curtains.

“It’s a long way from the capitol,” she observed.

Jan nodded, falling back into the pillows that she’d only just rearranged. Matilde opened the balcony doors. The memory of dry leaves blew in on the breeze, smelling of baked earth and sunshine.

“I was glad to see the Majority Leader on native soil,” he said.

Matilde looked unconvinced, but she’d never press. “Is Ms. Hannah well?” She asked instead.

“Everyone’s in a hurry to see things settled in Amsterdam,” Jan said, rallying himself out of the soft sheets, up again with a smile on radiant lips. “You ought to come with me some time,” he insisted, “—What a change from Paris.”

Matilde laughed.

“And what would become of the house?”she demanded.

Nothing took place in Chateau Collier—except at her direction. Every decision made below the third floor was subject to her approval. She managed interior decorators, curators, and florists. She dispatched gardeners and cleaning staff; musicians and caterers. She ordered the groceries, planned the events, and generally maintained the sense of unshakable calm that pervaded the timeless estate. On the rare nights when the Colliers weren’t entertaining or being entertained, she cooked the family’s private meals—as much to calm her nerves, Jan had always suspected, as anything else. It was for very good reason that her room stood right across hall, there in the heart of the sprawling house. The finest private residence in all of the west would fall to pieces without her steady finger on its frantic pulse. That anxiety—of course—went double for its heir.

“You work too hard,” Jan insisted, squeezing her fingers and letting them drop. He was suddenly so tired, he thought he might sleep for a year. Don’t be petulant, he told himself. —It had only ever been his choice.

“You ought to pack, Mr. Jan,” Matilde said, dismissing his attention with the wave of a hand. “Is there something I can get for you?”

He shook his head.

“Anything in here that warrants reply?” He asked instead, sifting again through the stack of paper mail. It was the typical garish pile: notices of charity galas in Paris, invitations to racing events, the winter edition of the Free Radio Geneva member’s pamphlet.

“Your invitation,” she said.

Jan found the ornate card at the bottom of the stack—unmistakable in its navy, white, and gold—the colors of the Edel crest.

“On behalf of the Company Standard,” it read, “Your presence is requested at the wedding of Vice Chairman Ferdinand-Kristoff Edel, Son of Chairman Josef-Alexander Ehemann and Madame Chairman Teresa-Kristina Edel, to Helena-Francesca di Malpás, Daughter of Director José-Hector and Madame Isabella-Catherine di Malpás. To be held at Peterskirche, Konstantin Platz, Altstadt, Edena, at 16:00, Saturday, December 8, 3117. Reception to follow in the Grand Ballroom at Schloß des Meers.”

Ferdinand-Kristoff, Jan thought, running a finger along the embossed lettering—married at last. And not to Her Grace, or even Tjiana.

Not that it mattered. Not anymore.

“He really will do anything that Her Majesty tells him,” he sighed, running a finger over the names on the invitation. “Helena-Francesca di Malpas. The unknown. Even to the likes of me.”

“Maybe that’s what the Empress had in mind,” Matilde observed.

There was nothing he wanted less than to attend that wedding. Still, it was an obligation. Even Rainer agreed with that.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Jan?” Matilde asked, interrupting his train of thought. “You look a little pale.”

The sunshield shook him with waves of dizziness. He fell back into the pillows.

“Just tired,” he said. “I was out a little late.”

Matilde set down the laundry and put a hand on his brow. She frowned at the swelling in his lip and the well-hidden scratch along the brow, but said nothing. She was not—after all—Jan’s mother.

“Get some sleep,” she instructed, turning down the sheets around him. “You can take a later train.”

“No,” he protested, holding her hand. “Just a little nap. Tell Henry that I’ll be ready at five fifteen, after all.”

She nodded.

“Matilde,” Jan added as she turned to go, “—Leave me the ticket, but take the rest of the invitation. Someone ought to get some enjoyment out of it.”

As a rule, paper mail stocked the family recycling box, but Matilde was an avid collector. “Thank you, Mr. Jan,” she said, tucking the envelope and card into the pockets of her dress. “—Now, sleep.”

She closed the curtains and was gone. He fell reluctantly and totally into the arms of the sunshield.

#EVERY decision below the third floor #except for one.#it’s fine i’m fine!#no feelings about the good and terrible intentions of one jean collier whatsoever #or just—matilde.#felix culpa