***
...Summer afternoon. Sun falls through tall garden windows. Beyond them - endless green, buzzing bees and a world full of wonders. White marble statues, some of them half-unfinished, crowd the oval shape of the room. The man, his back slightly hunched, stands facing the window. Long velvet cloak made of velvet on his back looks like a regal waterfall. His heavy sighs might be mistaken for sadness. But he's too ancient for that, too dry.
Excited, gossip-ready court tiptoes behind closed doors to the royal chamber. They await his reaction. Two guards, their faces unreadable - must be part of their profession - frown at nothing at all on this side of the door. It's red and golden, like a top of a treasure chest. She has always imagined fairytale castles like this.
And man is strange, but not scary.
When they took her to the castle she was alarmed. Dragging her suitcase behind her, tearing pieces of plastic wheels on the cobblestones roads, she blamed herself for not being able to merge with the crowds of the unknown city better. For being noticed by guards, or the police, it seemed, of this unknown place.
"What is the name of this town? Am I far from Westminster? Where is the tourist center?" She asked so many questions, but it did not look like they understood her.
They looked like humans, at least, the guards. Not like some of the citizens she'd come across, while wandering around from the railway station. There was a railway station, wasn't it? she turned around but saw only endless greens and blues of the sky. And ahead of her was the castle and she forgot all about the station and sharp ears and too long claws.
And now she shivers out of excitement. This was the king, she was told. Only she couldn't for the life of her fathom - of which country. The King - was the only word spoken in heavy accent that she managed to understand. And now she stands here in her stupid dress, so out of place in the midst of all other dresses. It seems like she was transported back in time - perhaps to the 17th century. Is that even possible? If it means she would miss her wedding, she realizes with a pang in her heart (guilty, guilty), then she is only happy. What is the King going to do with her, that is the question?
And the King wonders too.
For in front of him, or behind him to be more precise (as he cowardly turned his back on her, as she entered), stands the only person, who could have traveled here, for he only gave ticket as a goodbye present to one and only person alone.
But this was not her. He saw her face in the crowd. Saw her being dragged to him, like she was to be feared (and she was, only they did not know it yet). Same chestnut hair, same stature, same eyes - catlike and sharp. But this girl is not Marjorie Winter. He cannot count how many years have passed in her world - but for him it seems like it was just a moment, a flicker of her wrist, as she stepped onto the train and kissed him good-bye. He wanted to keep her safe, and that was the only way he knew how.
But being a coward, as he was, he had to give himself a way to undo what had been done.
Hence, the ticket.
And now, hence, this girl.
"How did you get the ticket, child?"
"Aster." She says, as if a bit defiantly. He smirks but regains his composure as he turns to face his granddaughter...
***
...The royal feist peaks, the tables lie heavy with wine and fruits. It must be Oberon's night, she thinks, perched on a long bench, digging into the pudding. The violins are on the verge of breaking, and glasses clank as if meant to be crashed. The people around her are dressed straight from a Renaissance painting, or a fairytale book, she thinks. A discrete smile creeps on her face.
And her head is still whirling with new information. That man, high, on the throne in the center, with grapevines encircling his crown like jewels, is her grandfather. And this is not England at all. The ladies and gentlemen, sitting around her, all seem to be trying to catch her attention. They smile at her, make jokes, with references she does not catch. Not many of them speak her language and she definitely does not speak theirs. It sounds curious, like a song, or a river. Her hands shake, and she tries to hide it, sipping red wine which tastes like strawberries and pink sunsets and love. Everyone stares at her, with curious eyes.
Not every stare is kind, though. Across the table, a regal lady with poppies and forget-me-notes braided into her bright hair, meets her gaze with disdain. Her catlike eyes reflect the lights of the thousand candles, sharp as diamond. Aster feels the heat creep up her neck and cheeks and ears, as the woman whispers something to a teenage boy on her right. He is ginger and frail, and as perfect as her, a statue breathed into life. He looks up at Aster, and smiles at her, kindly.
Blushing all the way to her collar, Aster blinks and looks away, and meets the eye of another stranger. Dressed in black, with black earrings hanging like pieces of meteor from his earlobes, slightly older and blond, he glares at her like she is the most hateful thing in this entire kingdom.
She excuses herself earlier, avoiding the dance, and falls asleep on the balcony of the rooms she was given, trying to decipher if the constellations look the same as they did back home. They don't...
***
..."What are you doing?" A pair of cold blue eyes meet hers among the fern leaves of the greenhouse. His tone is dark, but nervous. She wants the earth to swallow her whole. Instead, she straightens up and stands up tall from her hiding place, avoiding his gaze.
"I was just...looking for a restroom,"
"You are disgusting."
"Agree. Good-bye." She takes a step back, but his hand strikes like a cobra and catches hers.
"You were spying on me." He says through clenched teeth, keeping her in place.
"I was not. Now be so kind and drop that hand of yours."
The overturned birdcage lays on the grass behind him, a couple of crows watching the exchange with curious eyes. In his black cloak, he looks like he belongs with them.
"Were you...were you trying to teach them to talk?"
Her tongue still twists and slips at the new words of this language she never learnt, but she finds no shame in it.
"And you must know why?"
"Because it is curious." You're curious. "Because I want to know as much about this place as there is to know."
He blinks at her, scary and strange. And somehow she suspects none of these things would make him believe her.
And somehow he still manages to turn it around.
"Of course, your wish is my command." He bows. "Who am I but a slave to the king's favourite granddaughter's curiosity? Please, feel welcome to pry."
He drops her hand. It still hurts. His gaze holds hers instead. She is thirsty, and the sun heats up the greenhouse like a petri dish and the earth seems to have made a couple of turns before she opens her mouth.
"You left me in the forest."
"And yet here we are."
A gemstone on his finger is the color of the marches and of snakes that live in them. If she expected a shadow of remorse to flicker across his face - it is not there. And she gives up.
"I do not plan to take your place, whichever it is."
"You took it as soon as you arrived."
"I do not think you make sense. If you are going to hate me, at least be reasonable."
He smiles with the corner of his mouth.
"Do you really think it is up to you to decide?"...
***
..."Let it go!"
"You let go!"
Elliot, oh she won't ever forget that hateful name, claws at the envelope in her hands, as if the world is spinning off its axis and it's the last thing to hold on to. But the problem is - she is doing the same.
And then - the envelope is in two pieces and both of them are on their asses.
Light summer breeze catches the piece of the ticket and drags it around. Her eyes water.
He looks at her from the dark corner of the tea room, panting. They're both sweaty, his cheeks are scratched, her knee bruised.
"You bastard." She hisses, half aware of herself. She crawls to the envelope and tries to piece together the torn pieces. She does not think it means something. The return ticket. Grandfather will come back from his travels and give her another one. Why is she wailing?
He crawls up to her then, like a cat, unashamed, and snatches the piece of the ticket from under her nose.
She closes her eyes, for a tiny second, before she screams and jumps on him, to strangle him for good. It feels so great, she thinks, as the back of his head hits the floor, and her hands come around his throat. He tries to push her away, but she presses him down with all her weight, and perhaps they do not teach princes how to fight angry women.
"This is it! You're a goner!"
"You idiot!" He hisses in reply, a trail of blood sipping from his nose. Somehow, he manages to turn them around, and she hits the floor, her hands still strangling him, as his hands try to undo the grip, and then wrap around her throat in return.
She watches his face become red and blue. If they go, they go together.
The steps in the corridor outside of the room make them freeze. As they descend, he uses the moment to push her away and stand.
"Are you happy?" The sob rolls out of her, as she clutches the piece of paper. "The return ticket is gone. I am stuck here. Didn't you want me to leave?"
He looks at the half of the ticket in his hand. She watches his face become red, then white as chalk. She has never seen him look so angry and lost at the same time, she thinks when she meets his gaze...