The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Five

Tracou's face burned so brightly that he felt like he might pass out.

"See? He'll love it."

"I hope so..."

So, in the spring, Tracou had cornered the poor sailor and asked to speak to him alone. The man agreed, willing to indulge in what he assumed was a child's game.

Breathing heavily, Tracou had stared at the ground, shuffling his feet. He and the sailor had moved out into one of that year's fallow fields, out of the way from everyone else. And yet, Tracou felt a million eyes on him.

"U-Um, I... I think you're really handsome!" he blurted, cringing at the way his voice cracked. "I've watched you for a long time and I-I... I know this is strange, but I like you. I can hardly breathe when I look at you. You're always smiling when you come here and you're nice to the villagers..."

Still facing the ground, Tracou tensed, waiting for a response.

A deep, hearty laugh erupted from the sailor, making Tracou freeze. The warmth of the spring day vanished in an instant, leaving only a horrible chill in his bones.

A large hand settled on his head and ruffled his hair.

"You practicing for a girl you like? Clever to practice with someone not from Ergakan, but springing this on a man is a little gross, don't you think? You really threw me for a loop! And sorry, kid, but you have a long way to go. You have to look her in the eyes! And you have to say more about how amazing she is—that's how I won my wife."

The man blathered on, giving him useless, stupid advice, but each word dug into Tracou like a little insect, writhing and biting inside of him. Some of those insects linger inside of Tracou to this day, gnawing their way slowly through him.

"Good luck, okay, kid?"

Tracou bit back his tears.

"Okay," he croaked.

"Okay. See ya!"

The sailor walked away. Tracou stayed, bent over, until he couldn't hear the man anymore. Only then did his knees give out from underneath him.

He couldn't do that again. Never. On that day, Tracou resolved to keep any feelings to himself. That sailor had treated him rather kindly, all things considered—what if he had said something to someone far less amiable? Only Serpouhi could know. He never told his mother or his father, even when they had, when he was fourteen, began discussing what would be expected from him when they selected a fiancee for him. Then, nearly a year after that, the silent sickness had swept through Ergakan and his parents had passed... which solved one problem, despite causing far more.

The memory made Tracou squeeze his eyes shut in an effort to send it away. He hated thinking about it. As the years had passed, the memory didn't shove itself to the forefront of Tracou's mind quite as often, but it never fully faded.

A fire crackled in front of him. He sat on dry, Winlean grass, wearing one coat while another covered his legs. He frowned into the blaze, as though if he watched it intently enough it would tell him what to do.

Mirthal walked into camp, carrying refilled waterskins. He meandered over to Tracou and sat next to him, handing him one of the skins.

"Thirsty?"

"Yeah..."

Remembering that sailor tended to make his throat dry and tighten with mortification, so Tracou took a drink.

At some point, he had to figure out what Mirthal wanted. This limbo he found himself in felt terrible. How could he ask without being direct? Serpouhi may have thought simplicity was best, but it hadn't worked for him so far.

"Where is Pendaer?" he asked. First of all, he had to ensure Pendaer didn't hear him.

"Oh, he's getting more wood for the fire."

Good enough. Tracou took in a deep breath, trying to resist the urge to abandon his plan. He had to know.

"Mirthal..." he said, not quite making eye contact with him. "Um... Mirthal, are you going to get married one day? To a woman and, you know... have children?"

Perplexed, Mirthal leaned closer to Tracou. "Yes? Of course."

Those words drove through Tracou's heart like a nail, shattering it into pieces. Of course. Of course. Of course.

"Oh," he said, the sound plummeting from his lips like a rock.

"Are you not?"

Tracou shook his head.

"Do you have siblings?"

"No."

"But Tracou... Who will inherit your little village?"

Tracou sighed harshly. "I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"I'm sure it matters to your little villagers."

"It doesn't matter to me," he snapped.

Mirthal jumped in surprise, eyes wide. "...You're angry," he whispered.

"I am."

"Ah... Wh-What should I—?"

"Just leave me alone for a minute." He paused, pursing his lips. "Please."

Slowly, Mirthal stood up. He took a long look at Tracou before moving away from him, out of sight.

Tracou pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. He had made the right choice asking Mirthal indirectly. Of course. Mirthal had probably never even considered an alternate path—he probably had no idea there was one. One day he would fall in love with a woman and marry her and Tracou could do nothing about it. He couldn't compete with a woman no matter how hard he tried. Even if Mirthal had wanted him, Tracou couldn't give him an heir and would doom the Elven Kingdom to a succession battle.

What had he been thinking? Mirthal was a prince. Princes had obligations. Princes couldn't love men, especially tiny dezmek men. Maybe he already had a betrothed at home, waiting for his return. Maybe he loved her.

Mirthal couldn't know what calling Tracou cute actually meant to him. He saw it as funny, as a way to get a rise out of him. Either he didn't mean it or he meant it in a puppy dog sort of way and Tracou couldn't decide which one was worse.

Tracou let out a long breath, his eyes burning with tears.

Now he at least knew. Now he could try to break off his infatuation. It would be difficult, considering how he had invited Mirthal to stay in his manor until winter had passed, but he could do it. Mirthal was his friend and only his friend. He just had to treat him like Serpouhi.

Just like Serpouhi.

He inhaled sharply and raised his head so he could rub at his eyes. Fine. No problem. Mirthal was his friend. His friend.

Mirthal hadn't done anything wrong. He, like most everyone, was normal. Tracou had the problem and he couldn't get angry with Mirthal for being a normal man. He had to learn to control himself.

"Okay," he said aloud. Mirthal couldn't be too far away. "I... feel better."

Well, as better as he could manage right now.

Mirthal ambled back over, sitting next to him again. He didn't say anything and instead waited, as though he was owed an explanation.

Maybe he was.

"My head hurts. But the water helped and I feel better now."

"Oh!" Mirthal smiled and Tracou couldn't look at him. "Why don't you drink the rest of it? I'll go fill it up again when you've finished."

Tracou silently did as Mirthal suggested, downing the water in a few goes. Then he handed Mirthal the waterskin and watched him eagerly leave to be helpful.

It wasn't fair.

Body heavy, Tracou turned his gaze back to the fire.

Friends. Friends for the entire winter.

He could survive that. He had to.