Time for the Truth: a story of a sleeping beauty

part 10: Rudely Awoken

I feel as though waking up should be easy this time, but I struggle back as if from death. I imagine my mother coming into my room, losing her patience that I am still asleep when I send the servants away to let me sleep.

Let me sleep.

"I am so sorry." A husky voice mumbles, ragged and torn. Something touches me, and I cannot remember where the papery feeling hit me.

Warm, I am warm.

I endure the floating feeling.

I float.

I am so tempted to float away forever. It is so much easier than the people and the drama of apologies. I am so tired of being unsure and sad and wary.

Rior's warm eyes and silly jokes remind me though, of my father's crinkly smile, and the way my mother reaches for my hand to squeeze it just to tell me she loves me.

My little sister's laughter rings in my ears, telling me I've forgotten something again. I jerk awake and flex my back.

I feel oddly sore and my muscles are tired. Rior's torso is flat on the bed across from me, and he twitches in his sleep.

"Hello?" My voice comes out rusty and ill-used. He doesn't react. I am feeling more awake and alive by the second. I almost giggle, wondering just how heavy of a sleeper he is.

"Rior?" I tug on the blanket a bit, and he doesn't move again. Wriggling down, I push my foot into his face from under the covers, and he jolts back, nearly falling out of his chair. I grin at him and laugh much harder than necessary. I am so giddy! My laugh squeaks up at the end, and it makes me laugh harder. Rior looks so confused.

"You're awake!" Funny, considering I woke him up. I point this out to him and he just comes closer to me, his leather necklace falling out of his shirt. There is a blackened metal pendant on the end, I register just before I notice he is in the work clothing he usually wears in the fields.

"your hand, please?"

"Yes, doctor." I say mimicking his tone and accent. He snorts a little laugh and counts my pulse in his head. I look unabashedly at him while he looks away. He meets my gaze and blushes.

"What?" He sounds amused. I just smile and shake my head, feeling a little foolish. He examines my eyes, growing somber.

"I feel fine. Great, really." I say, pulling his hand gently down.

"You were so sick for four days. We were all so worried." He spits it out, covering his face with his hands.

"Are you... crying?" I say, knowing it will offend the part of him that acts so much like my brother, like all boys act. He glares at me. I smile mischievously at him.

"Offengirn." He stands up, suddenly angry. I don't know what's set him off.

"I cannot do this." He speaks as if each word is trouble.

"I was feeling so good just a second ago." I mumble, rolling my eyes at his moodiness, adding louder, "what exactly can't you do?" He just looks at me hopelessly.

It hits me so hard then, smack, and I had been blind and what an idiot and fool and how could I not add two and two together?

"You're the prince. He called you Kaven, and your necklace is your version of the crest, isn't it?" He stands up.

"Please, let me tell you, my Sien. Please." He stands stock still. Rigid.

The anger is alive and seething, not sleepy like it always had been.