The Sleeping Prince

Chapter Fifteen: History, and the Other Prince

Achille was a pretty little blond boy with cherubic cheeks and bright hazel eyes. He wasn't the Crown Prince, but he was important. He wasn't cursed to die when he entered adulthood, unlike Crown Prince Aurore had been.

Achille's christening had been a lot quieter than Aurore's, and had far fewer faeries in attendance.

His birthdays were always quiet affairs. Holidays found Queen Emilienne, King Anthelm, and Prince Achille traveling to other properties the King owned. Never the same one twice, and never a pattern that could be easily predicted. Anthelm loved his son, but at a distance. Just in case. He was paranoid.

Part of Anthelm's paranoia came to fruition in his unpredictable nature, and in the quiet family affairs that birthdays and holidays had become. Part of it came to fruition in the walls that Anthelm built between himself and his Queen, and himself and his second son.

Achille saw a lot of Queen Emilienne, but more of his designated nursemaids.

He was seven years of age when the Crown Prince would be returning home. All he had been told was that he was going to receive a brother, of sorts.

--

Hyacinthe denied every step. He wouldn't be Aurore for them, he wouldn't be the prince, and he wouldn't give up his entire life to live one he didn't even remember.

"You tell me I have no mother," he said, bitter. "And you tell me my father had no hand in my rearing. And now that father -- a King! -- has a new Queen, who has given him a new son. It sounds to me that I am no necessary pawn to be had. Why do they need two princes?" And why was their no word on the reason he'd spent thirteen years being raised in the Wood?

"You are the Crown Prince," Loch said.

"Just make the littler the Crown Prince. I don't remember the Kingdom, why should anyone expect the Kingdom to remember me, anyway? Just let me live." He stopped and turned to motion to the Wood. "Let me live there, with the Lady as constant company." With the faeries.

"The People loved your Queen Mother," Liddy offered, a bit sadly.

"What would they want from me? I'm not her. I'm just Hyacinthe. I'm not even a memory of the woman, and I have no stories of her to speak of," Hyacinthe wrinkled his nose and outright refused to keep walking. "I'm not Aurore. Whoever Aurore was might as well be dead, now."

"Don't say that!" Liddy rounded on him, hands over his mouth to cover a gasp. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"When Aurore was given to faeries, to be raised in the Wood, Aurore died," Hyacinthe repeated, firm. "Hyacinthe was born, because that was the name he received, and that was the name he was raised with. There's no point in acknowledging someone who never came to be, just as there's no point in me taking on a name I don't remember and don't answer to."

"You'll learn to answer to it," Loch said.

"He doesn't want to. How would he learn to answer to it if he didn't want to? All he has to do is refuse to respond when the other name is called," Truss was still walking. He was the only one still walking. And he was the only reason Hyacinthe itched to be moving, again. It was a far brighter tactic than stopping with him and engaging him in conversation.

"He's right," Hyacinthe said. He wavered, then started to walk again.

Liddy released a relieved sigh, then turned to scowl at Truss with all the venom he could muster. It was Truss, so there wasn't much venom to be had. "Look," he said, turning back to Hyacinthe. "We all must do things we do not wish to do. You may not wish this, but it's come to you."