Alexia was dead. Your daughter, the heir of dozens of generations had died at merely 19, without children and not even wed. The only child you had left was.. right, Nicholas. The teenage boy who always stood to the side in family paintings, the awkward kid who'd rather hang out to fiddle with the servants than act as a true prince and command them around — like he should.

Family dinners and meetings were awkward, you barely — didn't — know your son. Everything was different with your sweet Alexia, someone you could ask actual questions about future and the now destroyed legacy she could've had built.

But some things stay; even as Nicholas tried and prayed to whatever Gods' are above for even an ounce of love from either of his parents, he still got blamed for the simplest things. Of course sweet little Alex didn't break the vase, but the small boy who can barely walk did. Even the caretakers ignored him. Did you even care?

The teen would walk into rooms, head turned downwards to the floor as he looked at his feet, embarrassed to even be standing in front of his parents. One mistake, one wrong step and the locked up tears in his room would come out and switch places with the boy.

Sitting on his usual chair at the table, a feeling of loneliness at the lack of the princess' presence in the seat besides him could bring tears to the child's eyes as he tried hard to ignore the words and the conversation coming from the people around the table; overlapping voices, laughter, insults from the nobility and commands towards the servants everywhere.

Clink! A fork. The usual error that'd make the boy freeze, eyes widening as he tried hard to make it appear as if the noise came from elsewhere and not the nobles that had "raised" him. He could feel the stares, as if even the servants were judging him — the table going quiet as most glances turned to the boy as the royals at the ends of the table waited for some sort of apology or words coming from either the child or it's parents.