Ladies, Lords, & Liars

Chapter Thirty-Two: Unprepared

   "Kellen..." Ice in her words. Ice in his blood. Acid, roiling in his stomach.

   The stars, indifferent.

   "What was that?" her eyes were just as cold as her voice.

   He knew. There was no getting out of this. The one, singular person in the whole palace that might actually do something about his secret, and he'd just messed up... Royally.

   "Kellen." She spoke through gritted teeth and took another step forward. She was back in control now. He'd deflated along with his anger, and she could sense it. She was getting to the bottom of this. The determination shone as clearly as moonlight in her eyes.

   He took a step back to match the next step forward that she took. The words were sticking to the inside of his throat, and each time he tried to speak, a new one was added to the growing lump.

   Another step forward, another step back to match it.

   "Tell me. Tell me what that was. Why...?" she trailed off, her eyes going dark.

   "You... might not have been the only one who was lying about who you were." the words were a whisper of breath. They were dry on his tongue, bitter. This was it. He was as good as dead.

   "What is that supposed to mean?" she peered up at him, the suspicion permeating the shadows that pooled in her eye sockets.

   "I'm not from Rindenglade, and I'm certainly no prince." The words gained strength, but they were still weak. This wasn't at all like when he'd told Odette.

   The weight that had left his shoulder when he'd confessed to her was now returning tenfold with every letter of every word he spoke.

   Her eyebrows crashed down. He knew she was staring, though her eyes were hidden by darkness.

   "I wish I could give a better excuse than I have..." he trailed off. It suddenly seemed like such a weak argument that his mother had forced him into it. He should have fought back against her just a little harder.

   "And you expect me to believe this?" the words were so quiet, just a murmur.

   "What?" he blinked.

   "Do you think I'm dense?" the words left her mouth one at a time, squeezing out between grinding teeth.

   "I never..." he shook his head.

   "No, no, no, no, no," she held up a hand, a dry laugh forcing past her pursed lips. "Don't you dare disrespect me by using my country's accent in your deception. You were caught, so you tried to lie your way out of it, as usual. Disgusting." Her face twisted into a grimace. "To think, I used to trust you."

   She barked out another laugh before she was gone. One second, she'd been dangerously close to the railing, then she was gone.

   She must have jumped.

   He rushed to the edge and looked over, but in the swirling shadows of the late night, he couldn't be sure if she'd fallen to her death or if she had even fallen at all.

   His heart still pounding, he turned and walked numbly back into his room. What had he just gotten himself into? Would the princess believe him when he presented his letter the following morning? was he stuck until he could somehow convince her that he was telling the truth?

   This couldn't be happening. Everything had been going so well, and now he didn't know if they were even going at all.

   He sat heavily, his mind spilling and falling and tripping over itself.

   What if he just left? He could leave now and no one would be any wiser. Odette might be able to vouch for him when she discovered his absence.

    Kyra, the way her eyes burned.

   They would burn like that for the rest of his life. Her pale, slender face forever contorted in his memory. The guilt might never leave.

   But what could he do? the best shot he had was leaving right away before things could escalate further. But would he be able to live with himself if he just abandoned the palace in the dead of night? He didn't know if he could.

   Would he do that to Odette? She had seemed so excited to come visit, to have anything else to do. He would be abandoning her as well.

   He had to stay. He would play things carefully, but he would stay. He had to, at least until he could somehow talk with Odette. She would probably show up expecting to go through with their plan as normal. How could he tell her?

   Should he try lying anyways? He might actually succeed, if Kyra wasn't going to be attending breakfast with the king and queen. Maybe it was best to forget about his encounter with Kyra entirely. Chances were, he could still pull off his plot to return home as he would have.

   Could he hide his shaking hands as he delivered another lie? Would his voice quiver to match? Maybe he could use it as a show of emotion, to add to the urgency of the mysterious letter from home. Would that work?

   A sunbeam, slicing across his vision, shattered his thoughts.

   Was it already morning? Blind panic surged through him.

   He wasn't ready! He could never pull off the lie, and now it was too late to steal away without anyone noticing.

   The hands on the clock moved too fast, ticking down like a timer to his doom. Breakfast would be served before long...

   A knock on the door, deafening in the silence.

   His heart leaped into his throat, blocking his breath.

   He stood up slowly and crossed the room. For once, he was grateful that he hadn't fully undressed the night before. He should have changed, but it was rather late for that, now.

   He opened the door, expecting to see Odette's face or even the unpleasant sneer of Camen.

   Three people. Armor clanked. There was at least one spear. He couldn't see their faces. Guards; soldiers.

   The two in the lead each roughly seized one of his arms, and he was dragged forcefully into the hallway. He grunted and tried to pull away, but their gloved hands were vices around his biceps and he could tell just by looking at them that only one of them was more than a match for him.

   "What are you doing?" panic seized his throat, the sensation now almost familiar. He tried and failed to keep the fear from his voice. Had he been discovered? 

    "You're under arrest." One of them grunted. No further explanation was offered as they carted him down the hall.

   He yanked against their iron grips. "Why?"

   "King's orders." Barked the one that took up the rear as they dragged him down the steps. They ducked through the door that led into the servant's hall.

   "Why would the king order for me to be arrested?" he attempted to keep his voice level, filled with the authority that he ought to have as a prince.

   But he knew, deep down, that it was useless. Either the princess had convinced them of his untrustworthiness, or they'd somehow found out that he wasn't really a prince. It was no use fighting or trying to lie his way out of it.

   He was dragged all the way down the hall, past seemingly endless doors. He could see the void of darkness were the stairs disappeared down into the lower floor.

   They didn't stop. He felt himself tense up more and more as they drew nearer to the yawning stairwell, but none of his feeble efforts could stop their progress as they descended into the shadows.