SIEBZEHN
The morning of the third night, I didn't really know what to do with myself. I'd done all the reading, writing, drawing I could possibly muster myself to do. Creativity just didn't come galloping, heck it didn't even come crawling, with the heaviness I felt.
My hand hurt from the amount of times I'd started and scrunched up and thrown in the bin the letter I was desperately trying to write. In times of need, it seemed words just weren't my strong point.
I addressed it to him by name. It wasn't the best but I knew he didn't need my best. He just needed the truth, and that would have to be good enough.
I kept it at my side as I walked down to the main entrance area. I was meaning to go through it easily and to the throne room or the study I knew he'd locked it in his memory as being our place, but that was easier said than done when a hoard of people stood in the way.
"Isabella, what's going on?" I asked when I spotted her, almost invisible in the tumulus crowd. I caught her by the arm and pulled her to the side before she got dragged into the heart of the chaos.
"She's here." She didn't need to elaborate for me to know what— or more to the point who— she meant. But she did anyway. "The Princess! She's arrived!"
We hurried to the throne room like our opinion, our presence was of any importance. Mostly, we just wanted a peak at her. It was utterly hideous of me but I wanted to see if she was worth giving him up for.
We hide in the corner, hidden by the huge, red curtain.
"Oh my gosh!" Isabella said from beside me. I would've told her to be quiet, but there was so much noise in the throne room, nobody noticed one more excited squeal. "She's stunning!"
I didn't know whether I wanted it to be true or not. It being true meant he would grow to love her far more quickly than he would think. However, it also meant he'd forget about me. And a selfish sliver in me wanted me to cloud his mind for as long as possible. I wasn't selfish enough to make him give up everything but it seemed I was selfish enough to want to plague his mind.
"She is," I agreed.
Because she was. She really, really was.
Her dark hair was half tied on top of her head in an intricate bun and the rest hung about her shoulders in a cascade of ebony curls. They framed her face, a collection of strong bone structure and feminine features. Even from afar, I could see her beauty outshone anyone in the room. It wasn't hard to see why people believed them to be a perfect match. It hurt— fuck it hurt bad— but I agreed with them. They looked suited. They just... fit.
The boy who'd introduced himself as the Prince— the one with chestnut hair and luminous green eyes— held her dark skinned hand in his own paler one.
If he was the Prince then who was that?
"How did the Prince break his nose?" I asked suddenly, making Isabella jump.
She didn't turn to me, preferring to keep her eyes on the scene enveloping as did everyone else. "Break his nose?" She asked. "He hasn't."
"But it's crooked," I said, furrowing my brow in confusion. It definitely looked broken. "To the left. He looks like he's broken it at least twice."
"What are you talking about?" She asked, finally taking her eye from the happy couple. Ouch, that one hurt. "His nose is perfectly straight. Besides, it's not big enough to show a break."
Not big enough? The man I could see sported a Roman nose. It started high up, was fairly neat but... noticeable, if you catch my drift.
My mind fleeted that confused state when I saw the 'Prince' press his lips to the back of her hand. She turned her head away, blushing. He seemed entirely enraptured by her, that is what everyone else thought at least, but I didn't fail to notice how quickly he dropped his hand and clenched his fingers at his side as if trying to rid himself of the memory of her skin.
Who'd want to forget anything about her?
She was everything anyone could ever want. For the first time in my life, I hoped someone was a right bitch. I needed something to hate about her, just so I didn't go completely insane.
I followed her every move like the crazy woman I'd promised myself I wouldn't be when I'd decided what I needed to do. She walked with grace and poise any of the greatest ballerinas could only hope to possess. Each movement was more of a sweep through the air, elegant. I needed something, anything to hold against her.
Pick your nose. Swear like a sailor. Do something!
It was futile, however. Even if she had horrid, gruesome habits that could make me think her less of a goddess, she refused to show even a hint of any of them in front of her audience.
I watched as a small child cane running up to her. She caught him easily and picked him up. He wore clothes you'd expect on a peasant boy. And by the shock of those around us, I figured that's exactly what he was. If she realised, which I was sure she had— I'd noticed her eye was keen as she scanned the room— she didn't make a move to show she had.
The Prince was tucked into the throng of people a bit, but his face was perfectly visible to my eye. Maybe that's because I was seeking him out.
He watched the floor beneath his feet, a ghost of a smile on his face. My breath caught. He looked infatuated. Completely in love.
He wasn't him. I could see that clear as day. But there was something that told me maybe everything was more than meets the eye.
"She's going to make a great queen," I said out loud, thought it was more to myself than Isabella or anyone in our vicinity. I thought I saw her nod but I didn't look back to see properly, too busy walking out of the door to hide my tears.
I bumped into someone as I made my way out.
"Excuse me," I said to the person, careful not to look up at their face, in case that gravity was all those traitorous tears needed to fall.
"Are you alright?" A soft, melodic voice asked.
I looked to the woman. She was older than I'd expected— maybe in her fifties. Lines decorated her face but she didn't seem to mind them as she frowned at me, clearly concerned. I almost wanted to laugh. When had anybody ever been concerned about me? And here was a total stranger looking like my state would ruin her day.
I looked to the happy couple, before flicking my eyes back to her's. "Better than ever."
"Mother!" A voice called. A voice, I realised with a shudder, belonged to none other than the Prince. He came towards us with strong strides, but they stumbled a little as he took in that she had company. "Eleanor?" He asked.
I remembered I'd been introduced to him with his dad, but the way he said my name was too familiar for just one encounter.
Queen Elena looked at me, even more intently than before. She looked between us, expression gliding from one of concern to realisation.
"Eleanor," she said, that voice feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around me. "Eleanor Warren. I've heard so much about you."
I didn't know whether she was talking about the whole Golden Woman thing or him.
I felt my lip wobble. Fucking hell. Pull yourself together, you soppy tart. "All good things I hope."
She took her son by the shoulder. I didn't look to his face but I felt his eyes searing into me. "The best things."
"Your Majesty," Mahin said, coming up behind me so I could see her. I didn't have a chance to run away before she approached. She curtseyed like I was sure she'd been trained to do all her life. Whilst I was hauling bags of flour to the market, this girl was balancing books on her head.
I looked to her. Up close, she was even more beautiful. It almost made me stumble back. "Oh, hello," she said politely. "I'm Mahin, Princess of Bakhli."
She smiled at me warmly and I knew no one could muster fake sincerity like she showed. It oozed from her every pore.
"Eleanor Warren," I said, smiling genuinely myself. "I'll leave you to it. I've really got to get back to my room before the King kills me."
She laughed like it was a joke, so I laughed along with her.
"Are you a friend of A—"
He cut her off. "Yes," He said, green eyes piercing into mine in a way only a certain golden eyed boy knew how to. "My greatest confidant."
She smiled again, her brown eyes sparkling.
I didn't even want to hate her anymore.
She was utterly perfect. They'd be the best rulers this pitiful country ever saw. I couldn't look into those green eyes again, so I bid my farewell, all whilst looking into dark brown ones.
. . .
It was a solid four hours into the night, the floor almost completed when I broke the silence. Each of us had known not to speak. Each of us with our own reasons.
"You're the Prince?"
His gaze lifted from the ground to me. His fingers stopped glowing and the few metres left of the marble floor were untouched.
He didn't bother denying it. "I am."
"How?" I asked because it was the only thing that came to mind at that moment. "You don't look anything like the one I met. The one you show to the public."
His voice was steady, I wondered if he was speaking about something as heavy as he was. "You've seen me turn things to gold and don't think I can manipulate my facial features. Besides, this—" he pointed to his own face, the one he was wearing now. "— is the one I show to the public. I just kept it hidden from you the two times we met when I was the Prince."
His honesty hits hard, harder than I was expecting. Lies, again. I was growing sick and tired of the same old, same old.
"Why didn't you do it when I met the Mask then?"
"I wanted you to know," he said like that answered all the questions in the universe when it hadn't even answered the question I'd asked.
"Why?" My voice cracks, I put it down to not using it for hours. "Why now?"
"Because I want to be with you," he said, taking his hand through his hair like he had a personal vendetta against it. "I'm in love with you, Eleanor. And you don't keep secrets from people you love."
That made little to no sense when he'd kept the whole being a Prince secret for so long.
"Why did you never tell me?"
"It didn't seem as important." His answer was blunt. It shouldn't hurt but it does. He was doing more of that nowadays— hurting me without meaning to or maybe he did. Maybe it was his intention all along.
"What? That you were the second most powerful man in the country or that you were engaged to someone else?"
"I'd never even met the girl before today." He said it so flippantly I wanted to scream or cry or laugh or all three simultaneously, looking like the crackhead it felt I was going to end up being after all of this. "She means nothing to me. And my power is fickle. It means even less. I was going to tell you, I swear. When we met tonight, I was going to tell you everything."
I swear. I promise. It was giving me a headache, all these empty promises.
He tried to come toward me. But I stepped away.
"I know your name."
He didn't move.
"If I say it, it means I can leave and you can't make me stay with you."
Again, he remained still but his eyes danced with confusion and hurt. Me too buddy. "I would never make you do something you didn't want to do."
"Am I right?"
"That I can't make you stay?" He asked and I nodded. His voice his weaker, like its struggling to cut through the air and reach me. "Yes."
"I want you to know this wasn't how I wanted it to go."
His resolve wavered. I could see it. That conflict, that cracking beneath the surface.
"You and Mahin will make a really good King and Queen, I mean it." And I did. I really did.
He must have found what he was looking for on my face, something he didn't want to see.
"I know your name," I repeated. Maybe I was trying to waste time, prolong the inevitable.
He grasped his hands in mind. I didn't shake him off. "Eleanor, please. Don't do this."
I could feel myself shaking beneath him. Where are nerves of steel when you need them? I asked myself. Nonexistent in any situation, another voice piped up.
"I don't have a choice."
"You do," he was begging now. His control had faltered and now he was spiralling. It would only be so long before he hit the bottom. "You always have a choice."
I shook my head. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
"Please."
I shut my eyes. I couldn't look into his eyes, not when the gold almost flowed through his unshed tears.
Too much power. Too much power.
I said it in one exhale.
"Almar."