Something With a Prince

Chapter Thirteen: Alter and Bed

Arlyn

After the assembly, the dining room was the one place I could be alone. It wasn't infiltrated by mountains of papers like my room or stuffed to the brim with dozens of men and women, all clambering to have their ideas heard. It was just the dining room--furnished wall to wall with ornate, familiar rugs, solid wooden chairs, and candles in every window. The table was gigantic and seated at least fifty people. Choosing the seat furthest away from the door, I allowed my mind to relax into useless daydreams.

I had never felt more content, or more pleased with the company (I sat alone with my chicken and a goblet of wine). Aside from the occasional servant popping in to check on the status of my meal, which was relatively untouched, I was left to my solitude. Which is funny to think about considering I am the one who is usually happy to be in the company of others. From the time I was young, I was always in the presence of someone...never left alone. Of course, I had grown used to it, even found comfort in it, but as the days stretched on, I found my temper resembles my brothers more than my own. Maybe the Rikkar genes were hidden there after all.

Stop carrying on. My brain chided; he isn't dead. Just away. Get a grip.

I cleared my throat and readjusted in my chair, "I know that." I know that.

However, despite me knowing what I knew, there still seemed to be a hollowness to the castle now that Lansing and Thea were away. I found myself constantly worrying over where they were and what might happen to them. Lansing was an exceptional hunter, and Thea...well, she's Thea. There isn't anything she can't handle. Between the two of them, the forest should be no problem. Then again, there was the chance my worries had nothing to do with the forest itself and everything to do with the fact Thea and Lansing were travelling together. I had never met two people who seemed more determined to hate one another. Thea's pride against my brother's stubborn will...It was a recipe for disaster, or a great friendship. But most likely disaster.

My stomach begins to turn like clockwork and my eyes find their way out the window. I take my time scanning through the trees, but nothing surfaces. I feel watched. Like a bird in a cage or a mouse right before it's caught in a trap. A stupid, young, ornament to the palace I am meant to be running, and here I was, hiding away like a child. Am I not a child?  I thought to myself. Looking down at my hands and turning them over, I scrutinized every hair, ink mark, scar, and bitten nail. The veins ran blue under my skin, which was paler from staying inside so much, and hid themselves in the sleeves of my shirt. They were not a child's hands, but they looked like it when I remembered all that they were crowned to carry. Thankfully, my morbidity was cut short by a knock on the door, snapping me back to the reality I belonged in. I was twenty-two years old, and ready or not, I was to be the King.

"I haven't finished, come back later." I spoke, poking the meat on my plate and pulling a face. It had gone cold, so I took a long drink of wine instead.

The door swung open slowly, inviting my mother into the room. She passed a look over her shoulder and then cleared her throat as she pushed the door shut, "It's me. I need to speak to you."

Her footsteps fell lightly as she walked closer to me and stopped. If she was hiding something, it was not going to be given away in her face. My mother held her hands in front of her and squared her shoulders just enough to make her seem taller, upholding her Queenly air without fault. However, her fingers trembled just the slightest. Guilty. The word entered my mind. That could only mean one thing...

I stood up slowly, setting my napkin to the side of my plate and taking a deep breath, "Show them in." Whoever it is.

My mother swallowed something down, but held her grey eyes steady, "It's for the best, son."