story - part 24 - unmasking - 1503 words

I have no idea how long it has been. Hours, perhaps, nearly a day. Light was shining brightly through the windows, at one point, but I this was when they dragged me out of the King's chambers and into a nearby room. They are taking a ridiculous number of precautions against my escape, as if I am a rabid murderer as opposed to a prince in disguise. Corbin still lacks sense and turns first to his emotions for solutions.

A door slamming knocks me out of another sideways, uncomfortable sleep. I must have nodded off, again, I am too tired to stay awake and worry. It is out of my hands, anyway - nothing I could possibly say would change anyone's opinion at this point, I have lost all my allies but one.

Dazedly, I lift my head and blink away toward the door. I am expecting another guard, to wrestle me away to another room, to keep me from getting too comfortable. It could be the King, preparing to berate me for my mistakes and my cowardice. Or perhaps Lady Calidris, come to help me wriggle my way free of the situation, to come rushing to my aid.

The pale and washed-out face of the prince comes as a surprise, partly because I expect him to be too angry or upset to come visit me and partly because he looks so unwell. I manage to drag myself up straight in my chair, at attention, arm rattling the chain about my wrist again. He needs a potion, or a salve, to drive away that throbbing pain and to unknot tense muscles.

He stands awkwardly, just inside the door, and stares at me with wide eyes. He is shocked at my appearance, perhaps, he still cannot get over the mess sprouting from my shoulders. I would do anything for my cloak, now that he is in the room, to hide my wings from his sight and to keep that expression off his face. It is disgust, or pity, or concern, I am not sure.

"My...Tum...you need a potion." Unable to bring myself to call him 'my Prince,' now that nearly half the court must know who I am, and what our relation is. My eyes flash down to the metal about my wrist, something of an apology or an explanation. I feel guilty for being caught up in this, I want to help him. It is my duty.

"My father says I should not take anything from you. You will do something to me. Poison it, perhaps." Almost a plea. He wants me to apologize, to prove the King wrong, to put things back the way they were. He does not want to deal with a stranger, or the fact that I have been lying to him since I arrived. He just wants Raven back, to help him with lessons and to dress and to sooth away those aches and pains.

But I cannot pull the wings back into my body, I cannot erase the memories of several dozen nobles. I linger too much on what could have been and what should have been, already. I do not push forward enough, force new events. I blink away from him, back down to the cuff about my wrist, willing it away.

"Who are you, then?" Trying to reclaim his voice and to straighten, to pull a regal air about himself. It contrasts with the slight bend in his body, the way he winces and pales further, the fact that he can barely hold himself up straight.

"He did not tell you?" I cannot help but be surprised, my head jerking back up. Here I had been thinking the King and Tumaire had been in quiet conversation, that the Prince had been listening in on our argument. He does not even know who I am, there have been no horror stories. I may yet be able to win another ally.

"He does not tell me anything. I am too young, he says, or else he does not even say that much." With an absentminded shrug. He is used to being ignored and left out of the loop. People have assumed that he did not care so often that he has stopped caring, he no longer fights for their attentions.

I need a moment to gather myself, to come up with the best way to tell the story. It hurts to spill any information about her, it hurts to think about her, but he does have a right to know. And if I do not tell, how can I sway him to my side, coax him into helping?

"The King and Queen were betrothed, it was not a matter of love. My mother tells the story this way, and I cannot guarantee that it is the truth, but it explains well enough. She starts with the memory of the celebration of their engagement, of the signing of treaties that settle their futures. She is always careful to mention that the King was nervous, that he had had a bit too much to drink." Words are reluctant and slow. I know that he is old enough to understand, in theory, but he still looks so young, and acts so young.

"She was there in disguise. It...it was an illusion, it changed her almost completely. He had no way of knowing it was her, and he was in his drink and she was willing. It was his last night of freedom, so he took advantage of it and her, pulling her back to his chambers." This is indelicate, it tastes unpleasant in my mouth. Tumaire has taken several creeping steps inward, slipped down to kneel at my feet, uncomfortable but attentive.

"He was too young and naive to worry about bastard children, and she knew exactly what she was getting into. There were no precautions, no second thoughts. He wanted, so he took - that is the way he has always worked, and continues to work. Except it backfired on him, he woke in the morning and found himself in bed beside a dark-haired young woman with twin crescent scars on her back, as opposed to the buxom blond maid he had taken to bed."

The Prince is still too uncomfortable with the idea of his father bedding anyone for that to register. Lips twitch into a frown and he blinks up at me, unsure what to make of my expectant expression. I am about to give him a goad, a coax, when I see the light go on his eyes, and the shock flicker across his face.

"But there have only been two people in all of history who have committed crimes resulting in the loss of their wings. The first died a little less than a century ago, and the other is his sister." Sickened and surprised, not quite willing to deal with this, he wants me to tell him he is wrong and explain it differently. I cannot.

"His sister, my mother; and if you had never been born, I would be the one preparing to be named heir on my eighteenth birthday. That is why he thinks I am dangerous to you, and why he warns you off." Sighed, as I try to relax back against the chair, to find some comfortable position. My back aches and my arm aches, my shoulders, from the lack of movement. I could use a potion myself.

"Tumaire, go to my rooms and find my kit. If you bring it in here, I will try to mix something up to deal with your aches. I will even take some of it, first, just to prove to you that it is not poisoned." An edge of exasperation creeping into my voice at the end. The idea of poisoning him now is ridiculous. If I have not done it so far, why would I do it now, with nothing to gain from it?

I expect some argument from him, or some flash of uncertainty, but he merely nods and drags himself up to stand. Wavering on his feet, struggling with his balance, it takes some effort for him to get across the room and to the door. He is still absorbed in thought, I suppose, too shocked and concerned to concentrate on anything else.

He pauses, just as he is about to step out of the room, to blink back at me and frown his disapproval. For a split second, it strikes me just how much he is like his father in that haughty expression. He cannot make people feel quite as small, he is not as effective as the King, but I can taste the potential. It merely needs to be honed.

"I am trusting you, but do not expect anyone else to. You lied. We trusted you and you lied." Gone before I can respond, try to defend myself - and that is best, really. I cannot come up with any way to defend myself against that.