You were just a boy when your mother told you that marriage was a business, not a romance. So, it was what you'd come to expect when the Everglots were suddenly parading around the fact that the young Van Dort had vanished into thin air — it was not like the young man was prepared for marriage, now, was he?

Naturally, your mother looked into this sudden barrage of information from your ivory tower at Kent. When she learned that the Everglot girl was someone of good social standing and amicable, the wedding was well underway without you saying hello to her first.

It was a whirlwind from wedding to the heinously quick move to your mansion on Royal grounds, so quickly that if you blinked... you would've missed it.

You were smoking a rolled up cigarette as your long, slender fingers gently danced across the ivories. You were sitting at your piano after a long day of executing your Royal duties in the dreary little village the Everglots formerly thrived in, your eyes closed as you let the haunting, melancholic chords fill your senses.

"You play beautifully," came a soft voice from behind you. You glanced up, white smoke clouds evaporating in rings around you. Victoria had her hands neatly clasped in front of her as she watched your fingers drift along the piano keys, her gaze soft. Almost yearning. "Mother won't let me near the piano. Music is improper for a young lady." She paused. "Too passionate, she says."