//Author Note: I would strongly urge you to read Rotten Æther | Scribble Hub alongside this story. Shared world and setting, with crossovers coming!//

 

“You call me a ‘dead girl’?” I ask the young prince, watching every muscle in his expression. “Now why would you think me dead?”

“You claim otherwise?” He snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Precious few should understand the implications of such words, and I see no reason besides guilt that would give you reason to think such a thing.”

“Do you think everyone but you is an idiot?” He asks, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “What reason is there for you alone to survive your family?”

I keep my silence and the man continues on as if speaking to an imbecile.

“There’s no reason why you’d be kept alive, and the killer is certainly not incompetent. Therefore, you have come back from the dead,” he explains. “Somewhat, at least.”

The music playing in the background is a fine array of familiar instruments. All are of a proper sort, and most of them could be found in a noble’s house, even the sheet music is copied from the founding of this kingdom.

We are locked in the lies of an era long passed. There is nothing here from the chaotic southern cities or the northern tribes.

It’s all ‘proper’, but what is the meaning of ‘proper’ in a place such as this?

What was it that Piper said that she was named after? The bound pipes? I’ll have to find her some, I’d quite like to hear what they sound like.

“You would dare ignore me?” the young princeling growls, without the dignity that suits his role. “You should know better than that, your sort only exists to serve.”

Whispers abound from those who overhear us. None seem overly shocked. Indeed, most have their voices lilting with a playful curiosity, seeing this as nothing more than a particularly juicy piece of gossip.

Belle rubs at my arm, her warm eyes waking me from my distracted thoughts.

“I had no intention of ignoring you,” I say, blinking until I can focus on the man. “I was merely waiting for you to find something to say that holds any real meaning.

“As for your insinuations, nobles are born to serve their kingdom, but that is just it. We serve the kingdom, that doesn’t mean that we must bow to the ill-natured whims of every mutt that was born from the loins of the king and his kin.”

Belle stiffens, clearly not ready to challenge the royal so clearly and so openly. I must agree with her assessment from a logical point of view, but it seems that my tongue is moving faster than my mind and no longer can I find the will to restrain it.

“You think yourself funny, don’t you?” the man stands straighter, looking down at me from above. “I wasn’t speaking of your, now absent, nobility, but the ‘curse’ which makes you slave to the whims of our ‘betters’.

“And you call me the mutt? I’ll make sure that you’re stripped of any title before the season is through.

“No one can claim a noble title without noble blood, and neither have you the right to marry into nobility,” he smirks down at me as if the victor in some game.

A game.

It’s a game.

The nobles around me, the royalty in the castle.

Dragons feasting on the riches of the kingdom, but they do not serve the kingdom. They are apart from it.

My family was killed, I was killed, for the sake of some game.

“You know of my curse?” I ask, meeting his gaze though it’s rather difficult to focus for some reason.

“Curse?” he asks, laughing. “Certainly one way to describe it.”

“Are you the one who had my family killed?” I ask, loud enough for anyone to overhear. I clutch a drink tight in my hands and though it tastes like sour sewerage, the movement itself feels important. “You conspired to murder a noble house?”

“Careful with your accusations,” he says, changing attitude. “You might wound my pride.”

“Why? It’s not as if the reeves will do anything no matter how loud I cry, will they?” I ask. “Nobles are being slaughtered in their own estates, our grand city is in ruins, the commoners starve in the streets, and I’m sure that the northerners are preparing for another war, yet, here we are…”

I stare up at the ceiling high above. A grand work is painted high above us, the gods in their heavens, silken strips running under it in intricate webs as if to hold the heavens above us.

“I suppose one could compliment the tomb that we have built for ourselves.”

It offends me.

The incompetence.

The greed.

The gluttony.

All this is justified by the services we give to our kingdom, yet we have done nothing. We are a merchant paid for goods that we have not delivered. We are a mercenary who steals his pay and leaves without seeing his job done.

We are frauds.

This grand palace is but a few hundred metres from what once would have been a thriving city, a place for rich merchants and expert craftsmen to rub shoulders with knights and lesser nobility.

Is there nothing left of the fairytales of a fine kingdom? A good noble? A just king?

The maddened young princeling laughs. Giggles bubble out of him so desperately that it speaks not of joy but pain.

“You see it, then?” the boy asks. “You see the madness of it all?”

“I see only madness,” I say. “Villains, and victims, and bystanders.”

The other nobles still whisper, chortling among themselves as if looking down on a child for some silly mistake.

“I didn’t conspire in anything,” the princeling says. “You think anyone would involve me in something like that? Pointless as it is, it’s nothing that would involve me.”

“Pointless?” I ask.

“Did your father personally whip his slaves?” he asks. “No, I’m the boy who plays with the pigs, no one takes me seriously.”

“Pigs?”

“Nobles,” he says without a moment’s hesitation. Some gasp in disgust, but it only inspires more worthless chatter.

I understood that there was a separation of the royalty from the nobility, but I hadn’t quite thought that the difference was so entirely distinct.

“We are nothing, but you are less,” he says. “So why not enjoy what we have? Tear a leg from the roast and wet your hands with oil, drink until the barrels run dry, find a pretty girl and fuck her until the morning comes.”

“There is a perfectly serviceable whorehouse I could direct you to, if that’s all you desire,” I say, pulling Belle closer and glaring at him.

“I’ve had enough of the whorehouses,” he says, shaking his head. “No, maybe I’ll have fun with the two of you instead. You’ll make for a fine enough distraction from it all.”

“I will have to refuse,” I say.

“Me, too,” Belle answers, her voice distant as she slips into deep thought.

“Do not think so lightly of my pursuit,” he says, his smile taking on a predatory flavour. “I haven’t yet had the pleasure of spending a night with a lady who has seen the other side of death. He rarely ever picks anything pretty enough to be worth pursuing.”

“Aldramodore, you mean?” I ask him, pressing my lips tight.

“If you want to know, then dance with me,” the prince says, holding out an open hand to me.

“I’m afraid that my first dance is already spoken for,” I say walking toward the dancefloor with Belle. It should be a good means of escaping him, if only for a short while.

“I have to insist,” he says, appearing before me so fast that he startles a lord and lady. He cups my cheek in one hand, flames crawl up from his palm and lick at my frozen flesh.

I meet his eyes and I can find only a cold emptiness inside him. Though his actions would certainly make me think otherwise, there is no passion in him.

“I’m the one you want,” Belle says, shifting by my side and trying to intercede.

“I’ll get to you later,” the princeling says, glaring down at her.

“Have some respect for my beloved,” I say, stepping up to him. Close enough that we could exchange steel blades and no one would be the wiser.

His flames cool and he flourishes in an overdone bow. Even if he were an actor on a stage it would seem much more than necessary.

“My deepest apologies, but I really must insist on this dance. Else my burning jealously might just force me into action.”

“Belle, wait for me,” I say, walking to the dancefloor with the undignified rodent catching up fast.

After a moment of conflict, she holds herself back.

“You actually care for her?” The insufferable little prick asks. “That’s rather rare, you know.”

“What do you want?” I ask, grabbing his hand for a proper dance. It might have been uncommon for me to leave the estate, but I’ve received an education in everything that a noble ought to know.

“I’ve taken every effort to make that clear, but if you want me to say it more plainly, I want to tear off your dress and-”

“You don’t,” I cut him off, moving to the music. He is a competent enough dancer. “You might act out the role, but you haven’t the appetite.”

“Are you insinuating that I have a preference for men?” He asks, raising a brow and snorting.

“Whatever you know of my kind, it seems that there’s more that you don’t,” I explain. “You do not taste of desire, you taste of despair and desperation.”

He presses his lips tight and glares down at me. He works his jaw quietly, the muscles tensing and untensing. The hollow inside of him rings out as if he’s pounding on a bell.

We cross the dancefloor, carrying with us a deep and terrible air. It’s as if the music itself dies around us, and if there were a flower I’m sure that it would wilt.

“Have you ever fallen in love?” He asks, his eyes finally leaving me as he gazes into the distance. “No, I doubt it. Perhaps you bear some childish crush? Is it that girl you’re playing with in that dead branch marriage?”

I do not answer him.

“The rulers of this world don’t care. Not about you, or me, or that whipping boy they sent after your family. They don’t care about the kingdom, either.”

“Then it is our duty to see this kingdom saved from them,” I say.

He chuckles.

“You can’t beat them,” he says. “There’s no point to even fighting.”

“So… you indulge in stupid games?” I ask.

His focus returns and he rests his eyes on me. It may be despair that guides him, but he is no less dangerous for it.

“You would serve as nothing more than a worthless distraction, best dealt with quickly,” I say, moving my hand up to his throat as the dance ends.

His own hand cups my cheek once more, summoning a slight flame. A threat equal to my own.

“So, you do get what I want from you,” he laughs. “Let us just distract one another, shall we?”

“I still don’t know your name,” I say.

“Lysis.”

“Lysis, unless you have some fantastical magic to turn yourself into the most beautiful woman this world has ever known, then I’m afraid there is no temptation to your offer. Even then, I suspect that your character would prove difficult to overlook.”

He smiles, but I don’t think he hears my words. His responses feel shallow now that he’s absorbed by his despair.

My fingers sink into his flesh until he bleeds, and his flames shatter the skin on my cheek. Others look on, but neither of us cares any longer.

“Please don’t mind me,” Belle says, pulling his hand off me. “You’re bothering my fiancé, I think it would be best for you to leave unless you want to make a scene.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says.

“Then we will leave ahead of you,” Belle says, pulling me along towards the entrance before Lysis can react.

“Is there a carriage ready?” I ask, covering the darkened burn on my cheek.

“No, but trust me,” Belle says. “This is not your fight, it is mine. You’ve helped me find the courage to face that fact.”

“Belle?” I ask, but she does not reply, leading me outside where the darkness grants me a soothing salve to my injury.

For a moment, a short but glorious moment, she smiles at me. Her warmth and joy are truly genuine, burning bright enough to wither the dark energy that empowers me.

I become weak in the comforting warmth of her smile.

“The dirty streets aren’t the first place that I’d think to take this, but I won’t complain,” Lysis says, walking closer with a fistful of fire in his hand. The gates are behind us now and the guards, if they see anything, are pretending otherwise.

I summon a ball of frost into my hand, my teeth grating as I send him my most vicious glare.

“Tina, this is my fight,” Belle says, stepping between us and opening her eyes wide. “I think that it is time for you to embrace the truth, Lysis.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks as she draws a knife from her dress.

“The immortal truth,” Belle says, placing the point of the dagger to her breast. “It is time for us all to face the truth.”

A race to her as she presses the knife down into her heart.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

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