Two Queens

Hidden Truths

~Courtney~

"Princess?"

Tears. They are the first thing I notice about him: the way his tears shine in his eyes and match his deep teal irises. I rarely ever saw Duncan cry, if at all, and when I did I always noticed how they changed him. His dark eyelashes would clump together, his eyes and skin would crease and redden, and he would look a lot more boyish, a lot more childish, than I'd ever seen him look before. When Duncan cried, he would look like someone I didn't know. When Duncan cried he looked vulnerable. I never liked how it looked on him.

But why would Duncan be crying? Why would he be crying now? Why would he look me in the eyes, his own reddened and glassy, instead of looking away? He always looked away when he cried. He always hid it away.

Didn't he?

"Duncan..." His name leaves in a warble, a distorted wobble, as I begin to reach out towards him. My own lip bobs as I grit my teeth and force my arm to stiffly fall back to my side.

I want to comfort him. I want to. But something holds me back. Something strong and choking and bitter holds me back from reaching out to, touching, him. It makes me watch him with a look of contempt, distaste, my veins boiling with a heavy liquid that feels like mercury instead of blood. Bitter poison instead of life-giving plasma. It makes me focus on how much I hate him, how he shouldn't be crying over something that he had done. Over something he did to me.

But is that really why Duncan's crying? Is he really crying over me? Or is it...something else?

Shaking my head, I clear my thoughts. I can't think like that; I can't let him get to me like that. If I let just a little bit of him through, then all of him will invade me. Encase me. Memories, the way he made me smile, his stupid breakfast sandwiches: I would think of it all, think of him doing it all. Once that happens, I won't be able to stay so firm. I won't even be able to look at him, stare at him, and still feel the bitter resolve burning within me. I'll soften. Crumble. And that's the last thing I need.

Harshly, I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat. It sticks fast, refusing to budge an inch. My heart pounds against my ribs.

"Is it true?" His voice is low, whispering, and I don't know how to respond to it. I've never known how to respond to it. Not after what happened and definitely not after the whole car park thing. In fact, I was still trying to get over it - him not knowing.

Right now, Duncan was a stranger to me. Someone unknown. Ever since I discovered his disloyalty, his lies, my perception of him splintered and shattered like a mirror dropped from a towering hundred story building. All that was left of him was fragments, loose chips, and those pieces were what kept me hanging on to the idea of him loving me. Those pieces of reflective, broken glass were the only things that reminded me of when he loved me.

Nevertheless, seeing him here, spotting the tears in his eyes, jogged something within my brain. Niggled at a buried, repressed vision. Seeing him, being so near to him, made a small jolt pump through my long frozen and cracked heart. Warm it. But, like always, I refused to show it.

"Is what true?" My voice comes out snappy, impatient, my arms folding across my chest. Like always, my foot taps below me, signalling my growing irritation.

I've been here before. Done this before. Over a hundred times. Not once did it ever end well. Time after time after time, these sorts of situations and confrontations ended with one of us storming off in anger. Usually, it would be Duncan; sometimes it would be me. But never before had Duncan asked me something, or rather ask if something was true. Usually, I was the one to demand the 'truth'. I was the interrogator and he was the interrogated. Now it appears we have switched.