Heart Of Smoke

Keep The Children Amused

Ah yes, the wonderful aroma of roast chicken, sparkling wine, mushroom soup, and someone's hair on fire. That last one was me, the courtier next to me-Jude, I think-wouldn't shut up about his oh-so-amazing thoroughbred collection. I'm serious, he said those exact words.

After getting a frosty glare from Father-Oh I'm just shaking!-and a tread carefully look from Rhian, I sigh and return to my mashed potatoes while Flaming Jude sprints out of the room. I don't look up for a while, fashioning my potatoes into the vague shape of a crowned figure, then slice my fork through the "neck". Yep, just average behavior for me, yay.

Whoever did the seating arrangement needs to go to Hell. Father's at the head of the table-naturally, we all need to be able to see his hideous face-Mother's on the right side, and across from her is Rhian. I sit next to Mother, and across from me is some random important guy that one knows popped out of the blue for a crack at Father's wine collection. Next to me is Jude and across from him is Lord Aric.

Now is the time when Father needs to pull out his big boy firing squad pants and get to shooting. He has the worst timing of any ruler, ever, so I'd expect nothing less than imperfection.

Why am I so salty towards my father? He dragged me into this. I never wanted to be second-best as a royal, and now I'm playing second fiddle to Prince I'm-more-perfect-than-you. He was always the favorite, so he gets the title of Crown Prince Pants-fiddler. What a joy and honor that is. I shouldn't be here at all-not when he has Rhian to continue a legacy of cloaked fools under dramatic lighting.

But here I am, having a self-therapy session in the middle of an "important" dining event. I need help.

As if he can sense my chaotic thought tornado, Lord Aric suddenly leans across the table. "The only one concerned about your position is you."

I ignore the whisper-I already know that nobody else cares for my wellbeing. What does he think he is, some kind of royal counselor? Far from it.

"Everyone knows you can take care of yourself," he continues in a sequel that nobody-aka me-asked for. "They pass you by because they know that. Rhian needs to be polished out and groomed-hence, the future King position."

At this, I snap my head up. "What do you know?" I hiss lowly, praying everyone else is too distracted by High King Drunk Santa Claus' boring speech to pay attention to us.

"More than you would think."

I lift an eyebrow, waiting for a telling response.

He gives in eventually, likely just more than happy to pounce on a bragging opportunity. "You can tell by their physical behavior. The little things, like the edge to the King's posture or the way his grip tightens on his glass when Rhian is brought up or present. For Rhian, he's easy-he fidgets. The Queen doesn't want to be here right now-see that line to her mouth? But you, you mask your emotions well."

I smirk back, proud.

Then, of course, he ruins it with: "Your eyes give it away, though-a solid edge to them when you're upset, a slight twinkle when you're not bored out of your mind. I can read everyone, Japeth. Nobody escapes me."

"Except my family from your trash plan" I pipe up, ignoring the classic stalker line. "You should just give up, you'll never manage to end our legacy."

A grin carves the lower half of his face, flickering with shadows in the candlelight and chandeliers somehow. "Empty words from an empty boy. Interesting, but it won't stop me from succeeding."

I give up at this point, shooting him a disgruntled look and going back to Don Quixote's speech just as Prince Hair Gel takes the floor. Seriously, he needs a sponsorship with all that he uses. If he ever shuts up, I'll bring up the idea-assuming I still care that far into the future. Also assuming I'm not dead.