Crossing Paths

27

Maven's POV
I stood with my hands placed behind my back, beside a guard on the far side of the room. Celaena sat on the bench, Dorian's cloak seeming to bury her, and she seemed so small. I cleared my throat, bringing a foot forward.
A man I saw halted my movement, but so did a hand.
It sat on my chest, and as I turned my head, I met a guard's eyes.
"You need to stay beside me, Your Highness."
That alone in itself should have had my guard up, right?
Perhaps it was the welcomed smiles around me that offered nothing but naivety, or the fact that watching Dorian swoon over the paintings on the walls had no need for suspicion.
But still, when Maxwell Arlington asked me to follow him, I did. Down a corridor. And then another. Steps bringing me farther and farther away from anyone who could possibly hear my screams.
My surroundings foreign, my steps eerily met with slight tapping I heard just below my feet.
"Alright, what is this?" I stopped myself from going any further.
My voice did not echo. In fact, my question was quite abrupt, but I had to strain to hear my own voice. I paused momentarily. These halls have been modified.
I spun in the next second, as if a part of me knew to watch my back.
When I did, it allowed me to duck the blow aimed at my head.
And in the next second, my sword is drawn.
"Who are you? What do you want?" I questioned, my grip becoming tighter on the hilt of the blade, both of my hands holding it steady.

"Relax, Your Highness. There is no need to act so foolishly."
'Why have you brought me here?" I asked, putting my back to the wall in an effort to protect what I cannot see.

He sighed. "The boss told me you're quite the yapper." His stance is calm. He took a step forward, his hands still empty of a weapon. "I'm meant to deliver you."
"Coming to retrieve me like a true lackey." I said.
His face hardened. "If that is what she wants, then that is what she gets."
"Taking demands from a woman, now. A feeble choice I'm surprised you've reduced yourself to entertain." I wasn't naive enough to believe men were above women, even if that is what is expected of me. I know this man values his ego, as any man would. The statement was meant to unnerve him. It worked. Partially.
But his composure was back evidently quickly.
"You'll find it's hard to resist her ways and disobey her, Prince Maven." I moved my position when he moved, keeping him in front of me.  Because I know without a doubt that this man fights dirty. Any enemy does, and anyone can.
"But," he countered,"you favor the company of men, do you not?"
"Why don't we cease this chit-chat and you tell me why you're here?"
He laughed. "It is worthwhile, I assure you." He dismissed me.
"But, indulge me for a moment, why Dorian?" My gaze shifted. "Of all the men, why the whiny disgrace for a prince?"
"He seems quite young, what with letting himself get involved with a man when he knows he's the heir of Adarlan. To even begin the relationship seems...inane."
"You try my patience, and now you dare to speak of him in this manner at all."
He chuckled. "We're simply exchanging words. I didn't think you'd be riled with just a few silly words regarding a silly man."
He laughed outright. "It's all quite humorous!"
"What is?" I bit out.
"The fact you've both fooled yourselves into believing you could possibly continue what you have."

I knew this truth, knew it since the beginning, even if I buried it somewhere far away. But as time passed, I did grow to love him. In all the farce of our every day life. I hadn't imagined we'd be able to be together forever though, so I tried to make the most of my moments with him. Before we're unable...I came out of my thoughts when he stepped forward, and my guard was back up immediately. Foolish of me to even bring it down. That is how men get killed, that is how women get captured, that is how royalty become slaves.

"I had not thought, even for your age, that you'd allow a few minuscule words to weaken you as they so clearly have now." His gaze returned, a knowledge in his eyes. Obviously he believes he has won, even if nothing has happened.
"Why do you hold yourself with such confidence?"

"Is there not a reason to be confident?" He inquired. "You, The Prince of Norta,  stand alone in this passage, cowering behind your sword-"

"I am not cowering!"

"-as you stand with your back to the wall because you have not honed the ability to defend yourself from all means."

"It is because I do not trust you, you narcissistic son of a bitch."

"You're a spoiled, pampered prince. Such language used by royalty is not proper. It's as if you believe elementary habits can somehow...better your chances."

"I am way past my expectations as Norta's Prince, Maxwell. Hopefully you are listening to my words and not just hearing them when I say that despite where I now stand, you will not succeed in your plan."

"You cannot win. I'm not as confident in myself as you are of yourself, but I can surely outmatch an errand boy." His expression almost became phlegmatic, almost, if not for his eyes. He couldn't hide that anger so well when he looked on with such hatred.

"Are you done stalling now?" He then drawled.

"Please, let us bring her in, shall we?"

"What nonsense are you playing at?" I questioned, my eyes casting to a door behind him that was still unopened.

He grinned. "Come in, please." The door opened, an evident screech it made against the floor in the middle of the silence.

Maven liked silence. Silence brought time to think and room to breathe, a necessity everyone at some point needs. So you can hear your thoughts as clear as a bell, calling you in. A few minutes of peace could grant you so much, if you just stop and think. Your mind can help lead you to success or to your death. Most rulers, most notably the monarchs of Barese, solve problems with force and hand-made weapons. But what of the weapon God gave you himself?

Maven Calore would've hoped for a few more moments to gather his head, but now it is too late. There is no more time to figure a strategy because the enemy is right there, as noticeable as the fire that accidentally sprang from his hand when he was just a child. He was in the forrest, Cal was teaching him how to impale a bird with an arrow. Being royals, it was not necessary, food was delivered to you at your beck and call. But boys were boys. Cal had always enjoyed it more though. The thrill of the hunt went over the younger boy's head and he'd do nothing but ask a question. Repeatedly.

"May we say a prayer, brother?" He'd ask.

"No." Cal has always replied.

"But he is dead, if we say a prayer-"

"No, we are not speaking a prayer for an animal we care nothing about."

Maven always replied the same way. "Surely we do care, otherwise we would not need bother with killing-"

And Cal always got the last word.

"What I say, you will listen to. I am older and you are small." And Maven always looked so hurt. "Father would not want us uttering prayer for a being lesser than us!"

Cal moved to go pick up their weaponry from off of a near boulder and Maven sat there, staring at the bird, an arrow protruding out of its gut.
"Lave the arrow, brother, and then we will make our way home." Cal murmured.
Maven reached out shakily for the arrow, his frail fingers closing around it. Yanking it free, he dropped the damned thing. But blood remained on his pale skin. Staring at his palm, his eyes began to water. Barely, but then, a flame hovered just above the stain. Maven screamed, falling backward as if trying to detach his hand from his own body.
He had ran back home, out of the forrest and down the narrow stone path, past the grassy hills as the earth held his home up for all to see. He banged open the doors and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, but no one stopped him. The young prince running was not an uncommon sight. He saw her then, and ran into her arms.
The arms of the women who is now standing before him, a women he has known his whole life.

"Maven." She tilted her head downward, her painted red lips thinning. The silver ring worn in our bloodline sat on her index finger. The weight of my own became too much to bare.

And it once again proves that you cannot trust who you think you can.

A/N- This took an incredibly long time to write, and even wrap my head around. Writers may seem like we have our shit together but really we don't. I hope I haven't lost too many readers, and I hope this update keeps y'all reading :)