Bastian
Chapter 20 - Uninvited Guest

✧Uninvited Guest✧

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

The enormous palace’s halls were shaken by a sound that echoed the groan of a tortured creature. Everyone, even the palace, was shocked to learn that the imperial princess was the source of the heartbreaking sob.

“Your Highness, stop crying. Yes?”

The gentle touch of the nanny’s hand, softly wiping away the tears from the princess’s face, brought a moment of calm. But it was only a momentary respite, as the sobs soon started again. A cousin who had come to the summer palace to comfort the grieving princess, spoke of the polo match being held in the capital, held by the officers. Though they quickly realized their mistake and changed the topic, the words were already out in the open, spreading like spilled water.

“Oh dear Nanny, I implore you to grant me this one request. Just this once, can you not turn a blind eye to me sending this letter?” With tear-stained eyes, Isabelle made her plea, her voice wavering with desperation.

“Your Highness, do not forget the warning of Her Majesty. If you insist on carrying out this act, I shall be unable to remain in your service.” The nanny gently reminded her, with a touch of sadness in her voice.

Isabelle’s eyes gazed out the window, toward the endless sea, as fresh tears streamed down her face. “Why must you all be so cruel? I simply wish to hear Bastian’s reply.” She whispered, her heart aching with the weight of longing and sorrow. She felt as though she was shattered, broken into a million pieces, with no hope of ever putting herself back together. For everything she held dear now belonged solely to him.

For Isabelle, this grand abode, though magnificent, was naught but a cage, binding her within its gilded borders and restricting her every freedom, including our very words as they travel beyond its walls. Such strict measures, however, were deemed necessary by her parents in the aftermath of the tumultuous events at the ball

“Your Highness, I fear Captain Klauswitz’s response left no room for doubt,” The nanny spoke with a soft yet unwavering tone

“But, Nanny, I swear I saw a flicker of shock in Bastian’s eyes, matching my own,” Isabelle protested, her head shaking with disbelief.

As the years went by, the recollection of that fateful day grew ever more vivid in Isabelle’s mind. She could still feel Bastian’s eyes upon her, the warmth of his touch, and every quiver that ran through her fingers as if it had just happened yesterday. They needed to find a moment of privacy to share their deepest emotions, free from any prying eyes. Isabelle was convinced that once they had that chance to speak, everything would change for the better.

The anticipation was too much for Isabelle, who finally broke down in tears and collapsed onto her bed. Just then, a knock echoed through the room, and a familiar maid entered, carrying a small silver tray with a vial.

Isabelle, with serene submission, took her nightly slumbering tonic as was her custom. For her, the numbing embrace of slumber was preferable to the unyielding sting of heartache.

Yet within her dreams, she was free to bask in the warmth of love untethered. 

As she drifted off, her mind conjured visions of the happiness that should have rightfully been hers. She fondly remembered the moment when Bastian, during a triumphant polo match, requested the token of victory. With a smile, she surrendered her ribbon to him, and he sealed the victory with a kiss, proudly declaring their love to the world and cementing a promise of forever.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

The crisp slicing of metal through air filled the stillness of the drill field, as the Sergeant’s voice echoed with authority. Bastian, with a keen eye, surveyed the line of cadets, before deftly returning his command sword to its scabbard, signaling the end of the formal drill. 

At the Captain’s resounding command, the cadets came to attention and rendered a salute, paying homage to the Navy and uplifting their spirits. Bastian, with a display worthy of his appointed duties, descended from the podium, his exit observed with steadfast admiration by the cadets. In a moment frozen in time, the fluttering flag was a graceful anomaly, a symbol of the unwavering spirit of those in service.

“The mere contemplation of having to endure this until the festival’s conclusion brings tears to my eyes.” As Lucas walked away from the parade ground, a murmur of discontent escaped his lips. 

Every autumn, the city of Lausanne, with its grandest naval port in the south, held a grand festival in honor of Navy Day. This year, the festivities were further amplified with a maritime procession to commemorate the triumph at the Battle of Trosa. The preparation for the celebration had consumed the entire year, and the un commissioned cadets were no exception. Bastian and Lucas had the daunting task of honing their skills and readying them for the festival’s opening ceremony.

Lucas removed his gloves and started fanning himself after making sure they were the only two. When formal training came every Wednesday, the Navy’s dispatch instructors were still supposed to be in impeccable ceremonial uniforms, although it was uncomfortable to stand in the midday sun with such a stiff appearance.

Bastian, with not a hair out of place, returned to headquarters with a composure that mirrored his poised demeanor on the platform. Lucas’s grumbling subsided only upon entering the grand lobby of the Admiralty.  Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ NƟvelFɪre.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

With haste, Bastian attended to pressing matters, compiling the training report and promptly returning to his duties. He sifted through a flurry of paperwork before accompanying Admiral Demel on a private interview with the Chief of Staff of the War Department. The two opposing forces, renowned for their hostility, locked in a fierce battle of wits over trivialities, and the General’s second-in-command was at the forefront of this conflict.

Admiral Demel typically scheduled meetings with the Army on Wednesdays, as it was a perfect occasion to showcase the poise and professionalism of a proper Admiralty officer.

“Well done. Let’s call it a day,” he proclaimed after a productive negotiation, his tone more magnanimous than usual. “Take the time to ponder another overseas mission,” he added.

Bastian’s fervent request was met with yet another rejection. 

“Do the aftermaths of your injury still linger? And you have many responsibilities yet to fulfill here. Regardless of what others may say, the leading figure of this naval celebration shall remain Captain Klauswitz, the victor of the Battle of Trosa. And soon enough, Major Klauswitz,” said Admiral Demel, a proud smile gracing his face as he looked at Bastian. It seemed that until the conclusion of the maritime review ceremony, Bastian would have to play the role of a trophy for the Admiralty. 

“It’s not just about the promotion to Major. Embrace the accolade with gratitude and remember, it is the demeanor of a noble soldier that serves as an inspiration to others.” He added.

“I shall bear that in mind.” Bastian calmly accepted the outcome.

“Also, Captain Klauswitz, may I request the pleasure of you conveying my warm regards to Lady Odette?” Admiral Demel’s lips curved into a playful smile as he spoke to Bastian, who was just about to depart.

With a nod of agreement, Bastian fulfilled his superior’s request with grace.” I shall do so.” 

It was a matter of fulfilling duty, as commanded. And so, it was also the opportune moment to reconnect with a cherished acquaintance. Emerging from the admiral’s quarters, Bastian made his way to the gymnasium located at the rear of the headquarters building. He first changed into his workout attire, then embarked on a brisk run around the grounds, returning afterward to build his strength through various exercises.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city as Bastian left the gym. The evening air was filled with the familiar sights and sounds of a late spring day in the city. As he drove through the bustling city center, with its towering department stores and fancy shopping districts, Bastian’s thoughts turned to a woman he knew, Odette.

A smirk crossed his face as he thought about the Emperor’s apparent tight-fistedness. If he was going to use Odette to protect his daughter, the least he could do was ensure she was dressed well. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on Bastian, who chuckled to himself as he drove through the city.

As Bastian navigated his vehicle down Preve Boulevard, he was consumed by thoughts of a woman who, although always impeccably packaged, was often seen in attire borrowed from others. It seemed unjust that she should bear the label of a beggar princess. He made a mental note to make efforts in elevating her appearance, to bring her out of such a lowly reputation.

As he approached the townhouse, a serene world awash in a rosy glow, he was greeted by an unexpected scene. A mature gentleman was engaged in a heated argument with the mansion’s servants at the gate.

As Bastian’s car approached, the man’s face lit up with excitement, and he eagerly extricated himself from the grip of the servants who were restraining him.

“Greetings, Captain Klauswitz!” The man approached with a warm smile, hat in hand. But when Bastian remained silent, he appeared crestfallen. “Surely you remember me?” It was the gambler of the night, the father of Lady Odette, Duke Dyssen. “How dare you snub me?” Duke Dyssen’s rage-filled voice shattered the peaceful serenity of the garden.

“It’s a relief that I don’t have to clarify,” Bastian said with a joyful grin, causing Duke Dyssen’s face to flush a deep red, unable to conceal his feelings even if his life depended on it. The outcome of his crushing defeat at the gambling table was inevitable.

“Please be concise, Your Grace,” Bastian said, striking a match and lighting a cigarette with practiced ease. The smoke curled upwards, swirling gently in the soft breeze that rustled through the garden’s delicate leaves. Duke Dyssen cast a wary eye around, weighed down by the gravity of his thoughts. Bastian’s impatience was palpable, adding a measure of callousness to the already rude gesture of smoking in the Duke’s presence.

“My daughter is not meant to be in the hands of someone like you,” Duke Dyssen stated with unwavering resolve, concealing his nervous hands under the table. He aimed to convey his staunch objection before entering into any negotiations. “No matter how times have changed, how dare a mere pawnbroker’s descendant set his sights on a princess’s daughter!” He shouted,  slamming his fist down on the table in anger. However, the response he was hoping for from Bastian did not materialize.

Bastian’s gaze was unwavering. As he watched the man before him grow increasingly incensed, a plume of smoke danced lazily from the end of his cigarette. 

Bastian muttered curses like a lullaby, referring to Duke Dyssen as a canine. The audacity of such words left the Duke stunned, unable to accept the insults directed towards him. But Bastian sat tall, relishing in the Duke’s fury and basking in his utter embarrassment. 

The corners of his mouth curled upwards into a gentle smile, as he watched the Duke’s disbelief turn into a seething glare.

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