Fyra (First Draft)

Four

He exaggerated a bow, and grinning, sat on the chair near her bed. She rolled her eyes. The corner of his mouth turned up, and when he smiled, Fyra noticed a dimple in his left cheek.

"You royal prat," was all she said. She was surprised. She had expected him to blow up after she had explained herself. But maybe...maybe he was different. She could not understand him, not in the slightest. He had a life of ultimate luxury, almost the opposite of hers, but Fyra could see he was trying to make things easy for her.

For whatever reason, whether it be that he hadn't turned her in for the crime she had confessed to or that he listened to her now, she had the unsettling urge to trust him. He reminded her of...Athan. Athan, who had believed her when there was every reason not to. Athan, who was kind despite her bitterness.

She had been asking the woman who brought her food, the guards, and the healer about the prince. They had all said he was not like other royals. He was unusually empathetic, and tried to be just and fair, unlike his father. Though he could be lazy and tended to push off things that were trivial or bored him, and had also been involved a few scandals with peasant and noblewomen alike, he had a good heart. Fyra looked up. The insufferable fool was still giving her that crooked grin.

"Get out!" She cried, stifling a laugh. She sighed and rubbed her temples. She couldn't make friends with the royals of Aceria. Her crimes happened to be much more damning than thievery. She put her head in her hands.

•••

With the respect she had earned, she also earned the right to be free of her "cage" and considered a guest of the prince in the castle. People knew her as Lady Fyra, the friend of their prince. She could roam the castle whenever she wanted, but still preferred to stay in her rooms. She sat on her little couch and played a few songs on the pianoforte. It looked like a toy just for display, but it was actually a very fine instrument.

Once, she saw Cirian in a hallway as she was walking back to her chambers from the library, and he insisted that he walk her to herself rooms. When they arrived, he asked suddenly,"Can I ask you a question?" She looked up at him, meeting his gaze.

She answered flatly, her expression unreadable, "You just did." There was no humor in her voice. She wasn't sure if she would, or should, answer any of his questions. They weren't exactly even friends.

He ignored that jab and proceeded to ask, "What happened to your family?"

Gods he is nosy, she thought. Why should she answer any questions? But she needed someone to know how she felt. Athan was that person, the one who knew her, and he had died, because of her. After holding everything inside, she felt like she might combust, especially since he had openly asked her about her past.

If no one sees you as you truly are, then who are you? Are you not the image you project? If you keep your true self locked inside, it will turn to dust until you are just a hollow shell, a mask. Sometimes it already felt like she was only a fragment of her old existence.

"Blyss," she whispered. "Blyss was my mother." She looked fragile, like she may shatter. Fyra wasn't lying this time. She wrung her hands to keep them from shaking. "I promised her I'd live. That I'd try. That I'd fight because I loved her. She made me promise that I wouldn't let it make me bitter. That I'd always let love and kindness shine through. I never knew my father... He died." She looked lost. He didn't need to be told that Fyra's mother was dead as well. The way Fyra said her mother's name, and talked about her promises... It was as if she were trying to escape the restraints of the world, like she'd rather float away to join her mother.

"I'm sorry." He was all he said.

"I am too" she answered, sensing that she didn't need to tell him that she had passed. She paused for a moment, but then the words started flowing again.

"I am sorry that I can't fully fulfill my promise. Some part of me will always hate them. The ones who took her away from me. They drowned her."

Now she was shaking. "They held me down and threw her in the sea, her wrist and ankles bound." Everything just kept pouring out, including tears, but Fyra composed herself enough to prevent revealing too much. After all, the prince probably reviled magic just like his father.

Cirian stayed silent as he stared at her. She had gone through so much, suffered so much.

Fyra gazed into his pale eyes, seeing pity. She smiled bitterly. He didn't know the half of her suffering. She could only imagine his shock of she showed him the long, jagged scars running down her back, or the marks on her skin that would condemn her to a slow, painful death.

She continued, "Some part of me will always hate myself. Because I lived and she didn't. And some part of me will always make it hard to care. Because if I do care, it seems like everything comes crashing down around me. I honestly don't even know why I'm telling you this." She sighed and laid out on her bed.

Cirian was surprised at what she had shared. It sounded like her parents weren't the only people she had lost. He was glad she had shared with him. That she trusted him, even if she didn't entirely know the reason. Though his loss was in no way as painful as hers, he understood her to some degree. "You probably already know this, but my mother, Queen Dianna, died when I was young. I was six. I don't remember much, just that she loved me and wanted me to be happy. She wanted me to take responsibility and still live the life I wanted." He told her. She glanced up at him in surprise, conveying that she didn't, in fact know that his mother was also gone.

He continued, "My stepmother however, wants to marry me off. Though I'm sure she'd be quite content if any of her children should become next in line for the throne."

She looked at him thoughtfully, surprised to see understanding in his gaze. "You are different from most royalty. You aren't overbearing or conceited. Perhaps just a bit...spoiled and nosy." He laughed, to Cirian's surprise, he laughed with her. He didn't notice how bitter it sounded as it echoed through the room, the tears still streaming down her face, or how she had wrapped her arms around herself, wanting to shrivel into nothing.