The Princess's Servant

102. The Waiting Room

The two of them walked down the hall as the prince searched for any escape from his relatives. Prince Thomas would be meeting now with the Queen and King of Lailoy, which meant that he and Sybil had some time to kill before the coronation.

Prince Holden seemed to remember a quiet lounge room somewhere nearby. He ran his fingers along the wall until he felt a groove. He stopped abruptly.

Pushing into the wall, a panel popped out. Holden slid the panel, let both himself and the princess enter, and then slid the panel shut.

Silence. Four leather chairs. A full bar stocked with cups and ale. It was everything Holden thirsted for after that disaster of a lunch.

He flopped down onto one of the chairs with a 'hoof.' "Well, that was awful."

Sybil waited for him to say more, but he did not. "Does my husband require refreshment?" she asked in that strange whisper of a voice.

"You can cut it with the wife stuff," he told her. "We're alone. I think." Holden never could be certain where Sebastian was at any given moment.

Despite the suggestion, Sybil didn't relax one inch. "I made a promise to be a good wife, and a good wife keeps her promises," she told him.

"I don't want you to be a 'good wife.' I just want you to be... you."

For a second, there was silence. When Holden looked to Sybil for an answer, he caught her staring at him with such an intensity that it felt like sun through magnifying glass. But then, like the arrival of overcast skies, the look dimmed and faded. "I don't think you do," she told him.

Holden had nothing to say to that.

"Now. Will my husband have some ale?"

His automatic response was 'no,' but after what he'd just seen he was a little afraid to refuse her. "Yes..." he allowed, and she poured him a cup.

The ale burbled. This... was weird. Weirder than weird. Holden took a long draft of his drink, and then watched his reflection in the sepia-colored stuff. He saw himself in miniature, frowning back at him with something beyond sadness. Concern, perhaps. To his right, Sybil knelt beside him and folded her hands in her lap. 

There was something he had to ask her. He did not want to ask it, but he knew he had to. Knew that if this was truly the last day they had together, he had to get an answer. "That day, those some odd weeks ago..." Holden swirled the drink around in its cup. "When we first met. Why did you despise me?"

Sybil said nothing for a moment, perhaps thinking of an answer, perhaps deliberately ignoring him.

Holden didn't want to find out which. "I mean— I know why you hate me now. A trial, a death sentence, a night in a dungeon... A certain ceremony." He felt his cheeks heat — from the ale, he told himself. "But why did you hate me the very moment we met?"

"I—" Sybil's voice was almost soft; nothing like her usual sharp, frank way of speaking. She cleared her throat. "I could never hate my husband. Not now, not ever."

A non-answer, and a lie. "Sybil..."

The princess let out an annoyed sigh. She stood up from the floor and sat herself in the chair next to him. It seemed that whatever air she'd put on had fallen off, like a silk veil from the face. "There is a reason," she told him in her usual straightforward tone. "But if I told you what is was, you wouldn't believe me."

Holden gave her a sidelong glance. It was entirely possible that she was right — Sybil had been untruthful a lot of late. But there was something in the sincerity of her tone that told him whatever she was about to say was the truth. "Try," he told her.

Sybil looked away from him, silent.

The prince let out a hollow imitation of a laugh. It was almost amusing, to watch her put on such a ridiculous act, only to choose this moment to pull out of it. "And here I thought the good wife did as she was told."

Sybil's eyes met his again. "The good wife does as her husband commands," she told him. "Do you command me, Lord Husband? Do you, superior male heir, legal owner of my personhood, compel me to confess that which I wish to keep secret?"

The smile disappeared from Holden's face almost as quickly as it came. He wanted to ask her why she was upset, but that was a ridiculous question. After all, Holden understood better than anyone that feeling of belonging to someone else. "No..." he replied with fervor, hoping his horror was as vibrant in his voice as it felt in his chest.

"Very well. Then your wish is my command." And Sybil raised her skirts to leave.

Holden didn't stop her. One more ceremony, he told himself. One more ceremony and then this nightmare would be over. Just as Sybil went to leave the room, a servant opened to door, sent by Prince Thomas to fetch them.

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