Ladies, Lords, & Liars

Chapter One: The Plot

   "Yes?" he almost flinched away from her, now that he knew exactly what he wanted her to do. The more he dwelled on it, the more he couldn't believe it. How could she even let such a plan into her head, much less proudly out into the open air.

   "I think you ought to start packing right away." She smiled that too-sweet smile of hers.

   A dozen arguments flooded into his mind. There was no way they could pull this off. The prince might send further correspondence. In no way could he come close to imitating the native accent of Rindenglade. What if they had seen the prince before? What if the prince showed up on time anyway? Someone at the palace might happen to recognize him.

   But none of these words came to the surface. His mouth was sealed shut by the weight of that leaded brick of dread, and he found himself being ushered from the room and into the chilly hallway beyond. The walls were so thin that even the last traces of the weak winter chill had found their way inside. The flimsy drapes and cheap painting were hardly a help either. He shivered in the darkness after the bright, warm atmosphere that he'd just left.

   The whole house was nothing but one big façade. A ruse of Mother's making. Aeric knew why, but he never understood.

   For as long as Aeric could remember, she had always been trying this or that scheme to somehow elevate herself. Anything that might get her closer to becoming some rich noblewoman, she would try. That included building a magnificent house with only a fraction of the proper funding and requesting paintings that were little more than rip-offs of great works done on cheap canvas with even cheaper colors. No true person of wealth would be fooled, had they ever happened to visit, and that rendered it useless.

   They'd nearly gone bankrupt for a stupid house at her bidding.

   But of all her plots, this newest one was the most dangerous.

   At the very, very least, every single one of them would be arrested for tampering with the Royals' mail, and at the very worst, all of them would be executed.

   He silently cursed his mother. She had made it so that there were no loopholes. If he refused to go through with the plan, he would be the one on which the blame was heaped. If he did go through with it, he'd be found out and slaughtered at the palace. It would be his fault, no matter what happened now.

   And that conniving woman knew that he could never do that.

   If he went to the palace and played out the scheme like she wanted him to, the only one in danger at that point would him and him alone. And she knew that he would pick that over endangering his family. Even if it was his crazy, controlling mother that he was endangering most.

   She had backed him so far into a corner that the only way he could ever get out was to run off to the palace and hope that things went miraculously well.

   If only Father had never accepted the mail carrier's post, then this plot never could have seen the light of day. In fact, a good deal of her plans wouldn't have been possible if they had stayed in their village, miles away from anyone and anything. They could have lived the simple, safe lives of farmers. But he wanted something 'better' for his family, so the second the opportunity arose, he jumped at it. And now he worked endless hours as a postman.

   But that could never be changed, and he was still firmly stuck in his corner. No amount of wishing would get him out now, so he had no choice but to go back to his room and pack his things in preparation of a summer spent in a palace.

   He should never have let himself be talked into this.

   The words replayed in his head over and over again, and each time it was more painfully clear than the last. His mother knew exactly what she would ever have to say to talk him into anything with no way out that he would ever find, and he hated it.

   He sat down on his bed with a sigh and stared at the partially-packed trunk. Was he really about to do this? It was insane. There was just no way he could to it. Any number of things could go horribly, terribly wrong, and half of those things would most likely end in his death.

   He felt like his mind was on a loop, replaying the same train of thought over and over again, but he couldn't help himself. This was beyond insane! His mother had no right to force him into things like this! It had officially gone too far.

   But again, he had no choice but to come to the same conclusion as he had the first hundred times these thoughts had raced through his head. He had to risk it, because if he didn't, it was almost a decided fact that he would be putting not just himself, but his family in danger. And his mother knew he couldn't do that.

   He shook his head and got up again, fighting another sigh. He just had to roll with it. He might be able to make an excuse as soon as he arrived, which would allow him to leave as soon as the same day?

   He forced himself not to look at the many holes that riddled his plan. It was the best he had so far. Which was pitiful, he knew, but he couldn't do much else at the moment. He just had to pack up his things and hope for the best.

   Most of his clothes were nowhere near nice enough to bring into a palace, and the rest was hardly good enough for servants' dress, but he grabbed the best he had and folded it neatly into the trunk. And with that, he'd packed everything he thought he could get away with bringing as a prince to a foreign castle, and he hadn't even managed to completely fill a single trunk. This was already going badly, and he hadn't even left his own house yet.

   He rubbed his face, sighing again. There was no way he was going to get away with this. Absolutely no way.  But he knew he could bring up any number of different flaws, and Mother would simply bring up the same issue: if he didn't go through with the plan, he was all but throwing the three of them in jail.

   He flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, made of cheap wood, stained endless times to make it look like it was authentic hardwood. But he knew it wasn't, and any person used to having hardwood in their home would know it too.

   And that just served as another reminder of what he was getting himself into. He had no idea how to behave in a royal court. This was going to end poorly no matter what he did.