The Prince and the Snake Charmer (currently editing)

The Prince and the Snake Charmer -13-

Devoras lip trembled as she stared up at the King of Harbin, behind her back, she fidgeted with her now sweaty hands. She felt like all eyes were on her, even the guards lined up against the pillars. Devora was astonished by how fast she'd gone from thief to being accused of being Harbins worst enemy.

You see, the war had ended for now, but like a fire, you have to make sure all the embers are extinguished before you can leave it. If you don't, a branch may fall and embers will set fire to it once more. The King and Queen of Harbin did not make sure the embers of rebellion had died and left the country all together, without keeping a few of their soldiers or allies in the country to make sure that the war wouldn't catch fire again. This was a problem for the King, because of this very decision to leave the country, the Leonians had become bloodthirsty over the ruin of their country. And this girl, the King thought, looked very much like a woman from Leonin-- the dark gold tinted hair was a dead giveaway--but strangely, her face looked distinctively familiar. The King, however, could not figure out what it was.

"I am not a Leonian, sire," she said, looking at her feet.

"How can I be so sure of that?" the King replied, keeping his shadowed glare fixated on her.

"I don't know," she said again, trying hard to stop her trembling that had moved on from her lips to throughout her entire body.

"Fine then. How about a different question?" the King said, "Where is my pendant?"

"Someone else has it,"

"Did you give it to them to hide?" he asked.

"No. He gave it to me for safe keeping and then took it back. I didn't know what it was until your Guard captured me," she mumbled, knowing the last part was a lie but she thought it was close enough to the truth.

"Who has it now?"the King asked.

Devora said nothing.

"Who has it girl?" the King's voice rose to a growl, fingers turning white from clenching the arm of his throne.

She still said nothing.

"Look at me girl!" he sprung from his throne and took hold of her face, nails breaking through Devoras skin. Tears began to pool in her eyes, trying to make the right decision.

Then, finally she spoke, "I do not know of his name but I know what he looks like," her voice was stronger now, as she carefully let the words dribble from her mouth.

The King released his hold on Devora and took a step back, "Tell me, Gypsy girl, what did this man look like?"

"Tall, dark hair, gray eyes just under twenty years,"

The King sucked in a breath, for a moment, and exchanged a backward glance with the Queen. Finally, his eyes met Devoras, "Very well. Guards. Send a patrol through the city and bring back any man--boy--that fits this description and take this girl back to her cell,"

In an instant, the guards filed out of the room, the king returned to his throne and Devora was dragged back into the rotting black depths of the dungeon for what was to become a very, very long night.

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The next morning, the Prison Guard peeled open the door to Devoras cell and without a word, dragged her back up the grimy dank steps. Devoras head felt heavy from a sleepless night as she drudged up the countless stairs back up to the throne room. Her stomach twisted and growled from not eating in a day or so. The food the Prison guard shoved between the bars came right back up her throat.

Now, as she stood in front of the King and Queen, her hands began to fidget and sweat once again.

"Good morning. Trust you had a good night rest?" the Queen addressed her, red lips curling into a slow mocking grin. The Queen probably knew she didn't, one could tell from the bags beneath Devoras eyes.

"Guards, bring them in," the King boomed, and without missing a heartbeat, the large, towering doors opened to reveal a long line of boys just under the age of twenty with dark hair and light eyes.

Devoras breath caught in her throat, almost audibly as she watched them march into a line in front of the king, heads lowered. Devora quickly scanned the long line of the twenty or so boys. Most of them, had an expression of wary curiosity, others fear but only one looked angry. And that one was staring directly at Devora, whose neck began to burn under his heated gaze. Only one person, not even the piercing glare of the King, could make her tremble with a mixture of excitement and fear like that. That person was Silas.

The King sent the guards away, the throne room doors shutting loudly, and looked at Devora.

"Tell us, which one is the thief?"

Devora could not speak, could hardly breathe. Silas knew she had betrayed him now. And after seeing such malice in his eyes when he strode towards the Prince only a few days ago, prepared to kill, she wondered if such hatred would be pinpointed onto her.

She then made the mistake of looking towards the King and he lifted himself off his throne, taking the steps one at a time and came to stand in front of the first boy.

"If you want to play games, Devora, why didn't you say so?" he looked towards the first boy.

"Is this the one?" he asked and she shook her head.

He came upon a heavy set boy, whose face was flushed red and Devora, once again, shook her head no. The King continued down the line and Devora kept shaking her head, anxiety building as they neared Silas, who stood at the end of the line.

When the King came upon Silas, Devora felt sweat pouring down her back, hair sticking to her neck.

"This one?" he asked and Devora hesitated, only for a second. But that second of hesitation was all it took to give the King the right answer.

"Ah. So this is the lad then," he grinned and lifted Silas's chin to meet his own gaze.

Then, the Queen screamed.

All eyes in that room flickered towards her, decorated in her white, laced dress, beautiful as ever. But her face was grotesquely contorted in a loud, strangled cry.

"It can't be!" she screamed, digging her hands into her hair, "He's supposed to be dead!"

The King turned back to Silas, and then recognition widened in his eyes and he stumbled back, uttering a single word, "Silone,"

"Hello Father," Silas smiled, a sickeningly twisted grin, "I told you you couldn't get rid of me,"

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