Johnathan's smile grew into a grin as he watched his mother relaxing on the sofa. She was caressing Helena's arm lovingly while a glowing smile played on her lips. Her warm eyes fixed on Gisela. Wrinkled or not, her face looked as vibrant and gorgeous as ever. Johnathan thought his mother was the most beautiful woman on earth, but again, he knew he's biased. It's his mother, after all.
'What child wouldn't feel his or her mother is the most beautiful human being on the planet?'
There were rare occasions Johnathan got to see his mother smile wholeheartedly. He was glad to see her grin, which matched in sync with her eldest grandchild Helena. The emotionless robotic life she had to share with her husband had worn out her feelings. She'd forgotten over the time what it would feel to smile and be happy. Her Majesty, Catherine Castellanos played a perfect Queen all her life and fulfilled her duties to perfection.
Now she seemed just tired..
She was tired of her responsibilities and duties, tired of her heartless husband, tired of life in general. That bitter perception made Johnathan finally glance at the ruthless man, sitting opposite to his lovely mother, the person he hated with all his guts. The heartless dictator, manipulating their lives since as long as Johnathan could remember.
There on the purple velvety oversized, bejewelled single sofa chair which was an accurate replica of the official royal throne set in their throne room, was seated his father. One hand loosely gripped a cane made with ebony wood shaft and a gold dragon head, studded with diamonds while the other rested on the armrest, fingers adorned with diamond and rubies.
'My father, my poor excuse of a father. Or should I say, His Majesty, the King?'
Johnathan scoffed inwardly. Could he blame him, though? Even today, people in their country bowed in respect and obeyed his every command as though he'd descended from heaven. They worshipped him as they would do their God. Even without a crown or a kingdom, he still ruled. And there he sat on the chair like the King he was with his leg crossed over the other, feet clad in shiny boots.
Christopher Dennis Castellanos looked majestically handsome for his old age despite his balding grey hair. His striking facial features never contradicted the power or authority his tall, intimidating aura possessed. Clad in the black tailor-made suit with a white silk shirt inside, he looked like a bridegroom, his pocket square matching perfectly with his wife Catherine's pink knee-length dress.
Though his father was extremely good looking, Johnathan was glad he inherited his mother's features instead because he hated that man. He couldn't love him despite being a dutiful son all his life. He never had a fond memory of his childhood with his father.
Johnathan and his brother grew up without the privilege of a father's embrace, love and affection.
All he'd done throughout their lifespan of time was to protect his name and guard his possessions, his heirloom, his throne, his crown. Nothing else mattered for Christopher beyond these material issues.
"Emotions, bonding and love would only make a man weak in his spine," his father would say. Johnathan remembered those words like a mantra and tried his best to follow the pathetic principle implied by his ancestors, but it seemed he'd failed miserably.
The soft sound of applauds invaded his ears and broke Johnathan's train of thoughts. His niece Gisela was grinning from ear to ear while her family showered her with praises. She was more than happy to oblige as her grandfather insisted for her to play once more for him.
Johnathan caught his father, glancing at him once before ignoring his presence altogether. He was expecting the harsh criticism or a jarring insult for not being on time, but surprisingly it never came.
Now that Johnathan wandered his gaze around, he figured why it didn't happen yet. He noticed his sister-in-law, Greta sitting alone on the single sofa chair without her husband. His father's favourite son and his elder brother Alastair had yet to make an appearance to their family dinner. That's the reason why his father didn't scream at him, telling him what a disappointment he was as a son.
'Because mighty Alastair is busy probably with something important.'
And the King didn't mind when it's his beloved dutiful son who kept him waiting. Johnathan bit back the bitter bile before it could slip, pass through his tongue and leap out of his mouth. He wasn't a stranger to that envious feeling, but he'd learnt how to mask it properly over the years.
As though sensing his disappointment, Helena came forward and hooked her arm through his. With a warm, encouraging smile, paying on her lips, she dragged him inside and made him sit next to his mother.
After some twenty minutes, the royal house butler bowed apologetically for intruding before whispering something into Christopher's ear. Judging by his father's acknowledging nod, Johnathan knew his brother Alastair had made it home. He now remembered Alastair was out of the country on a business trip.
That's how Johnathan got the chance to leave home and visit London in the first place. His only purpose was to meet Hera as discretely as possible.
Greta smiled as her eyes met her father-in-law's, and she received a curt nod in return. She sprang to her feet, ready to leave the hall, probably to welcome her husband home. The Vintage dark blue knee-length dress with frills swayed as she walked and the matching pumps greeted the expensive red carpet softly.
As on cue, footsteps echoed before the tall figure entered the living hall. He looked as stunning as he looked in his twenties. With his father's look inherited, he was the very definition of handsome. Johnathan noted as he walked, steady footsteps echoing in the same rhythm. His cream coloured plain dress shirt looked a bit rumpled and his tie loosely hanging around his neck. His PA followed right behind with his ash grey coloured suit jacket, neatly folded and hanging on her arm.
Alastair turned around as if suddenly remembering something and finally dismissed his crew for the night. The butler collected the suit jacket and the briefcase from the staff who looked relieved to be excused.
Though he looked worn out for the night, Alastair smiled as his eyes settled on his family members. Greta greeted him with a brief hug and a kiss on his cheek. She had to stand on her toes to reach, and Alastair leaned down to her level with a polite smile, returning her embrace. He left a chaste kiss on her forehead, and Johnathan appreciated when his smile reached his eyes. The affection Alastair displayed was genuine.
Johnathan knew his brother was good with his duties and responsibilities. He would never walk away from his liabilities. But Johnathan could bet his life, that's all it was for Alastair, an obligation, another duty to fulfil.
Both the brothers had a cursed fate when it came to their love lives. They both had fallen in love with a woman they couldn't have. Broken hearts, unfulfilled desires, shattered dreams, they'd seen it all and couldn't love anyone else again. They were nothing more than an empty shell from inside. Though, unlike Johnathan, his brother never showed any remorse or acted coldly towards his wife. Greta and Alastair had formed a close bonding, and they shared a cordial friendship.
But that's where Alastair had drawn the line. It's a comfortable companionship and nothing more.
Johnathan watched as his brother bowed respectfully in front of their father. The said King smiled affectionately at his son, his successor to the throne, the next untitled King. After greeting his parents one after the other with a warm hug, Alastair welcomed Gisela into his open arms while a broad grin spread across his features.
"Anna darling, come here," Alastair said as he waited for Helena to accept his hug. That nickname never failed to irk Johnathan every time his brother addressed Helena as Anna. The mention of Anna's name brought out his crimes that he'd kept hidden deep in his heart.
Baby Hera's innocent face flashed across his eyes, and Johnathan wondered if his chest would ever stop aching because of his guilt.
'Would my sins ever let me be in peace?'
Helena's sweet giggles eased the pain in his chest, and Johnathan smiled, looking at his lovely daughter. He would bring her the moon and the stars if he could, he loved her that much. It was his way of compensating for Hera's loss. He robbed her identity and her rights to everything she deserved. So what if he couldn't give his love to Hera? He would shower that on Helena.
But how would Hera get compensated if he loved Helena in her place? Johnathan never bothered to understand that logic. It was his way of coping with his guilt. It didn't matter how sick and illogical his idea of penance seemed.
Alastair's gaze finally settled on him. Johnathan sucked in a sharp breath as those forest green orbs pierced through his brown ones.
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