Something With a Prince

Chapter Forty-Seven: Soft Place to Land

Lansing

"Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but that's a nasty looking scar you got there." Clive was eating an apple in his hand, cutting small round pieces off by the slice before putting them in his mouth.

My eyes had not left the blade for some time now. That is, until the grounds keeper spoke in his somewhat gravelly voice. Something wonderful about older people's voices. You can hear every road they've traveled in a single sentence...that and Clive was also an avid pipe smoker, but that's not as picturesque.

Pulling my gaze away from the blade's edge as it slid through the apple once more, I met the green eyes of Clive and half smiled, "A forest witch tried to cut my heart out."

The groundskeeper snorted, opening his mouth a little with that laugh only sassing can bring on, "Aye, did she? Need it for her evil spells and such?"

I smiled a little more, just because he was. And because it was nice to talk to someone about it, even if he thought I was joking. As if, saying it was making it less heavy. I couldn't tell Thea...no, I couldn't. So, I would tell Clive a story instead.

"Just the one and it wasn't a spell. She was going to raze all of humanity."

He offered me a slice of apple with a grim furrow, "Quite a task, that. What did she need your heart for? Was she an ugly witch?"

"She was quite beautiful, godlike even, until you made her upset. Then she crawled with nightmares." Clive had now settled himself in, arms bracing on the table as he sliced and sliced. "And as for my heart...well, it was hiding something. Something very important that the witch didn't see coming."

Clive furrowed his brow, and curled up his nose, "You're gonna go and make this about love, Your Highness?" He stuck his tongue out, which seemed a little funny for such an old man, "Bleh. I've already heard this one."

Tucking my smile underneath my expression, I shook my head severely, "Well, then you know how it ends."

This caught his attention, "Aye, with a wedding and dancing and all that lovey nonsense?"

Shaking my head, I noticed he had finished eating the apple, "Not in this story, I'm afraid."

But Clive had heard enough and was now busy stretching out his massive hands, cracking his fingers between words, "Isn't wise to joke of witches in this forest, Your Highness. Lots of lore around here. This would have scared Delphie out of her wits if she heard you talking like that." Squeezing one eye nearly shut while touching the side of his nose, Clive amusedly whispered, "You know how to rid yourself a forest witch, don't you?"

Talk about a little too late. "Would I have this scar if I knew?"

"Ah, now it's my turn to be a storyteller." He clicked his tongue and drummed his fingers on the table, happy to see me playing along. Clive was always young at heart. Well, once you got passed his menacing height and scrupulous eyebrows.

"The way to rid yourself a witch is..." he looked around as if someone could hear us. I knew perfectly well, someone could. "Come close, I can't let this out aloud."

I indulged him, leaning forward, and Clive whispered, "They're undead and full of dark magic. So, you have to find what killed them, rather, what was supposed to kill them. That is the ticket. Great beginnings meet great ends." He flicked his nose with a wink, "but you didn't hear it from me."

Rolling my eyes, and letting that easy practiced smile come through, I pushed up and out of my seat, "Didn't hear what from who?"

Clive was grinning a slightly toothless grin, and clapped his hands, "Exactly."

—-

Of everything I had expected to see on this trip, my bed was one thing I wasn't disappointed to find. Sitting proudly in the center of the room like an old friend, opening its arms. Everything was the same as I remembered it from childhood. To the green wallpapers, the silver cresting on the posts and inlay on the molding above. Even my stack of books, left untouched by many years, rested neatly, and dusted by my bed.

Wandering over to them, I brushed my fingers over the covers and smiled to find they were fairy tales. But it was a hateful smile, one that boiled inside me and clawed up my throat. Stories I read to save myself...now they are one of the many things keeping it all fresh in my mind. On top of the stack set a fairytale of a great knight and a dragon. It was one of Arlyn's favorites, no doubt the reason I had taken it, my young mind thinking somehow it would make me more like him if we slayed the same beasts.

I had missed it all.

The reality was heavy, but not one I couldn't bear. My brother was at war, all kings eventually went through it, but had I known he would be going through it alone, I never would have left. If I had known.

Leaving the books to their dust, I undressed and took a bath, soaking up every second of the heat and relaxation until my eyes threatened to close. Never had I been so tired and yet, restless. At the forefront of my mind was silence, and yet, there was chattering in the background that left me staring at the ceiling; I only came to when my nose slipped under the water.

Removing myself from the bath and getting dressed seemed to quiet my thoughts. Circular images of Arlyn wearing my father's chain, my place beside my mother empty. The shame. While there was no real point in blaming myself, the feeling was incessant. He would have been crowned by the priestess since the King could not be there. Arlyn, King...My brother who used to scale walls and laugh himself hoarse after wrestling matches. My brother who dared to steal his father's sword, only to give it to me for play. My brother, who was always guiding me to more happiness than he would preserve for himself. While I was off, reading in solitude or avoiding council meetings, he was carrying it all. What kind of brother had I been to leave him alone with that?

At a loss, I found only the question an echo of a thought.

The room, despite all its furnishings and finery, felt just as empty as the cathedral's. It made me want to shrink into a corner as tight as my body would let me. Not once in my life had I feared isolation... now it made my lungs tighten and my heart twist as if it were trying to  contort right out from under my ribs. Like a hand pulling it out.

The thought was like a blow to the temple. So severe it made me grip for something, anything real. My fingers clutched onto the bed post like an anchor, but it did nothing to quail the haunting of screams in my throat. I dug my nails into the post, taking my time to breathe, focusing on the bed covers before me. A chill rose over my arms and up my neck. The real world was leaving me behind. Leaving me chained to a floor or a ceiling, then starving in cold rooms with spiders crawling up my skin. Locked rooms where monsters slept under the floorboards, scratching and whispering threats every time I tried to close my eyes and sleep... only to dream of my flesh being torn open. To dream of Thea turning away or Saorla holding the knife that ripped me open.

Helplessness. That was what was left.

Then I made myself open the window and breathe. Made myself look around the room and recognize my surroundings for what they were. A fire was crackling, Delphie's singing could be heard through her open window down stairs as she prepared for bed. My heart was just beating and the walls were green...not closing in. I was fine.

So, I pulled myself into bed and pretended I wasn't afraid to sleep. Pretending, after all, was my specialty, was it not?

I pretended to know what I was doing in Slerian and falsified a reputation so there was no chance of it falling to Arlyn. Nothing could bruise me, Thea's words never settled deeper than the surface...I pretended I haven't loved her since before I could remember. I pretended I wasn't in love despite everything in me screaming to accept it. The truth is, even without a heart, though I never truly believed she was without, Thea had been right about me in more ways than one.