"A Prince," Alfred mused with raised brows as he continuously stirred, while Charles sulked beside him. "That's ... impressive."

Alfred, Chef to the Estate and best friend to Charles, had been filled in about the happenings of last night's meeting, and Charles' lack of sleep, which was clearly leading to a lack of sanity – among other things.

"Nearly four hours, Alfred," Charles groaned, holding up his counting fingers for further theatrics. "Four hours I was made to escort her through the town's shops, and help her try on dresses and gowns for another man."

"And one that probably intends on disregarding whichever is chosen without any regard to her hours of indecision," Alfred hummed in speculative consideration. Expression flattened, Charles stared at his good, yet cynically humored friend.

"You are a cruel man, Alfred," Charles practically wept.

"And you are one with his head in the clouds," the chef scolded, sprinkling in a handful of seasoning to the cooking stew. "Didn't you take this position? Or rather, these positions because you knew you were doomed to an unrequited love?"

"Perhaps at first ..."

"And what's changed that you've failed in telling me?"

"... I had hoped ... being at her side for so many years ..."

"That her parents would consider your proposal," Alfred finished with an understanding nod. "A nose buried in fairy tales, indeed."

"It is not unheard of," Charles defensively argued, turning away from his friend and leaning on the edge of the counter beside the wood stove. "However rare it may be. Is a man, even of my rank, not allowed to dream? Not allowed to have hope?"

Alfred paused his stirring, sighing when hearing the genuine angst in his friend's voice. Setting his spoon down on the folded towel on the opposite counter, he turned to rest a comforting hand on Charles' shoulder.

"Charles ... I'm sorry. But. The engagement isn't final. You have that to hold on to," Alfred reminded. "And even if it is to become, you are still eligible to spend the rest of your life with her. Caring for her in ways a busy Prince may not. Your relationship will not change."

And while his friend sought to give him comfort with those words, they only managed to bring more trouble to his burdened mind. Not being able to progress their relationship. To eventually hold her in a way that the Prince would undoubtedly take for granted. It was that, among a handful of others, which pained him most.

"I know," Charles acknowledged, head hung low in what read as defeat. Squeezing his shoulder, Alfred sighed, returning to the stew.

"If you do love her, it will be enough. You will understand," the elder of the two urged. "You may think you have the love of a man, but you are still but a child yourself. You will come to understand."

It was then that the topic of discussion came rushing in, clothed in one of the several dresses she had purchased earlier in the day. Feet bare and hair thrown about her face and shoulders, Emilia screeched as she entered the master kitchen, immediately darting over to Charles in a heap of drooping fabric and poorly tied laces. Charles' brows pinched while Alfred's rose in amusement, seeing the disheveled Duchess.

Cuffs sliding off her nearly bare shoulders, Emilia was unable to properly tie the back of her newly purchased dress. Corset of mismatched loops, her cleavage threatened to spill over the swooping neckline. Alfred snickered as his index finger came to rest against his trimmed chin.

"Oh my," he mused. "Hello, young Miss ..." Bowing his head in respect, Alfred slyly inched towards Charles ear, snickering, and lowered his voice to a bare minimum. "Not looking so young anymore, mind you."

"Emilia, what are you doing running around like this?" Charles scolded, watching her struggle with the ultimatum of holding her corset in place, and keeping her entire back from being exposed. As it were, she was doing a rather poor job of attempting them both. "You could have fallen. And then how would you be able to present yourself to the Prince?"

"I'm hungry," the Duchess whined dismissively. "And you promised to help me choose a dress for tomorrow."

"Did he now?" Alfred grinned, nudging Charles against his back. "A dog posing as a saint?"

"Watch your tongue or you'll end up on a chain," Charles discretely warned in a low growl.

"Heavens," Alfred playfully whined, backing away from the two. "I've always been more of a cat person, anyway."

Turning back to the waiting Emilia, Charles sighed, turning again, this time towards the counter to pick up a bowl.

"I meant in the morning," he grumbled, shaking his head. "Go back to your room - carefully. I'll bring your meal up in a moment. It's nearly done. Start a bath."

"Oh, a ba - ah!" Alfred stammered, being roughly nudged in his side, nearly tumbling into the large pot of stew in the process.

"I wonder what color he would most enjoy," Emilia mumbled to herself as she paced about her room, staring at the four dresses Charles had laid out on the spread of her bed.

Charles, who had been leaning against one of the end posts, was trying his best to keep his promise, whilst keeping his eyes – and mind averted. As expected after being fussed over by the butler for many years, Emilia was all too comfortable to strip down to the bare minimum – and sometimes bare altogether – in front of him. It was an ongoing joke, if anything, however cruel the humor may have been. For him to be among the only men to have been able to see the Duchess in such a state.

But of course, that fact was by this time well on its way to becoming undone.

Charles flinched when Emilia called out to him, that having been the third time she had done so. The frustration was clear in her voice as she tapped her bare foot, fists on her hips, covered only by the thin fabric of her slip.

"Focus, Charles! We have but minutes before my curfew and I've yet to make a decision."

Sighing, Charles combed a heavy hand through his black hair, maintained at a medium length, and silky in texture.

"Which of the four do you like the most?" he asked, glancing over the dresses. Taking a moment to consider, Emilia did the same before coming to her conclusion.

"The black one, definitely. It fits rather nicely. The best out of the lot."

"Then that is the one you should wear."

"What?" Emilia huffed, crossing her armed with furrowed brows. "Don't be dull, Charles. My attire can't be so simply decided. Especially not to meet a Prince."

"Can't it? You're going to be nervous enough as it is. You should be wearing something you won't constantly be picking at, shouldn't you?" he argued.

Emilia's lips parted in offense at the assumption of her emotion for the following day, her cheeks heating up in a fluster with its truth.

"Who's to say I'm going to be nervous?" she scoffed, playing up her charade of confidence. "I've been awaiting marriage my entire life! I won't be the least bit nervous at all."

Charles gave a grim smile, catching Emilia's narrowed eyes by surprise, and softening them to a curious, concerned, almost, gaze.

"And here it is. Just like that. With a man you've never met."

Emilia's shoulders slumped at the sudden spite in his voice. Not understanding, her voice lowered, having sensed the change in atmosphere.

"What do you mean?"

Averting his eyes, Charles shook his head, pushing off the bedpost and heading towards the flickering candle atop the vanity. Picking it up, he returned his now softened gaze to her curious one.

"That it must be exciting, is all. You must have many questions for him." Heading towards the door, he faced her once more. "You should get some rest for your early departure tomorrow. Choose whatever dress you most desire. I think you look beautiful in them all."

Emilia stared onto him with a half-extended hand, not quite sure about the ending of the conversation. But before she could think to question it, the door was closing, and the candlelight grew dim.

"Goodnight, Emilia."

Thanks for reading! If you're looking for the story in full, or interested in what else I've got, (mostly spicy political romantasy and one-shots -- but also other stuff??) feel free to check out my site, www.theseekersguildhq.com.