famously unfamous | jaron artolius eckbert iii

Twenty

Charlette Conner was young and impressionable when she first truly met the princes of the country. She'd instantly clicked with Jaron at three years old and she'd been best friends with him up until she'd been thrown out at seven. She had been an odd child, and certainly mischievous. She took after her mother, in that way.

Sofia Conner had been a common woman, though she had enjoyed a good social status until she married Bevin, who she had fallen for sometime after the birth of Crown Prince Darius.

She'd worked at a large library and had learned how to read there, taught by her employer who worked for Bevin himself. When she met Bevin, she'd bowed and he'd laughed. He told her that he was no king and could never hope to be. He told her that he'd heard of her thirst for knowledge and wanted to invite her to his home. She fell for him months later, and Darius had been introduced to the world.

Two and a half years later, Sofia had gotten pregnant. She'd married Bevin about a year earlier and she knew her children would have comfortable lives. Better than hers. They'd have loving parents and a good home.

Three months later, Queen Erin announced her pregnancy.

Then three years later, after Charlette had turned three years old, the queen and her sons came to Farthenwood. Jaron was two and more mischievous than Charlette herself. They clicked, like the last piece of a puzzle, and Bevin moved the family to a small estate in the capital. Charlette adopted the nickname Charlie to Jaron and they saw each other everyday. For four years they never went a day without seeing each other's face. But then Bevin found his daughter's diary.

She screamed and fought, but he pushed her away, finally disowning her. She was too strange. Too idealistic. Too... free.

She hid her real self, pretending to be a small, insignificant girl named Leta who knew little about her country and cared even less. She hopped from orphanage to orphanage, becoming pale and gaunt — scary looking even. She made her way to Carchar when she was ten, hearing of the missing prince. She pretended to be ignorant and careless of the matter.

She hid how scared she was of her missing friend.

When he showed up at Mrs. Turbuldy's orphanage, she hid her relief that he was alive. She pretended to not know him. She pretended she cared even less was about what happened to him.

"Charlie," Jaron had said quietly to himself when he saw her.

Charlette had turned, not having heard that name for going on four years.

She saw him and whispered his name beneath her breath. But she heard him speak in an Avenian accent day and night. She didn't believe it was him.

It was just before her twelfth birthday when they truly spoke.

"Leta," Sage had said.

"Sage," Leta replied sharply. "Why are you out here so early?"

"The Prozarian boy."

She raised and eyebrow and tossed him her stolen bread from her apron. He caught it and smiled sheepishly.

"What did you do to anger him?" she asked.

"It's a long story. But..."

"What?" she sighed. "I have to get the water to Mrs. Turbuldy, so hurry it up."

"I want to talk to you," he said, slipping into a Carthyan accent.

Leta's heart skipped a beat.

"Jaron," she whispered.

He held out his arms for a hug. "Charlie."

They embraced and Leta pulled her necklace out of her dress.