Something With a Prince

Chapter Twenty-Six: Tallethea's Truth--Part Two

Tallethea

My ears rang as the sentence flew from my lips. Lansing physically staggered backward, looking at me like I had run a blade right through his gut and was twisting the hilt. An incredible wash of emotions came over me and I had to gasp to keep my own air.

Those amber eyes were no longer cold and violent but wounded in the light of the fire. Lansing's jaw flexed and he turned his head to the side as if I had slapped him. I said—no, I screamed— a truth that I hadn't realized I was holding in.

Suddenly everything made sense and, if it were not for the rage coursing in my blood, I would have broken down crying. In fact, tears pricked at the back of my eyes, but none would fall. I would make sure of that.

In order to own my words, to stay on top of the thing that rampaged inside me, I spoke, "I saw you, Lansing. I didn't before, maybe I blocked it out, but I remember you being there."

His eyes found mine and the intensity within them nearly knocked me over. There was no fight, no anger in them like there was before. My chest constricted at the sight of him looking at me from across the way. No mortal words could describe the look on his face, but I knew it was one full of something that could and would scar us both for years to come. I blamed him for the murder of my father, but a ghostly voice in the back of my head told me I had all but killed Lansing just now. Perhaps that was the look I was witnessing. Regret stabbed at me for a moment. Then it disappeared.

He opened his mouth, and my spine went rigid at the anticipation of what he was going to say. His face went thick with guilt and pain, such a severe and fatal pain that his voice was quiet, nearly a whisper, "He asked me to..."

As if pushed back in time, the memory unfolded before me.

I waited eagerly behind the cart for Papa to come home. It was late, maybe past twelve, but Mama hadn't known I snuck out to greet him. I wanted to be the first person he saw when he came home. The minute he walked up the drive, I would jump out and scare him.

He turned the bend, and my six-year-old legs were primed and ready to go, but a cacophony of drunken-sounding voices made me shrink back.

My eyes searched for Papa only to find him looking gravely over his shoulder at some barrels while walking toward the house and the men turning the corner. They were a rowdy bunch, at least numbered to four, and all of them strapped with some kind of weapon. The man in front was tall and carrying a bottle, haphazardly splashing his comrades. They caught sight of my father and began to ward him off with curses and hollering.

"We don't want trouble, soldier." One of the men shouted at my father, who was now almost next to me, and the rest of the men echoed his sentiments happily.

As Papa passed me, I gasped, "Thieves."

My father slowed down to a painful speed and I saw his blue eyes widen at the sight of me. I had never witnessed fear in Papa before, but that wasn't all. He looked at me, then slowly traced his head back to the barrels. That is when I saw him, crouching there with his hands against the greatest barrel, Lansing was staring at the men ahead. Papa drew his gaze back to me and raised a finger to his lips. I nodded once, understanding instantly as if he had said it aloud: Watch him.

I was shaking with anxiety and staring so hard at Prince Lansing that it was almost as if there were no other people in the world. What was he doing with my Papa? My brain demanded that I keep watching the boy in front of me, but it was too much. I had to see my father, make sure he was going to be okay.

Slowly, my father approached the men, his wonderfully clear voice lifting off into the night air. "I'm not here to give trouble. I'm not even on duty, so long as you all turn around and go back to where you came from there's no harm."