Maximo had such a structured routine that anyone who saw him would think he was made of discipline and steel. To say he was a perfectionist would be an understatement: he lived as if every day were training for a destiny that had not yet been fully revealed.

  He got up at five o'clock in the morning, without needing an alarm clock. Silence still reigned in the Valois house, interrupted only by the distant song of an early bird and the murmur of the wind seeping through the high windows. Without wasting any time, he dressed in comfortable, light clothing and went out for a run through the extensive gardens and courtyards of the family property. The dew still beaded on the grass, and with each stride he felt the morning chill cutting into his skin, keeping him awake and alert. He ran for half an hour, sometimes longer, convinced that one day he would have to run from something or someone, and it was better to be prepared. He always told himself that training for the worst was the only way to live with some peace of mind.

  After his run, he would return to the mansion, his breathing still steady and controlled, and shower without delay. The cold water revitalized him, as if washing away all traces of sleep or laziness. By 6:20 a.m., he was impeccably dressed in formal attire, sitting at his personal desk. There, he reviewed accounts, balance sheets, and the financial affairs of the House of Valois. Although he was not yet a viscount, everyone knew that the future of the title and the administration would fall to him, and his father had taken it upon himself to instruct him from an early age. Mathematics flowed through his mind as easily as he ran every morning, as did sports. But there was one area in which he never managed to excel: the arts.

  When the clock struck half past seven, the entire mansion awoke. The bustle of his brothers and sisters filled the hallways: laughter mixed with trivial arguments, hurried footsteps, doors slamming shut. That commotion was his cue to go down for breakfast.

  The dining room was spacious, always lit by the large windows that let in the first light of day. His mother was already there, helping to set the table with some of the maids.

  —Good morning, sweetheart. — she greeted him with a warm smile, handing him a plate as the silver and porcelain clinked softly.

  Maximo approached and kissed her cheek affectionately. — How was your night, Mother?

  She laughed lightly, although her tired eyes revealed the truth. — I wish your father would snore less, but even so, I still love him.

  Her reply was interrupted by his father's deep voice as he entered the dining room accompanied by two butlers carrying wooden boxes. “Are you talking about me? How treacherous.”

  Maximo didn't miss the opportunity to crack a joke, using the serious tone he usually employed to make everyone laugh. —You know, someday I plan to kill you, become a viscount as soon as possible, enslave my sisters, and make them my wives.

  His mother feigned indignation and his sisters burst out laughing, accustomed to Maximo's sharp humor. In that house, they laughed at the old, backward concepts that still weighed heavily on other noble households: submissive women, dominant men. The Valois prided themselves on not following that old mold, and it was precisely that more equitable vision that made the servants respect and appreciate them.

  —How scary. — replied the father with a feigned snort. — I should kill you first.

  With a theatrical gesture, he put his arm around Máximo's neck and squeezed, as if trying to strangle him, but soon let go with a laugh. He led him to the boxes that the butlers had brought. — Today we're going hunting... and Daniela will have the honor of accompanying us this time.

  From the corner where she was sitting, Daniela looked up from the piano she was playing with concentration. — Huh? — she murmured, bewildered.

  —I know you don't like it. — said Mr. Valois, choosing his words carefully. — but I never get a moment alone with you. If you come hunting with me... — He paused for a moment, as if he were about to sell his soul to the devil. — I'll let you braid my hair.

  Daniela's eyes widened in surprise, and then she laughed enthusiastically. — You sold me your soul, Father. I'll go.

  She got up from the stool and almost ran out to put on clothes more comfortable than a dress. The rest of the table burst into laughter.

  —Looks like it's going to be a long afternoon for you. — said Máximo, patting his father on the back before returning to his seat.

  The air in the room was thick with affection, with those family jokes that, although they seemed trivial, were the essence of the Valois family bond. For Máximo, that routine, so marked and so predictable, was his anchor in a world where nobility, intrigue, and power always lurked.

  Breakfast passed as usual, enveloped in an air of tranquility and laughter. Conversations flowed back and forth, filled with lighthearted comments, family jokes, and the occasional insignificant argument that always ended in laughter. The maids, if they had already completed their immediate tasks, also sat at the table, mingling naturally with the Valois family. It was a custom that caught the attention of other noble families, who would never allow such “familiarity” with the servants. But in the Valois household, it was seen as something natural, almost sacred: an atmosphere of mutual respect where everyone could share bread and conversation.

  It was precisely this custom, this warmth so rare in a world ruled by titles and hierarchies, that made many butlers and maids aspire to work there. The difference with other houses was abysmal. While fear or rigidity reigned elsewhere, in the Valois mansion harmony was palpable, and laughter became the most frequent music in the corridors.

  When breakfast was over, everyone dispersed to their own duties or entertainments. Some siblings devoted themselves to practicing music, others to studying, and the youngest ran to the gardens to enjoy the sun. Máximo, as always, stuck to his routine to the letter: he gathered his things, adjusted his jacket, and prepared for the school day.

  School passed in a flash for him. The hours seemed to slip by without a trace, between notes, teachers, and classmates who rarely piqued his interest. He knew that Priscilla would be busy with her court duties, taking on more and more of the responsibilities of a queen, so he spent much of the day alone. Sure, he had friends, but their interests rarely coincided with his. Most preferred to talk about parties, hunting, or trivialities, while Máximo focused his thoughts on strategies, numbers, and future plans. He shared laughter and pleasant moments with them, yes, but he usually saw them outside of class, in spaces where he could manage his time his own way.

  Selene, on the other hand, seemed to have vanished from the map. No one knew anything about her or the Akvis in general. Rumors circulated as usual, enveloping her family in an aura of mystery. Some claimed they had gone on vacation, others whispered that they were attending to political matters beyond the borders. The truth was uncertain, like almost everything surrounding that powerful and secretive house.

  Maximo had known Selene since they were children. In a way, he had grown up alongside her, although he would never have admitted it enthusiastically. There was always a distance between them that he himself took care to maintain. Selene, on the other hand, never knew how to keep quiet. She grew up overflowing with words, haughty laughter, and strong opinions about everything and everyone.

  He watched her patiently, even with a hint of weariness, as he learned every detail of her character without having to ask. Because Selene hid nothing: her arrogance was as evident as her confidence, and both were intertwined in a personality that was equally imposing and repulsive. Máximo never hesitated to tell her so. He warned her more than once that her overconfidence was a double-edged sword, a weakness disguised as strength. But Selene ignored him, as if each warning were nothing more than a worthless comment.

  In the end, Máximo realized that it wasn't really her fault. Her mother had raised her that way: with an almost unshakeable pride, as if arrogance were part of the family heritage. And Selene, steeped in that upbringing, became what she was: a brilliant, powerful young woman, but also marked by the shadow of arrogance that ran through the veins of the Akvis.

  Back at the house, intending to have lunch, Máximo was struck by an eerie silence in the hallways. The residence, which normally buzzed with voices, footsteps, and music, seemed empty. He followed the trail of sweet aromas and, upon opening the kitchen door, discovered Oliver and Rosette hard at work, surrounded by utensils, scattered flour, and an air of improvised concentration.

  —The kitchen is going to explode any minute now. — Máximo commented mockingly, leaning casually against the doorframe.

  Rosette immediately looked up, knife in hand, and frowned theatrically.

  —You're terrible motivation, huh, Maximo? Look carefully at who's holding the knife before you speak. — she said, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.

  —And what are you trying to cook? — he asked, still standing where he was, watching the chaos with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

  —A cookie cake. — Oliver replied, not taking his eyes off the bowl he was vigorously stirring. — A friend from the community club told us they made it for his birthday, and his mother shared the recipe with us.

  Maximo raised an eyebrow and took a couple of steps toward the counter.

  —Community club? — he repeated skeptically.

  It was one of the cooks, who was helping Oliver keep things in order, who answered with a smile.

  —It's a club where nobles and peasants get together to play games, do sports, and hang out.

  Rosette, leaning confidently on the counter, added mischievously:

  —And Dad thinks it's important for Oliver to learn not to live thinking he's superior just because his brother will be a viscount. We have a very humble father, after all.

  One of the maids nodded vigorously.

  —Mr. Valois is a fair man. Despite his status, he treats everyone with respect. That's not something you see every day.

  — His father, on the other hand... — interjected the head cook, letting out a long whistle that made several heads turn. — He was a real demon. He loved perfection, but at the same time he would get irritated if everything turned out too perfect. A difficult man to please.

  —Grandfather had such a frown on his face, as if he were angry at the very existence of air. — added Rosette with a mischievous laugh, putting two spoons behind her head to simulate horns, while wrinkling her face in a grotesque gesture.

  Laughter immediately erupted. Oliver stopped beating to laugh with his mouth open, and even the cooks covered their mouths to hide their laughter.

  —But his wife... — the cook continued when the laughter subsided. — She was an angel. She had infinite sweetness and loved Mr. Valois' father deeply. They were like night and day, two opposite poles. I suppose she saw something beautiful in him that the rest of us couldn't understand. In private, perhaps, he wasn't the monster we all saw.

  Máximo, surprised, raised his eyebrows.

  —I suppose love has the ability to overcome even the highest barriers. — he said, unable to hide his astonishment. He knew very little about his grandparents, and hearing these stories left him thoughtful, with a mixture of respect and bewilderment.

  —How about we set the table, Marco and Lilia? — asked Máximo, in that calm but authoritative tone he had learned from his father.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The butler and the maid nodded quickly and moved efficiently, placing plates, glasses, and cutlery in perfect order. Fifteen minutes later, the meal was served at the main table. That day, the dining room felt quieter than usual: only the three Valois siblings shared the table with a few servants and butlers. The atmosphere was calm, almost familial, with the clinking of cutlery and the occasional murmur of light conversation.

  When lunch was over, Maximo went up to his room while he waited for his father and Daniela to arrive, ready for the day's hunt. The room, spacious and sober, was decorated in shades of emerald green and warm wood paneling. The smooth wooden floor was softened by rugs strategically placed under the bed, the desk, and the fireplace, in front of which two chairs stood.

  It was not a room laden with decorations: just a small bookcase, a desk crammed with papers, and a double bed. However, the mess on the table betrayed the last few weeks of insomnia. Among unfinished poems and poorly organized accounts, one could see his attention diverted to thoughts that haunted him... to someone.

  A few seconds later, he heard voices downstairs: his father's deep voice, followed by Daniela's light laughter. Without wasting any time, Máximo put on his hunting clothes and went downstairs immediately.

  His sister was waiting for him in the courtyard, dressed in an outfit similar to his but in her favorite color, which made her look more haughty than ever.

  —Are you going to be our prey? — Máximo asked ironically, slinging his rifle over his left shoulder.

  Daniela rolled her eyes with an exaggerated gesture.

  —And when they come to hunt me, I'll crouch down and they'll catch you. I don't think it'll take them long to eat you, you're too skinny.

  —Then we'll have to use our father as bait. — he replied with a half-smile, just as Mr. Valois entered, clumsily tying his shoes.

  The viscount looked up at them, feigning indignation.

  —Sometimes you scare me more than any beast in the forest. — he muttered, standing up and picking up his rifle.

  The three of them set off toward the forest. The natural silence soon enveloped them: a sea of tall trees, their dense leaves filtering the light into golden beams that barely touched the moss-covered ground. The air smelled of dampness and bark, and every crack of dry branches under their boots seemed to echo loudly. The place had an imposing beauty, but also a latent tension, as if at any moment something could burst out of the shadows.

  With a discreet wave of his hand, Mr. Valois ordered them to stop. The three crouched down with calculated movements, and Máximo helped Daniela gently rest the rifle on the ground.

  —Raise the sight a little against the wind. — whispered his father, correcting her position with strange calm. —Always aim for the head. Don't forget.

  In the distance, among the clearings of leaves, a servant grazed distractedly. Daniela didn't say a word; her breathing was steady, her eyes calculating. Máximo was ready to shoot if his sister missed, but that doubt lasted only a moment.

  The shot rang out like thunder in the middle of the forest. The servant fell immediately, with a cleanliness that made Máximo's blood run cold.

  The silence that followed was heavy. Father and son looked at each other in disbelief, as if they had not expected such precision. Finally, the viscount approached his daughter and, with a solemn gesture, touched her shoulder.

  — Very good, Dani. — he said in a grave voice.

  Daniela stood up calmly, smoke still dissipating from the barrel of her gun.

  —It's not that difficult. — she replied with unsettling calm. — I could hit an apple above their heads if I wanted to.

  Maximo and his father looked at each other again. There was pride in their expressions, yes, but also something deeper: a twinge of fear. Daniela had demonstrated chilling accuracy, too precise for mere coincidence.

  They returned home, Máximo struggling to carry the servant on his back, while his father carried the rifles and Daniela jumped over the rocks and logs in the forest as if she didn't feel the fatigue of the hunt. When they reached the kitchen, they left the animal on the counter.

  —Was it a good hunt? — asked the cook, raising her eyebrows when she saw the servant.

  —Daniela hunted it. Now I'm afraid of her aim. — replied Mr. Valois with a laugh, as he put on an apron identical to the cook's.

  —Have you seen her with the darts? — replied the woman, handing him a butcher knife to begin cutting up the animal. —That girl could learn archery without any problems.

  Mr. Valois laughed again, and the atmosphere was filled with a homely warmth, the kind that mixed work with family. Máximo said goodbye and headed for the living room, where he found his brother Bastián waiting for him with his usual smile.

  —My mathematician. — he said, putting his arm around his shoulders to walk alongside him. — Do you want to go swimming?

  —Sure, do you want to lose again? — Máximo replied with a laugh.

  —This time I want to go to the lake. That way, with any luck... I'll meet girls.

  Maximo looked at him sideways, with a half-smile. — More girls?

  —I'm getting old, brother. — Bastian sighed exaggeratedly, as if he were decades older. — I need a wife.

  —You don't have to need her, you have to want her. That's the difference.

  —In that case, I'll follow your wise advice, Romeo. — Bastián raised his eyebrows mischievously. — How's Priscilla?

  They both entered Máximo's room. Bastián sat down in the first chair he could find, leaning back as if it had been his all his life, while he watched his brother get changed.

  —The queen fell ill, so Priscilla is busy being regent. —explained Máximo as he searched through his clothes for something comfortable to swim in. — I haven't received much information, but I imagine she must be overwhelmed.

  —The weight on her shoulders must not be easy to bear. —agreed Bastián, looking at him with a hint of respect.

  —Yes, it is... — Maximus sighed as he buttoned his shirt, almost in a whisper. — Above all, I hope to see her soon.

  Bastian narrowed his eyes, curious. — Do you like her?

  Maximus was silent for a few seconds, finishing getting dressed. The pause spoke louder than words. Finally, he exhaled deeply.

  —No... — he said calmly, looking at him sideways. — I love her.

  Bastián burst out laughing and clapped his hands loudly, as if celebrating a great victory. — I didn't expect that! — he exclaimed mockingly.

  —You're an idiot. — Máximo replied, throwing the dirty shirt in his face.

  —I'm just kidding. — Bastián replied, removing the fabric with a knowing smile, then throwing it into a corner. —Congratulations, brother. A future queen.

  —I don't see it that way. — Máximo pressed his lips together, serious, with a firmness he only showed when speaking from the heart. — I just want to take care of her... with my life.

  Silence fell for a few seconds. It wasn't uncomfortable, but solemn, as if the walls themselves had heard that confession. Bastián, far from returning to the joke, put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a brief, brotherly squeeze.

  —Then there's nothing to fear, Máximo. Love, when it's real, always finds a way.

  —Are you stealing my lines now? — asked Máximo with a half-smile, returning to the tone of light teasing that floated between them.

  —Of course, someone has to use them well. — Bastián shrugged cheekily. — I want to find a wife and love her, and who better than you, the romantic of the family, to teach me? I'm warning you: I'm going to steal a lot of your lines.

  Maximo let out a short laugh as he walked toward the door. vHopefully someday someone will put up with you.

  Shortly after, both brothers rode out on horseback toward the lake. The road was quiet, with the country air blowing over them and the murmur of people in the distance already filling the place. That lake was a meeting point where peasants and nobles mingled without much formality: there were food stalls, blankets spread out on the grass, and children running around barefoot.

  When they arrived, they left their horses under a tree, content to nibble on carrots, and walked toward the water.

  Bastián, true to his nature, didn't take a second to take off his shirt. His striking physique immediately caught people's attention; some young women looked at him surreptitiously, others brazenly.

  Maximo, on the other hand, rolled his eyes wearily before entering the water fully clothed. — You're hopeless.

  —I don't need to be. — Bastian smiled from ear to ear as he stepped into the lake, enjoying every curious glance he received. — I like the attention.

  The water was already up to their waists when Bastián stood still, looking toward the shore. There, a girl was sitting with her family, smiling shyly as she noticed his insistent attention.

  —Seriously... — Máximo snorted, tired of seeing the scene repeat itself. — If you're going to stand there like a fish with its mouth open, you might as well go talk to her.

  —She's with her family. — Bastián muttered, hesitating for the first time.

  Máximo raised an eyebrow. — Put on a shirt. That way, at least, you'll look less like a show-off.

  —Do you really think that would work? — Bastián asked in all seriousness, not understanding the mockery.

  Maximo laughed and slapped him on the head. — No, you idiot. But if you don't try, you'll never know. You've got nothing to lose.

  Bastian looked at him for a few seconds, undecided, and then let out a mischievous smile that suggested he was very likely to take his advice.

  Bastián rubbed his head dramatically after the blow. —Someday I'll get my revenge for this.”

  —Did that hurt your ego, little brother? — replied Máximo, pushing him under the water.

  His brother came up laughing and splashing, shaking his hair as if to draw even more attention to himself. — Okay, okay... if you want me to try, I'll do it.

  —Go on, see if you can make her laugh at your nonsense. — said Máximo, crossing his arms and settling down on a rock by the lake, waiting expectantly.

  Bastián came out of the water with the confidence of someone who had never known shame. He walked straight to the girl's family's table, still bare-chested and with his pants soaked, as if it didn't matter at all. The young woman looked at him first with surprise, then with curiosity. Her parents raised their eyebrows, clearly somewhere between annoyed and amused.

  Maximo watched him from the water with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. He saw Bastián bow his head in an impromptu bow, say a few quick words, and elicit a genuine laugh from the girl.

  The exchange didn't last long, but when Bastián returned to the water, he had a smile on his face that wouldn't easily fade.

  —Well? — asked Máximo, raising an eyebrow.

  —Tomorrow at sunset, we'll meet at the town market. — Bastián puffed out his chest as if he had won a battle. — She told me she doesn't usually talk to strangers, but my boldness made her curious.

  Maximo looked at him with his mouth half open and then burst out laughing. — No way! You really got a date in less than five minutes!

  —The Valois charm never fails. — Bastián let himself fall back, floating triumphantly.

  —Or the poor girl doesn't know what she's getting herself into. — Máximo replied, still laughing.

  —Don't be jealous, brother. You have your love story with the future queen; I have my adventure with the girl from the lake. — Bastián splashed a little water in his face.

  Maximo shook his head, smiling. — Seriously, sometimes I don't understand how anyone can take you seriously.

  —That's why it works: no one takes me seriously until it's too late. — replied his brother, with a laugh that echoed above the murmur of the water.

  —You're going to regret saying that. — With a quick movement, Bastian pushed him suddenly, causing him to lose his balance.

  The splash was thunderous; Maximo disappeared under the water for a moment before emerging suddenly. His soaked clothes clung to his torso, highlighting his firm muscles. Water ran down his hair onto his face, giving him a look that was somewhere between threatening and amused.

  —Oh... you want to play? — he asked in a deep voice, advancing toward his brother with slow, calculated steps, like a predator cornering its prey.

  Before Bastian could react, Máximo pushed him back with equal force, sending him falling backward. Water splashed in all directions, eliciting laughter from those watching from the shore.

  The water covered Bastian up to his head, and when he came up, he spat with a snort of laughter.

  —That was a low blow, Máximo! — he shouted, shaking his wet hair.

  —You're only saying that because you lost. — replied Máximo, leaning back with his arms crossed, enjoying the spectacle of his brother trying to recover.

  Bastián pretended to be offended, but soon swam toward him and threw a good splash of water directly in his face. Máximo responded immediately, and in seconds they were both in an impromptu war, as if they were children again. The entire lake echoed with their laughter, mingling with the murmur of the wind in the trees.

  —Give up, Bastián! — exclaimed Máximo, grabbing his brother from behind and briefly submerging him in the water.

  —Never! — replied Bastián as he emerged, coughing and laughing at the same time.

  The game continued until, exhausted, they ended up floating on their backs, looking up at the sky. The setting sun painted the clouds a bright red, reflecting off the surface of the lake like a mirror broken by the waves.

  For a moment, silence reigned, interrupted only by their heavy breathing. Max broke the calm:

  —Bastian... — His voice now sounded different, more serious. — Sometimes I think about how different we are. And yet, I don't know what I would do without you.

  Bastián turned his head, surprised by the change in tone. A half-smile appeared on his lips, more sincere than the others.

  —I don't know what I would do without you either, brother. Even if I don't say it, I think it... And if one day life separates us, I want you to remember this: you will always have my loyalty, above all else.

  Maximus nodded slowly. He needed no further words; in that shared reflection in the water, he understood that this promise weighed more than any oath made before a king.

  They rode back to the house, still soaked from their adventure on the lake. When they arrived, their mother rushed out of the house, frowning and looking worried.

  —Mother! — said Maximus, stopping his horse. — What's wrong?

  —Priscilla... needs to see you immediately. — she replied in a tense voice, without wasting a moment.

  —What happened? — asked Maximus, his heart pounding.

  —I don't know exactly. — said his mother, handing him a sealed envelope. — but the palace sent this.

  Without wasting a second, Maximus dismounted, took the envelope, and quickly remounted, fear and anxiety tightening his chest. Dark thoughts crossed his mind: Had Amadeo done something? Was the queen in danger? Had Priscilla had another vision of the prophecy?

  When he arrived at the palace, still soaked, he entered the royal courtyard and, without wasting any time, looked for Priscilla. He found her there, standing, waiting, staring at him. Still agitated, he took her hand tightly.

  —Are you all right? — he asked, his voice heavy with concern.

  Priscilla looked him up and down, her brow slightly furrowed at his drenched appearance. — You're completely wet. — she said, pausing for a moment at his shirt clinging to his body, highlighting his toned physique. A small laugh escaped her.

  —I went swimming with my brother... Are you okay? — he replied, still concerned about her.

  —I'm fine now. — she answered, with a hint of humor in her voice.

  Maximo smiled, understanding perfectly where her eyes and attention were focused. — Really... what happened? — he insisted, concern returning to his voice.

  Priscila took a deep breath and, with a determined gesture, said:

  —First, let's get you some clothes that won't distract me.

  He nodded, trusting her judgment, as the tense air of the palace seemed to envelop them both, foreshadowing that what was coming would not be easy.