cinder || dnf

chapter sixteen

Nightshift nurses and androids plastered themselves to the walls as Prince George barreled through the corridor. He had run all the way from his bedroom on the sixteenth floor of the palace's private wing, pausing to catch his breath only when he was forced to wait for the elevator. He burst through the door to the visiting room and came to a halt all at once, still gripping the door's handle.

His mad eyes found Bad, arms crossed as he leaned against the far wall. The adviser tore his gaze from the glass window and met George's panicked expression with one of resignation.

"I heard-" George started, pulling back his shoulders. Wetting his dry mouth, he came into the room. The door clicked behind him. The small sitting room was lit only by a table lamp and the bright fluorescents in the quarantine.

George peered into the sickroom just as a med-droid pulled a white cloth over his father's closed eyes. His hammering heart plummeted. "I'm too late."

Bad stirred. "It happened only minutes ago," he said, forcing himself away from the wall. George took in the adviser's lined face and sleepless eyes, and a cup of untouched tea that sat beside his portscreen. He'd stayed late to work, rather than return to his own home, his own bed.

The exhaustion caught up to George all at once and he pressed his burning forehead against the cool glass. He should have been there too.

"I will set up a press conference." Bad's voice was hollow.

"A press conference?"

"The country needs to know. We will mourn together." Bad seemed shaken for a rare moment. He covered it with a measured breath.

George squeezed his eyes shut and chafed them with his fingers. Even knowing that it was coming, that his father was sick with this incurable disease, it still made no sense. All that had just been lost, taken so quickly. Not just his father. Not just the emperor.

His youth. His freedom.

"You will be a good emperor," said Bad. "As he was."

George flinched away from him. He did not want to think about it, all of his own inadequacies. He was too young, too stupid, too optimistic, too naive. He couldn't do this.

The screen behind them pinged, followed by a sweetly feminine voice: "Incoming communication for Crown Prince George Davidson of the Eastern Commonwealth from Queen Minx Blackburn of Luna."

George spun toward the netscreen, blank but for a spinning globe in the corner, signaling an available comm. Any threat of tears vanished into an oncoming headache. The air thickened, but neither of them moved.

"How could she know? So soon?" said George. "She must have spies."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bad level a glare at him. A warning not to start in on the conspiracy theories just yet. "Perhaps the thaumaturge or his guard saw you," he said. "Running through the castle in the middle of the night. What else could it mean?"

Locking his jaw, George drew himself to his full height, hailing the screen like an enemy. "I guess our mourning period is over," he murmured. "Screen, accept comm."

The screen brightened. George bristled at the sight of the Lunar Queen, her head and shoulders draped in an ornate cream colored veil, like a perpetual bride. All that could be seen beneath the shroud was a hint of long dark hair and the ghost of her features. The explanation told by the Lunars was that their queen's beauty was a gift not to be seen by undeserving Earthens, but George had heard that in reality the queen's glamour- her ability to make people see her as divinely beautiful by manipulating their brain waves- could not translate over the netscreens, therefore she never allowed herself to be seen over them.

Whatever the reason, looking at the white-swathed figure for too long always made George's eyes sting.

"My dear Prince Regent," Minx said in a saccharine voice, "may I be the first to offer my condolences on the loss of your father, the good Emperor Rikan. May he forever rest in peace."

George cast a cool glare at Bad. Spies?

Bad did not return the look.

"Though the occasion is tragic, I do look forward to continuing the talk of an alliance with you, as the new leader of Earth's Eastern Commonwealth. As I see no reason to defer these conversations until your coronation, whensoever that shall be, I do think it appropriate to plan a meeting as soon as is convenient in your time of mourning. My shuttle is prepared. I can depart as soon as your next sunrise and come to offer both my sympathies and my congratulations in the flesh. I will alert my thaumaturge to expect my arrival. He can ensure that accommodations are adequately prepared. I ask that you do not concern yourself with my comfort. I am sure you will have many other concerns during this tragic time. My sympathies are with you and the Commonwealth." She finished her message with a tilt of her head and the screen blackened.

Jaw hanging, George faced Bad. He squeezed his fists against his sides before they could start to shake. "She wants to come here? Now? It hasn't even been fifteen minutes!"

Bad cleared his throat. "We should discuss this in the morning. Before the press conference, I suppose."

George turned away, thunking his head against the window. Beyond the glass, the peaks of his father's body were obscured beneath the white sheet, not unlike the queen and her veil. The emperor had lost so much weight in the past week that his form seemed more like a mannequin's than a man's.

His father was no longer there. Unable to protect George. Unable to offer advise. Unable to lead his country ever again.

"She thinks I'm weak," George said. "She's going to try and persuade me to accept the marriage alliance now, while everything is in chaos." He kicked the wall, biting back a cry of pain when he remembered he wasn't wearing shoes. "Can't we tell her no? Tell her she's not welcome here?"

"I'm not sure that would be the indication of peace your father had been striving for."

"She's the one who's been threatening war for the past twelve years!"

Bad pursed his lips, and the haunting worry in his gaze quelled George's anger. "Discussions must go two ways, Your Highness. We will listen to her requests, but she must listen to ours as well."

George's shoulders drooped. He turned around, craning his head back and staring at the shadowed ceiling. "What did she mean, her thaumaturge will prepare her accommodations?"

"Removing the mirrors, I suspect."

George squeezed his eyes shut. "Mirrors. Right. I forgot." He mashed his forehead. What was it about the Lunars? And not just any Lunar. Queen Minx. On Earth. In his country, his home. He shivered. "The people aren't going to like this."

"No." Bad sighed. "Tomorrow will be a dark day for the Commonwealth."

~~~

1183 words
3/7/22