Fyra (First Draft)

Two

The next day, Cirian waited to hear news about the the girl shrouded in mystery and shadow. Questions circled overhead. Though dying to get answers, he would wait to ask her about her past until she was ready to answer. She was no older than sixteen, but the fleeting glimpse at her pain ridden eyes told him that her soul was battered and strong.

Last night, he had sent maids to bathe her and a healer to make sure she maintained no lasting injuries. He returned to his study, and started reading through the dull documents that his father had set out for him. But his mind could not leave the green-eyed girl. After nearly an hour of reading monotonous textbooks and documents, he dozed off on his desk.

Cirian woke to a guard who was trying to talk to him. He yawned and sat up in his chair, waiting for the news.

"The girl is awake sir." Was all he said. Cirian, now awake, stood up and started making way to her rooms. The guard ran after him. "Wait sir!" The guard called, walking after the prince. "She is not stable! Nearly took off my head with a vase she did!" Cirian ignored him.

The soldiers guarding the door informed him she had woken up, and just sat in her bed. She had been talking to herself for a few minutes now and whenever they peeked in to make sure that she was indeed alone, she threw something at the door.

Cautiously, he knocked on the door. As he inched it opened, he had to smile. On the floor were the fragments of a broken vase, a hairbrush, and an unlit candle.

The girl called,"Hello? Is that the charming prince? If you would do me the a favor, please tell your damn guards that I do not care for their constant opening of my door." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"How did you know I am the prince?" He wondered aloud as he walked into the room. She was sprawled on her bed, her long, red hair in tangle around her.

"Well that's because," she said drawled, "you are the only person who would be pretentious enough to knock on a prisoner's door. Or wear such rich fabric, or save a damsel in distress!" She rose her hand to her face, fanning it as if she were swooning.

Fyra didn't mention that she had heard tales of the light eyed, dark haired Prince in Bluedale, tales of the boy who had saved innocents, the boy who had stood up to his father in quiet ways. Her harsh words were her only armor, and she could keep up this mask if only she tried.

"You are not a prisoner, I just wanted to keep you safe." He countered. My. He was going to get an earful with her. He had never met a woman who wasn't afraid of him, or making a feeble and desperate effort to impress him, besides his stepmother.

She snapped her head up and hissed, "So when you lock people in rooms you call them...guests? This cage may be beautiful, but it is still a cage. Though I suppose it's my fault. Throwing vases when people try to walk in may merit some caution." She smirked. "You are smart to keep me locked in. I would be halfway across the country had the door been open."

"But why?" He asked her, confused. "What do you have to run from?" Fyra held his gaze, debating if she should answer the question.

The girl clenched her fists then crossed her arms. She looked uncomfortable. But he needed an answer, because there was no way she would be kept at the castle as a prisoner if there was no valid reason. He stood in the middle of the room, brows raised, clearly awaiting an answer. She just stared at the floor, and the atmosphere in the room froze, like all the air had been sucked from the room. She still offered no reply.

Suddenly Cirian couldn't take it any longer, and his patience snapped. "Why? Why are you here? Why do you need to be restrained? I can't just keep you under lock and key for the gods' sake!" He needed to know if she was dangerous or innocent, though it didn't seem like it would be easy.

Her eyes clouded with anger. She was so tired of everyone assuming that she was weak and naive and that they needed to know all about her to help her. She didn't need help. All she needed was to run as fast and as far as she could before the inevitable happened. Before she grew to care for someone, before she found a new family, and before they were dead. She was suddenly infuriated with this insufferable Prince, who thought his looks and title could give him access to anything, anyone. And she was so tired of hearing people ask her why.

She stood up and glared at him. "Because I'm a criminal you ignorant bastard! I was in those dungeons for a reason. Why should I --"

"You stop that now!" He said, his voice a threatening whisper. She was absolutely intolerable! It was slightly amusing at first, but he was the prince. Even though he knew he was asking personal questions, he deserved an answer. After all, he was he one who saved her! "You spit on my title, my birthright. I saved your sorry ass. And have you know I am a prince. I'll have you know, the proper form of address is--"

"Oh I am terribly sorry. Did I offend the princeling brat? Am I a little bauble to be admired by a prince? Am I meant to entertain you?" She spat with infuriating disdain and venom. He just stood there, staring at her, his mouth agape. Honestly, who was this girl? He could have her put her to death, for treason, because she addressed him in such a manner. Pausing for a moment, she brought her hands to her mouth in a false gasp. "Please Your Majesty, I meant no offense. I hadn't thought that someone with such rank and prestige would care about the opinion of someone as lowly born as myself." Sarcasm rolled of her words, and all he could do was stare at her.

"What crimes were you jailed for?" He asked after a pregnant pause. She looked slightly taken aback at his words, but her eyes cleared, and he wondered if he was imagining things.

Fyra turned to him, staring right into his eyes. "Thievery." Her shoulders seemed to slump and her expression grew regretful. She was tired. Of all the lies, all the constant running. Thievery was the least of what she had done, and yet it had been the only thing she could control.

Cirian had expected as much. He knew she couldn't have been jailed for anything major, and it looked as if she needed a good meal. He nodded and left the room, leaving Fyra staring in his wake, utterly confused and wishing she could disappear.