Of Blood and Fire

Chapter 4 - Henri

This chapter has been edited and finalized.

As soon as Henri was released from the confines of the studio hall, he ran up to his room and didn't look back. The news of his engagement to a yet-unknown woman was as much of a surprise to him as it was to the kingdom, and he was in no way prepared.

Henri slammed his door and fell back onto his plush bed, which offered no relief. He was roiling with anger inside. Normally, Henri was a peaceful person; he was more likely to sit and talk than to plan vengeance, but he couldn't do either right now. No, what he needed was an outlet.

An idea flashed in his mind and in an instant he was up, throwing a canvas onto his easel and rummaging around in his paint box. He had shades of every color, and what he didn't have, he could mix. He glanced at all of his framed paintings – dark mountains silhouetted against the sunrise, a cityscape he'd drawn up painstakingly from his balcony to make sure every detail was accurate, and so, so many of his sister's face as he remembered it – and they seemed so passive, so boring. His fingers closed around fiery reds and deep blacks. His emotions were turmoil, and so his painting should be.

From his drawer he grabbed eight brushes, and remembered immediately that was how many girls he'd be seeing, so made it nine by adding a small fan brush. Not that he'd be painting any tiny, meticulous details; this painting would be of engulfing, all-consuming rage, one that he knew his parents could never see.

Henri slathered grey across his palette and dunked a brush into it, slashing it across the pristine white canvas. Sloppy, dripping lines crisscrossed this way and that, and he stopped for a half a second in consideration. Not bothering to clean the brush, he added zigzagging crimson, and soon the canvas was a mess the color of a volcano's heart. Perfect. For the first time, there is something to show that captures the force of my emotions. I will not sit by and watch my future slip away! He balled his fist. I must live, for Lumia if nothing else!

Several long moments passed before Henri heard a tentative knock on his doors and he stepped back, breathing heavily. He shook his head and stared at his creation. It was of nothing, but of everything at the same time. He inhaled, then exhaled, and felt most of the negativity drain out of him. With weariness rather than fury he put away his paints and drew a cover over his easel. "Come in," he called. He sat back onto his bed and put a hand to his forehead, suddenly swamped by dread. How could his father do this to him?

"Henri," his mother began. There was an apologetic undertone in her voice, as if she liked this just as much as he did. "Your father and I –"

Henri held up one hand and her words died in her throat. "It's okay, Mother." No. It's not. But I will be king one day, aren't I? I need to mask my emotions to everyone around me, and harden myself so I can lead without bias. "I'm almost of age, and I know that I must have a queen if I am going to begin my rule strong."

His mother's eyes clouded. "I know." She grasped his hand, and her fingers felt both warm and ice-cold at the same time. "You know why, don't you? Why we're doing this?"

"Publicity," Henri answered uncertainly. His mind shied away from the other option.

She shook her head and took off her bejeweled tiara. "You'll be better protected," she murmured. "We couldn't do that with Lumia."

At the mention of his lost sibling's name, grief seared Henri's chest, making it hard for him to breathe. Seven years had passed since she'd disappeared, and he thought time would heal the hole in his heart, but it still hurt to think that he'd been right beside her when she'd vanished. I could have saved her. Why couldn't I have saved her?