Fantasy ~ Blue Blooded ~ [CLOSED]

[peritwinkle]

 

[peritwinkle]

“Be quiet!”

Bushes of umber and golden hair gathered near the door to listen to the voices echoing from downstairs. The curtains were ever drawn, basking the entirety of the bedroom in a crimson light. The air was imbued with a fervent scent of citrus and lavender, almost sickening but strangely pleasant; there was not enough space to take a proper breath in, but Yasmin was content with the sudden company of giggling geese.

She watched from her seat on the edge of the bed as the other girls whispered and eavesdropped on their Lady’s conversation with the noble. With the Crowning Ceremony approaching, days had been more exhausting than usual, yet the presence of a Lord did not cease to incite the majority of jewels on display at Lady Irma’s brothel. They paid well; that, she could not deny, and it was often times that they were more clean than the other soldiers and commoners coming to spend a night of joy.

“Lord Raine?” Gina muttered, her voice barely above the sound of the parquet creaking beneath her weight. “Have you heard of any Lord Raine?”

“Lord Dinadan Raine,” Alyssa clarified as she pulled her dark looks away from her cheeks. She did not seem at ease, which made Yasmin wonder if she had had an affair with the man before. “You must have been living under your bed, Gina. Lady Elyse Raine...”

“Oh, I know,” she flustered and pressed her ear back against the closed door.

The name did not ring unfamiliar to Yasmin, and neither to the many ears within the capital. The commoners awaited eagerly for the Prince and his betrothed Lady Elyse to say their vows, if only for the coins thrown on the streets as alms and mercy from the Gods through their sovereigns, and she could not blame them for the blind hope. Had she not been blessed with a warm place to stay and silk gowns to adorn her, perhaps she, too, would have believed in the new King and his Queen.

Yet she could tell that there was nothing but bitterness left in Alyssa's mouth. She had stopped listening so lustily after the name of the stranger had reached their ears, and was now pacing around the room behind the other three girls with her hands crossed against her chest and her lips pursed tighter than Lady Irma's wallet. "Bothered?" Yasmin murmured. "Do you not fancy the name of our future Queen?"

The glare that Alyssa shot her was not far from pure flames. Had she not known of the curtains, perhaps she would have thought that her eyes were truly red. "It is not a woman nor a man that I fear. You know what they say of the Prince... One step through the doors of that castle, and any of us would return with their hearts darker than before. Why do you think the King died so suddenly?"

There was a pause in the whispers as the girls turned to face her. Yasmin knew that Alyssa was not a believer in the Gods; her fear of magic and tales came as a surprise. It was not often that they spoke of the nobles amongst eachother, for they knew that the walls had ears, but then, she seemed more passionate about her terrors than the punishment she might face if she was heard speaking ill of the King and his family. She simply leaned back in her bed as she watched her pace from one side of the room to another, her dark skin glistening each time a ray of light grazed it.

"They are all myths," Yasmin said. "Myths incited by the higher-ups themselves to keep us fearing them. If the Prince is some sort of ungodly beast, then I am a talented Seer from the depths of the Silver Mountains and you are the daughter of the most feared Pirate in the Southern isles."

"Perhaps that is true," Gina shrugged with a coy smile curling her lips. "You once told us of that man whose nickname you guessed from just looking at his-"

"Girls!"

Lady Irma's voice reverberated through the narrow hallways of the brothel. Gina quickly turned to open the door and, in the next moment, she was already sprinting down the stairs to her Lady's call. The other girls quickly followed, Yasmin trotting farther behind as if to make sure Alyssa would not be running anywhere. That day, she was wearing her best dress,better than her own or the others' which were only made of plain light-tinted veil, and it did not come as a wonder as to why she feared getting picked.

The light in the lobby was much brighter than that in the other rooms; the stained glass windows made for a pretty dance of light on the trodden parquet, covered here and there with scarlet ornamental rugs. With the cortege of armoured guards filling half of it, the air did not feel much lighter than that in her bedroom. In front of them stood their commander, a man not much past the age of forty, with his beard dark and his eyes of a pale blue which, judging by the closeness between Lady Irma and him, could be none other than Lord Dinadan Raine.

"Curtsy!" the woman ordered, her lips tightened to suppress a giggle. The girls bowed, and the woman looked at the Lord as though she were an artist proud of her latest creation. "Lord Raine has... graced us with his presence today, to look for a very special face to surprise none other than the Prince himself on the day of his Coronation."

Yasmin could feel Alyssa tense by her side as the man moved his gaze from one exhibit to the other. It was not uncommon for men of royal blood to visit the most expensive brothel in the capital, yet never had they been visited in the name of the Crown. It made her wonder if the Prince would be pleasantly surprised with the gift from his father-in-law, yet despite no longer wearing black, she knew that the boy was likely still mourning.

Her blue orbs shot away from Alyssa's trembling figure as she heard her name. For a moment, she could not help but wonder if it had been a mere echo in her head, yet the look in Lady Irma's eyes did not seem to waver. "Yasmin," she repeated. "Lord Raine believes your talents might make for a more interesting... gift. Come... Come!"

"No need," the man added himself. "I have seen what I had to see." Behind the beard, it was almost impossible to tell whether he was smirking or utterly sickened. His eyes were expressionless as they moved from the top of her red hair to the rim the veil covering her nudity. With slow movements, he turned to speak in her Lady's ears and discreetly handed her a leather bag of coins, before making his way through his suite and through the brothel door, the guards decked in steel following him closely.

*​

The Great Hall was more silent than usual. Dinadan had not heard the single soul of a servant or a guard pacing about the corridors, aside from those assigned to watch over the ever still throne. The air was cold and unwelcoming, like a dream that did not wish to break; it was odd how, soon, the same room would be filled with light and faces celebrating the new King and his Queen.

He had not seen Elyse on that day, but he soothed himself with the thought that she was preparing herself for the ceremony. 'It is better this way,' he thought to himself. 'I cannot look in her eyes and see the pain or fear, or worse... let her see my own.' It was not often that he wished for his wife to be by his side, to dig her out of her grave and breathe life into her for only a few moments of holding her hand to mend his terror. He had done her wrong for not believing her words, and perhaps was worthy of the suffering that had come with his doubt.

Earlier, he had made sure to send for the Prince - an innocent request for the boy to join him in the Great Hall for an exchange of words. He had sent his own men, and he prayed that they would not divulge the secret of his gift before he had the chance to; it was as though their brains had been muddled the moment they set foot in the capital. A big, ever rustling city by the Sea gave them new strengths and confidence. Poison to their little brains.

He was thankful that he was not as easily swayed.

But Dinadan was there to wait, and with the preparations at their peak, he knew it would take a while. There was a bitter taste in his mouth that pulled a grimace out of him, which he so fervently fought to ease by the time the boy arrived to meet him. It would take effort before his plans came to a conclusion, and he could only hope that the Gods were on his side.

 

[insteadofthis]

The palace had never seemed so strange and unfamiliar to Silas. On one side of the room was a portrait of his father, decorated with a thin, black veil and surrounded by rows of candles, some of which were being relighted by a haggard old servant. At another side of the room was a portrait of Prince Silas from just a year prior, a portrait that he quite fancied. He thought it made him look older and wiser, with his long, curly black hair and scruff making him look not unlike his father. Silas had selected it to be specially presented for the occasion. Then, in the center of the room was a table, empty except for three small ornamental bottles filled with the holy oils that would christen him. His dark eyes fell upon the bottles, and his expression changed to that of disdain, if only for a moment.

The priest, Thomas, was quick to notice his change in mood, but confused as to why. "These were the same arrangements made for King Evander's coronation," he explained, careful to keep an even tone. There were times when King Evander would grow impatient with these long discussions. He didn't know the Prince quite so well, but he would be careful to stay on the Crown's good side as best he could.

Silas looked back to Thomas, and nodded. "I understand," he said, not unkindly, although his voice had undertones of petulance. "I know the traditions well." He knew that people were often ill at ease in his presence. There was a time in his youth when he thought that was simply because he was the Prince, but now he knew better. There was a pause when it seemed like Thomas did not know how to respond, so the young man continued. "But for the time, Father Thomas, I must leave you. We will speak again before the ceremony."

Thomas wavered, but he nodded and bowed deeply between Prince Silas and his mother, Iohanna. Queen Iohanna was no longer wearing black, but her face was still grave, like she had seen a ghost. She gave a shaky nod to Father Thomas, and just barely a smile. "May the Gods bring you peace in this time of mourning," said Father Thomas, as Silas turned to leave.

Silas left hurriedly with his men, if only to dissuade his mother from following. His attempts did nothing, however, and she rushed over, pushing past one of his guards with a fierce and hateful look. "What were Lord Raine's men here for?" she asked, as her son finally stopped to listen to her. She was just barely tall enough to look down at him. To most people she was an intimidating woman, if not for her unusual height, for her one clouded eye and the drooping skin around it. After her husband had died, she seemed much more shaky, not at all like her former self. She still kept up her appearances, her hair pulled up elaborately, wearing some of her best jewels.

"They only asked that I speak with Lord Raine," said Silas, who sought to put her at rest and keep her from asking any more questions. Ever since the death of the King, Silas felt like his mother had not made much sense. This saddened him when he thought about it, but only briefly. She had always been something of a scrambled woman. Silas cleared his throat, looking down at her. "Now excuse me, for I have kept him waiting long enough." To his pleasant surprise, Iohanna relented.

She opened her mouth as though to say something, but shut it again and paused, adjusting her posture. "If I am needed, I will be in the temple," said Iohanna quietly, without making eye contact. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Silas and his guards left into the Great Hall, silent and still until they left her sight.

Silas thought little of her behavior. He was just grateful that his company kept quiet on their short walk. It seemed rare that he got a moment to just think, without anybody bothering him with trivial matters.

Silas thought back to his father, just a few months ago. It was one of the rare times his father had asked him something that was particularly personal. "Do you think the Gods truly exist?" the King had asked, with his usual grandiloquence. He had been drunk at the time, and on a tangent, but he had spoken directly to Silas and his expression became suddenly, eerily serious. "Do you think we live on after death?" The words seemed to echo in real time, the memory so vivid it seemed like his father was in the room with him.

For that question, Silas still did not have a confident answer. His father's unexpected death only made him question it more. These thoughts were maddening, and it had kept him up for some nights until the upcoming ceremony was enough to distract him. Just as these thoughts arose, he fought to stifle them. Now was not the time. Now, more than ever, did he need to keep a cool head and keep his wits about him. He just hoped that this meeting with Dinadan did not worsen his day. The last thing he wanted was something new to worry about.

The guards opened the doors into the Great Hall, where they found Dinadan and his group waiting. Silas walked to meet them, looking them all over. "Lord Raine," he said, in what he hoped was a welcoming tone and a genuine-looking smile. "I am sorry to keep you waiting."

 

[peritwinkle]

The castle was cold, but as soon as the Prince stepped through the archway into the Great Hall, a gush of ice sent its tendrils crawling at Dinadan’s nape. Silas’s dark curls floated against the breeze as he walked, his steps almost theatrically elegant, resonating through the walls that held the keep hidden from the rest of the ever rustling capital.

‘This is the boy that Elyse is to marry,’ he told himself as he watched. He had managed to keep his poise, and even squeezed a simper out of his lips. It was difficult looking at the boy and seeing anything other than his father; he mirrored him in many aspects, and whenever he saw the boy float about the halls, his appearance always struck him as the phantom of the man whose heart he had driven his wrath through only a month prior. His mother was alive, and yet her gall and fear had not reached him just yet. She was a woman pure of soul, or had been, until the claws of Dagen had managed to dig down through her flesh and reached the bone.

“Your Highness,” the man nodded. Dinadan did not move from his standing place; the guards straightened their back to salute their sovereign, but kept their heads turned away from the scene on the Lord’s orders. “The waiting is justified. You are getting prepared for your glorious day, after all, and I am in the wrong from keeping you from your duties.” He almost felt like a bad father for seeing his son-in-law before his daughter. He doubted Elyse had any desire to see him soon, however, for he knew the girl was bashful and far too enthusiastic about her marriage to the Prince to do anything other than fluster about it.

A frail thing, nothing more than a bird with newly grown wings. She not taken barely any of her mother’s wits, but he was thankful she had not taken her looks. Her eyes were of a pretty blue, akin to his own, and the skies that enlightened the Mountains of their home. At least her husband would have a pretty painting to look at, whilst the minds behind it did the work. It was only a matter of time until he could turn to operating again.

A sigh left his lips as he made an effort to keep the same smile painted on. “You are as solemn as your father,” Dinadan said. “Your youth will keep you steady on your feet. Sometimes, as we grow old, we are no longer able to do what we once loved, or not as well, at least.” The faux smile slowly turned into a smirk. “I have given you the gift of my beautiful daughter’s hand in marriage, as well as a beautiful dowry to complement it. She will serve you well, I pray... But a man must never forget his true nature in the face of duty.”

There was a pause in his speech, as Dinadan placed his hand on the Prince’s back and gently urged him to pace along. The fabric of his embroidered coat was thick and coarse; it made for a bitter reflection of his life after leaving his home - elegant, fine, but stiff and unforgiving. He had had countless attires made for himself as well, all fitting the style that nobility wore there. For a man coming from the depths of the mountains, fur was much softer than taffeta, but too warm for such a place, yet he still longed for his old garments, if only for the brief feeling of being back home.

“This morning, I went myself to collect a gift for you,” Lord Raine continued. “Something that might serve you well tonight... Although temporarily.” For nothing was inherently permanent. King Evander had likely thought his reign would last a hundred years, that he would build an Empire, and yet there they were, and there he was, with his dreams buried in the same coffin he had been lowered into the ground in. “Consider it an omen of my gratitude. We are family now, and I can only wish for you to trust me. From man to man.”

If he had the wits about him as he always acted, he would understand what his gift consisted of before he entered his room that night and witnessed it. He had paid Lady Irma a good sum for the girl, far more than she was worth, be it with her gift of reading one’s thoughts. All a fabrication, he knew. The true demons were at power, and they dressed in something more stiff than tinted veil.

He then stopped before the archway that lead out of the Throne Room and took a small step back to look Evander’s son in the eye. His mere gaze seemed like a glare, one that weighted heavily upon his shoulders. “I know you will cherish my daughter as she should be. Elyse loves you, and I pray that the Gods will make you love her as well. Soon, good will rule upon the Kingdom of Ehren, I can assure you of that.” One way or another, the lands will he cleansed of evil. There was only waiting and praying that, with the will of their deities, it would not come with a price that he could not afford to pay.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas looked Dinadan up and down from a closer angle. It was hard to judge someone just by first looks, but he had heard some things about the man from his parents. Lord Raine had a beautiful daughter, a glorious wealth, and perhaps that was all he needed to know. His smile grew a bit wider upon hearing the word Highness, a satisfaction that would only be topped when he heard the words King Silas. He drew a great amount of confidence at these subtle gestures of respect.

"It is nice to break away from the meetings," Silas admitted. "Soon, we will be celebrating, and our kingdom will flourish. Good times are upon us." They would prepare for the wedding, and then surely the gossip of children would be quick to follow. Silas did have bright hopes for the future. Ever since he had been young, he had been confident about being king.

He listened carefully to Dinadan's speech. It seemed like everyone had the same things to say to him, but the words of encouragements were only fodder to his ego. He was sure that his marriage with Lady Elyse would go smoothly. He was not particularly fond of the girl, but he hadn't expected to be. When his mother had first brought up his betrothed, she had described Elyse as beautiful; thin, but she would make a mother, yet. His father had described the girl as simple, which was perhaps the kindest thing he could have said. If the girl was a pretty sight, and didn't have too big a mouth, then they could have an easy marriage. A wedding ceremony did not much appeal to him, but at least it was another excuse for celebration.

After a moment, Silas had almost blocked out Dinadan's voice in favor of his absentminded thoughts. When the man reached for his back, he fought the urge to recoil. After just a split second of hesitation, he followed Dinadan's lead. He was interested to hear about the gift, as one of his most highly anticipated parts of the celebration was royal gifts. Silas was not quite as clever as his father, but it didn't take him too long to understand what Dinadan was alluding to. He furrowed his brow, thinking about it.

"I am to understand that your gift to me is a harlot?" he asked skeptically. He was to share his bed with some dirty common stranger? Perhaps it was not as bad a gift as his first impression led him to believe.

Silas relaxed his expression as Dinadan faced him. When he heard the word love, he tensed back up for a split second and hoped the lord did not notice. He wondered if his parents had ever loved each other. It was something that Evander had always struggled with. Behind closed doors, the two had never seemed comfortable with each other. Perhaps Iohanna had loved her husband in the beginning, but it seemed to Silas as though that love had turned into fear and dependence. Or maybe he just didn't understand such complex feelings, as Iohanna had sworn her heart to her husband right to the bitter end. It wouldn't have surprised Silas if his mother had leaped into the grave to be buried with him. Whether it was love or madness, it was genuine, and it made him rather curious to see how his and Lady Elyse's feelings would change, after growing close.

"I have no doubt that I will love Lady Elyse," said Silas. As long as she was quiet and well-mannered, then he could rule beside her with no trouble. Maybe she could even have her uses. Before her mind had degraded, Iohanna had been a close confidant to King Evander. Silas didn't necessarily expect the same of Lady Elyse, but it gave him some hope that the woman would have more value than just a piece of art to admire.

Would good rule upon the kingdom? Surely, Silas did not consider himself evil or unholy. But all this talk of Gods and holiness, of good and evil, it subconsciously worried him. He was uncertain as to what his image would become, when he was King. Each reign before him had a distinct reputation, and he wondered what Dinadan's opinion of that matter was. From what Silas understood, Lord Raine was a man of the Gods, of pureness and faith, so what would he think of Silas?

"Lord Raine, I am confident that we will all have a bright future," said Silas. "I thank you for the kind words."

 

[peritwinkle]

At least one of the two was being optimistic. Dinadan could not help but see the child within Silas as he listened to him speak; he was still as green as fresh Spring grass, a boy who could barely understand, nevertheless withhold the weight of the title that would soon be thrown upon his head. In that moment, the Lord thought to himself that he was indeed doing the right thing.

He gave the boy a cordial smile at his expression of indignation. “Far from a dirty commoner, I’d say,” he said. “Something to fit the likes of you, of course... May the Gods curse me if I ever attempt to lower your glory, my Prince.” He took as much pride in himself as his father, and in the back of his mind, he doubted he would be content with anything of less than noble blood on his featherbed. “They say she may tell one’s past from just looking into their eyes, though I would not be as quick to fall into her arms only based on a small-minded commoner’s reassurance.”

He did not fear such things, not with whores whose roles changed by the day to satisfy their clients’ needs. It was but a game, a game of squalidity and wealth that he did not care for in the least, but could only hope that a young boy would be content with his wedding gift. He doubted Evander had let whores of any breed breathe the air of his beloved son’s quarters by any chance.

Yet he knew he would never really love Elyse. It was merely a game of chess, to which they were but pawns, weak and defenseless. Shields for those who truly pulled the strings behind their backs. Such naivety did not matter in the least in the greater game that they all took part in, and it was certain that Evander had not taken any second of his precious time to teach his son about the true duties of a sovereign.

“May the Gods hear you today, my Prince,” he nodded. “I am certain we will, soon enough... Now, I will not keep you from your day.” The theatrical simper returned, this time seemingly more contorted than before. He had kept his poise for too long, and it was high time he returned to his lonesome before long. In the back of his mind, however, he was restless, and would continue to be long after the boy disappeared from his sight. Yet he could but wait, wait and see if those he prayed to had seen the desire of abstersion within his heart.

Sooner or later, Ehren would be cleansed of its evil, be it by his hand or another’s.

*

The gold decking the walls and ceiling of the room glimmered in the candlelight akin to embers. The sun had gone down, allowing for the tame fire to dance with the shadows in the quiet apartments she had been discreetly brought into in the night. It was a strange place, almost eerie, yet at once seemingly part of a dream, far from the comfort and safety of her own tight chamber.

She could barely remember her way down from the brothel. The sky had been too dark for her to look around in the cramped litter surrounded by guards. Alyssa’s warnings had rung in her ears, so loudly that she could swear Lord Raine’s men could hear it too. She had not joined the other girls in their evening trill, but had listened closely, fearful and wary, whilst Lady Irma prepared the gown and jewels she would be wearing to surprise the Prince.

That day, she had donned a pale pink veil - the colour of cherry trees in the spring - with a necklace of a gold almost as bright as that which embedded the walls of the noble’s room. She had wanted to let her scarlet hair down, but had instead had to suffer a long braiding by Gina’s hand, laced with bright blue ribbon and small, handmade paper flowers. It was a style that the petite blonde often wore, whilst Yasmin was often allowed to go wilder, less groomed, but weighed down by far more jewels and gold coins than the other girls.

Surprisingly enough, there had been no jealousy - only curiosity and hopeless daydreaming. It was many of the girls’ deepest desire to lay with a Prince on sheets embroidered with fine silver and gold thread, to come as close as to breathe in the scent of pure fortune, and Yasmin had struggled to fight her worries away to make room for such naive hopes.

For a moment, she had hoped that the Prince would not show up. That the gift would be denied, and she would be seen out of the castle and back to Lady Irma’s brothel. Then, she had wanted for him to at least see her, and for her to see his own face in return. The heir was as much a mystery to her as his father had been, yet she had had the chance to witness the late King a couple of times during festivities. Her heart and mind seemed to cook an amalgam of emotions, strange to her, which her flesh and bones could barely contain.

But Lord Dinadan had chosen her for a reason. He had thought her to be pretty, or at least remotely worthy of a Prince’s look in her direction. The Lord had not come to speak to her or offer any instructions; it gave her hope that, perhaps, Prince Silas was not as demonic as other superstitious mouths made him out to be. Perhaps he was a simple man like any other, blessed with the fortune of a noble and cursed with the worries of a King.

The flames dancing in the fireplace almost turned the air in the room into steam. The warmth was welcome - the only detail which reminded her of home, or as close to home as her brothel could be. It missed the scent of lavender, of slept-in sheets and wine, but she could not allow herself to complain. ‘I could get used to it.’ If only she were the daughter of Lord Dinadan Raine.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas had not meant to look so outraged at the gift. He quickly tried to regain his composure, but he was still skeptical. He had never really liked the common folk. They were always so dirty and uneducated, and they always wanted more. But Dinadan assured him that this whore would fit the likes of him. Silas tried not to be insulted, and attributed what he thought was a poor gift to Dinadan just being foolish. The lord was right in thinking that his standards were far too high for anything less than nobility, but he decided not to decline the gift. "I don't mean to be rude," he said. "I am grateful." He did want to make a good impression with the lord. It simply made things easier. Besides that, Silas cared about his reputation. He feared that people would think him childish, or unwise.

The next words out of Dinadan's mouth brought Silas to full attention, if only for a moment. Of course, he did not believe that any commoner would have such surreal talents. Fortune tellers and magicians were just peddlers looking to swindle the dimwitted common folk with fancy words. Tonight, the harlot would have an easy trick. She could look into his eyes and tell he was a Prince, perhaps a bit of his life that had been publicized through word of mouth. Lots of gossip traveled through the palace. Silas gave a short laugh, and nodded. "Well, it will be entertaining," he said.

When Dinadan began to close the conversation, Silas was grateful. It had not been as troublesome a meeting as he had feared. "Thank you, Lord Raine. I look forward to our families growing closer," he said, giving his best kind smile. "We will meet again soon."

With that, Silas and his men hurried out of the Great Hall, and it was blissfully quiet once more, save for the sound of footsteps. Usually, he enjoyed the nights because he could be alone. He wasn't much inclined towards company. But he had decided that he would accept the gift, if only see how the night unfolded. Even if there was a dirty, plague-ridden whore on the other side of his bedroom door, then at least he would have a hearty laugh.

*

After darkness had fallen, Silas made his way up the spiraling stone staircase, thinking about his exchange with Dinadan in the Great Hall as he went. The stress of everything was indeed getting to him, and he struggled to keep his image as a mature, ready leader. Sometimes it was hard to keep his thoughts straight. He had always thought he was ready to be King. Silas didn't necessarily doubt himself, even now, but he had become quickly disenchanted by the reality of the matter.

Maybe this gift was what he needed to calm his nerves. After all, this entertaining guests, the speeches he had to sit through, it was exhausting. He thought back to Lord Raine's words. A man must never forget his true nature. A laugh almost escaped his lips when he though about it. His father had told him similar things, but with a much different intent. But Silas had decided that he would take these words to heart... at least temporarily.

Silas climbed up the stone staircase to the bedroom, where finally the guards dawdled behind, and gave him some space. He paused before the great wooden door, taking a moment to mentally prepare himself. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, the strong smell of wine on his person, for as the evening went on he had spoiled himself greatly. He felt he deserved it, for the occasion. He gestured for a guard, who hurried to open the door for him. More light from the hallway illuminated the room, but it was quickly darkened again when the guard shut the door behind him.

The woman in the room was a pretty sight. She did not look so much a commoner, just as Lord Raine had promised, with her intricately braided hair, and a clean, feminine dress... she almost looked like she could be a noble. Silas wondered what the girl was thinking at that very moment. This could very well be the most exciting thing to ever happen to the poor, pitiable commoner girl. He wondered if she was a believer in the Gods, in the gossip that followed the royal family, or if she was afraid to be left alone with him.

Silas sauntered to the other side of the room, just briefly putting the canopy bed between them. He looked out the window. It was too dark to see anything but shadows in the courtyard, and he could just barely make out the stained glass windows of the chapel. The people were still busy. He turned back to the whore, and finally walked to see her up close. He smiled, an expectant look on his face.

"So, you are the harlot with the gift of the Gods' sight?" asked Silas, and a sneer crept at the corner of his mouth, which he stifled. The Prince took a few steps in, so that he could admire her better. "I am eager to witness your talents."

 

[peritwinkle]

As time passed, Yasmin felt herself grow more and more impatient and fearful of what was to come. The Prince’s quarters felt strange and uninviting; it almost felt as though she had sneaked in that evening without the guards’ knowledge. Every moment, she expected for a head to pop in through the cracked door and demand for her to leave. And every moment, she cherished her solitude, for she knew it would not last long.

Steps echoed on the corridor, breaking the silence Yasmin had grown fond of. It was not a walk which she recognised - it felt heavier, yet not followed by the ring of steel. Soon enough, the doorknob twisted and the plank of wood separating her from the rest of the castle cracked open, allowing for a new pair of eyes to glimmer in the dim light of the candles carefully arranged by the canopy bed.

Prince Silas was a tall man, with raven curls perfectly framing his features, much akin to the subject of a master’s painting that had come to life. A strange, dark aura floated about him, yet nothing that she had not seen before that would send shivers of terror down her spine. He seemed far from the monster that Alyssa had described and embedded in her mind, but not far from the image of a Prince kissed by fortune which any would expect to see in someone of his nature.

‘You would bite your tongue and fall to your knees,’ Yasmin thought, thinking of Alyssa. Had she not seemed as bashful, perhaps Lord Dinadan Raine would have picked her to sleep in the bed of the future King. She had always been a honey treat to the nobles; they preferred the authenticity of her looks and the slender figure that accompanied them, but she lacked the bone for such a deed.

A simper touched her lips as she watched him pace from one side of the room to the other. She did not bother to raise from her bed, but only propped herself up on her bottom and leaned on one arm invitingly. “Your Highness,” she spoke, her voice soft, barely above a murmur. There was no need to speak loudly, for the castle seemed to have gone quiet for the night, and the echoes resonating from outside its walls were so dim and vague, that they only barely tickled her ears.

She had let her veil slowly slip from her shoulder, yet low enough to allow for a touch of decency. As he came closer, she could smell the potent scent of wine radiating from his lips, and her own painted a far from coy smirk. “Or perhaps I should call you my King, hm? Oh, no... Not just yet...” There was but that night until he could bask in the glory of such title. Until then, he would still be but a Prince, a boy whose fate had both cursed and blessed him senseless.

Yasmin’s shoulders tensed as soon as she heard him speak. His tone was clear, despite the alcohol, and his smile ever condescending. It seemed he was more interested in her rumoured talents than the factual ones, although she was not particularly surprised. Frankly, she doubted it would be the first young piece of flesh he had ever touched.

“Oh, I fear it does not work that way, my Prince.” The girl returned the smile and lifted herself up on her knees in an attempt to tally his height. “I cannot simply read the fate of a man whose name is all I know...” A fearful but gentle hand came to graze the rim of his coat, tracing lines over and around his covered chest. “But I do know what you wish to hear. You wish to hear that you will be King... That your crown will bring you glory, and your wife many sons to draw your blood over the centuries to come.”

It did not take much guessing. All the nobles, knights and commoners that came through the doors of Lady Irma’s brothel wanted to hear nothing but stories of their glory, wealth and valor, speckled with events of slight misfortune to make it seem at least remotely believable. Prince Silas did not look like an exception from the rule; he was like an open book, a man like any other, who desired like any other, lusted like any other, yet lived like a royal whose desire and lust did not go disregarded.

“Do you fear the Gods, your Grace?” she wondered then, as she let herself slowly fall back on the mattress. “Do you fear what they would think of you for wanting to know their secrets? For wanting what you do not have?” Her eyes glimmered akin to the flames in the room, and she slowly let the veil show more, as though taunting him to disobey the deities he may or may not pray to. “You do not look like a man who fears... Though then it makes me wonder, why would you be anxious to know my gift?”

It was all a game, and she knew she was good at it, yet it was not often that she felt the same excitement for it as the other player. A part of her wanted to know him more, know every inch of skin and every corner in his mind that he was willing to show her. There was no longer a threatening aura about his name; she was but another boy that she might be able to twist around her fingers, steal a kiss from as though it were a forbidden fruit.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas met her at the bed, gently tugging the curtains away. Lord Raine's gift had not been in poor taste at all. He admired the girl's flowers, and he could barely see the careful detail that had been put into her attire in the light of the fireplace. He looked back at her face when she began to speak, mixed feelings beginning to spark inside of him.

Admittedly, he was interested in seeing her show. If Lord Raine spoke about her talents, and she was deemed good enough to enter the bed of the man who would be King, then she must have some kind of tricks in store for him. But still, this was her livelihood. It was her business, seducing men and playing her little game with them. She should have some sort of well-rehearsed performance, perhaps simply adjusted for his current arrangement.

As she reached to meet his height, he stood still, and hesitated when she went to trace her fingers around his chest. At her speech, he smiled. "Hm. That is what you believe I want to hear?" he asked. "I hear that often, you see. But you are not wrong. It is nice to hear." There were a great many people that fed his ego with sickly sweet encouragements such as those. He had heard that ever since he was young, and it was so ingrained in his mind that it was sometimes hard to take it seriously.

Finally, he reached up, his fingers gingerly touching the flowers in her hair, just barely sliding the tips of his fingers down the ribbons in her hair. The thin cloth covering her form was something distracting, but he looked away and back up into her sweet blue eyes, caught up in his entrancement. When she spoke again, his patronizing smile wavered.

"But the Gods brought you to me," he said. "Perhaps they want you to share their secrets." Old Father Baldric, before he had passed away, had told him as a child that his soul was blessed by the divine; that he was special to them, like a vessel, and that was why he was born the Prince. Those words had shaken him greatly at the time. When Silas was younger, the Gods had been one of his greatest fears, although he had never admitted it. Visiting the temple used to make him feel ill. Rarely had he revisited those feelings since he was much younger.

"Perhaps if you look a little closer..." said Silas, trailing off as he went to sit on the bed, enraptured by her subtle methods of teasing. He had heard many stories about harlots who clouded the eyes of noble men enough to cause them trouble. Silas did not fear this happening, but he did have his secrets to hide, and he remained ever conscious of those secrets when talk about the Gods and fate was in the air.

He absentmindedly ran his fingers down her dress, looking her in the eye again. "And what name do you go by?" He was impressed by her more relaxed demeanor. Most young women, when they tried to impress him, seemed awkward and clumsy about it. It made it easy for him to get lost in the little game they were playing.

 

[peritwinkle]

With every step she took forward, the Prince seemed to follow her eagerly, caught up in the little game she had weaved for him. It was both painstaking and exciting, like an intricate dance to which the two of them seemed to know the steps too well. She could tell that her own thrill and kindling mirrored into his own eyes, be it a fabrication or a genuine emotion.

The corner of her lip curled as he dodged and parred her accusation of lacking holiness. Neither of them were saints, she knew, and it made her wonder if the man truly did abide by the laws of the Gods or simply followed them to appeal to his people. She was a sinner in her nature, but had never truly done anything to pull at their arms. Lust and obscenity were just as vile as they were common within all and every being that graced the earth, as much as some wished to appear godly men.

A shuddering breath escaped her lips as he came to sit by her side. She felt his touch trail through the thin material of her robe, and for a sudden moment, the distance between their skin felt too thick. “Yasmin,” she whispered back, her blue eyes slowly shifting from his hand absentmindedly grazing her forms to his own orbs. “Although you could call me by whatever name you like... Or, perchance, by whatever title you see fit... Your Highness, Your Grace...” She chuckled quietly and tilted her head to the side.

There were many names that she had taken over the years, many that Lady Irma had given her when her own had not seemed nearly as exotic or magical as others. It was often wealthy strangers and travelers around whom she was given a new name, sometimes just subtle enough to remind them of a long lost lover they had forgotten telling her in their moments of intoxication, a sister or a Lady they so much lusted after. It was just another game amongst the others that she played which she never seemed to grow tired of.

Careful not to stray from her slow mannerisms, propped herself back up and gently pressed the man down, inviting him to lay on his back as she found her spot right ontop of him. “A curious one, my Prince, hm? You seem so eager to know everything, to see everything... I might just wish to know you in return.”

With her left keeping him pinned to the bed, Yasmin’s other hand came to touch the soft flesh of his cheek and corner of his lips; as soon as her own skin touched his, she felt a shudder flash through her spine and a cold, stifling wave washing over her. Her vision darkened for merely moments, and suddenly, Prince Silas was no longer beneath her, but sat on his Throne, with his temples dampened by bright red blood dripping from his golden crown. His eyes were darkened and did not belong to him, yet she knew that his glare fixated her with paralyzing wrath.

Before she could take another breath, she found herself back in the Prince’s room again, candles trembling jauntily in the slight current. Her heart pounded against her chest as she jolted up from around the man’s middle and pressed herself to one of the pylons of the canopy bed, one had crossing over her chest and the other gripping the wood for stability.

“I... I...” Barely any breaths left her nose as she watched him in a stifled horror. If it had been merely a dream, then she was glad she had woken up, yet something in the back of her mind told her otherwise. “It was all a game,” she tried to tell mostly herself as she trembled in her place. “I was only playing... a game...” It had all been a lie, a fabrication for the mere excitement of those who came seeking for a new thrill.

Yasmin could feel cold droplets of sweat dancing on her brow as she looked at the Prince. ‘Perhaps it is but exhaustion.’ There were many nights she had lost on restless clients, and few of them she had gotten the chance to retrieve before another stepped through the door. “Forgive me,” she muttered in an attempt to wash away the peculiarity of the moment. “Please forgive me, your Grace.”

It took strength to unclench her fingers from around the wooden pole. She brought her hands around her middle and lowered her head with humility, but did not dare to step towards his place on the bed again, not until he said the words. Fear still boiled within her, a strange amalgam of terror and confusion that she only recalled from the day her mother had passed. Both would now be ill memories stained with blood, yet the latter might just stay planted before her eyes for longer in its strange repulsion.

 

[insteadofthis]

Of course, Silas had not intended to get so lost in the harlot's scheme. But he was inebriated and she was brilliant with her work. It was hypnotizing. All of the women he had ever been close to, they had all been so formal, so boring. Silas knew he was being foolish, but he allowed himself to have fun. This sort of banter he found hard to come by.

He briefly wondered if Yasmin was her real name. It was as beautiful as she was, so he suspected it was a false one. Not that it mattered. He wanted something to know her by. Silas leaned in closer to her, rather enraptured. "Tonight... it will be your Grace," he said, and he laughed in spite of himself. After all, he would never see this woman again. "As it is a special occasion. Share in my celebration with me, your Grace."

Silas did not resist as she guided him on his back, letting out a contented sigh. "You read me well," said the Prince with a smirk as he looked up to her. He took her by the waist with one hand, tugging at the fabric. "If you wish to know me, I will not defy you."

In the moment, the Prince closed his eyes. Suddenly, she seemed somewhat heavier on top of him, and he opened his eyes again and everything had changed in an instant. For a moment, he was scared she would faint. He raised his hands between them in case she did, and he stared at her in shock. She looked truly afraid, as though something had shocked her to her core. The feeling was contagious, and Silas began to panic, and a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions began to fly through him and he felt his own heart pounding.

He stared at her in disbelief as she scrambled off of him. She seemed trembling with real emotion, thoroughly breaking Silas from his trance. She still looked as though she might faint, and he wondered if she was having some sort of episode. Silas slowly sat up, as though he was worried that a sudden movement would trigger her into another outburst.

Although Silas knew it was irrational, he thought back to what Dinadan had said. They say she may tell one’s past from just looking into their eyes. If he entertained that that was possible, then there were a great many things that he would not want her-- anyone-- to know. For someone to see his most wicked secret was Silas's greatest fear, and in that very moment it felt as though this fear had come to life. It was a surreal moment, but Silas came to his senses. Surely, that wasn't possible. These harlots had their own illusions, their own schemes... This girl must simply be shocked, caught up in the moment, and broke her character. That, or she was having a fit.

But Silas's self-assurance dwindled more when she spoke again, her words feeling cryptic. "What kind of game is this?" he demanded to know. It seemed as though something had seriously gotten into her. Silas raised a hand to his head, taking a moment to catch his breath. He didn't know where to take things from there.

Her pleas for forgiveness made him furrow his brow in skepticism. Silas's initial instincts were to be cross with her, for ruining his good mood in what would have otherwise been a sinfully delightful evening. He took a few heavy breaths, trying to decide how to respond to the situation. He felt more drunk now than he had just a moment ago, but the feeling had soured. He pulled his messy hair out of his face, and leaned back against the wooden headboard of the bed.

"Tell me what happened," said Silas firmly, and he watched her intently and expectantly. "Explain yourself." He wanted to hear what she had to say, before he decided if he would forgive her. She didn't even seem like she had recovered from the incident. As much as he would like to forget it had ever happened, it was too bizarre for him to simply move past it.

 

[peritwinkle]

Yasmin could already sense the discontent in the Prince’s voice. Her heart ached, not as much for the picture now etched on her mind as for the moment she had shattered in her point of weakness. Shock still resonated through her, but did fade, if only a little, as she began to speak, begging for forgiveness. As soon as his voice responded to hers, however, her lips melted together, all the strength and assurance dropping to her feet and sinking into the ground.

Blue eyes found the shape of the man again, resting on the bed before her as he expectantly awaited an answer. “The tale of the Seer was only that,” she murmured, “a tale, or so I had thought...” Her tongue felt swollen as she struggled to resume her proper breathing. “It was a lie... I thought... I thought I was only playing a game.”

It had been so from the very beginning. Her mother had filled her head with tales of Seers and strange beasts roaming the land of the living, and she had absorbed them like the words of a book. She had believed them for a while, but not long; her fate had gone with her mother, but her tales had reached Lady Irma’s ears before the poor woman’s end, and she had made sure to fashion a scheme out of such legends that would bring her the fortune she so much thirsted for.

Mere dirty work from her first days at the brothel, and Yasmin had gone along with it for the sake of living a decent life, in an indecent manner. Yet in that moment, as she looked into the eyes of the man whose life she had just witnessed ending, she could feel her heart sink and her stomach tighten at the thought that, perchance, there had been a gram of truth in her mother’s eerie bedtime stories.

Gentle steps lead her closer to the edge of the bed, tempted to sit, but fought the urge to rest in favour of standing straight before the noble. Words slowly began slipping from her lips, her own eyes never leaving his. “I saw you, my Prince,” she spoke. “For a moment, I saw you, crowned and bleeding from that very jewel.” It did not take much understanding to know what he was thinking. In his eyes, she was a madwoman, and perhaps that was true, for no one in his right mind could ever feel what she had felt and call himself sane.

She did not know how he would respond: if his heart would be filled with wrath and his tongue with bitterness at the thought of one spitting on his glory. ‘You read me well.’ She had. And she could tell that Prince Silas was far from a humble man, yet the hope that he would come to believe her did not yet leave her chest. Despite telling the truth, a man of his ranking might not be bothered to believe a harlot’s blabbering.

“I cannot tell what has rained upon me today.” Yasmin’s voice was weak, deeply disturbed but no longer wavering. “If the Gods are cursing me for tainting you, I do not know. But what I have seen could not have been a dream, for I am every much awake, and as I look you in the eye, I know it was your face that I saw crowned and sitting on the throne.”

Something deep within her, something stirred and boiling, told her it had not been a threat, but a warning, and she could not help but wonder if she had had a role in the momentary Inferno. Forcing the thought out of her head, Yasmin eventually drew herself closer to the Prince and gingery took a seat on the very edge of the featherbed. With gentle but cautious movements, she leaned in closer and brought her hand to touch his own, and this once she was relieved that her sight remained anchored in reality.

“You wished to know my talents,” she said then, in an attempt to normalize the peculiar occurrence. Her breath still trembled, but her movements remained steady as she fought the fear and worry out of the system. “Your wish was granted... Though, I doubt what you have heard has been to your liking.” In that moment, all she wished for was to wash away the memory of it, at least enough to get him through the night. She could only hope that the Prince knew how to forget better than to forgive.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas stared silently as she babbled on. At least she seemed more fearful than he was. But still, as she went on... it became evident that she saw something she did not expect. He waited for her to go on. Perhaps whatever vision had come to her was not something incriminating. She seemed so frightened, but maybe that was just because of the sudden vision, and not because she had seen something demonic in her divination. Silas opened his mouth, and shut it again. He didn't want to say something that would make this worse.

"What did you see?" asked the Prince, impatiently and uneasily. He watched her carefully, following her eyes. He was worried about the past, not the future. He thought of memories that he did not want to share, and that he himself would rather repress. It did not occur to him that it would be difficult for her to come to terms with the reality. After all, she would not know the truth about magic. Perhaps a whore was not a devout follower of the Gods, but this would break her reality. He had no patience to give her the time to grasp it.

As she answered him, Silas waited with wider eyes still, even more enraptured now than he had been when she was trying to seduce him. He hung onto her every word. When she finished, he felt his stomach drop, and his fears come to life. He had no doubt what she said was true-- for he did believe in magic. But he had to process what she saw, and what it meant for him.

But her vision came with so many troubles. If she truly saw him, killed on his own throne, what could that mean? He looked away from her, staring blankly into the fire. His father... the ceremony...

Still, he had to deal with her. She had seen him bleeding. Even if it was simply a vision, something that had not happened, it was real to her and she would know it was the truth. Surely, Yasmin had heard rumors about the Dagen family, that they were real monsters, brought to life. She would see the blue blood and know his secret. These thoughts were making him hysterical, and her words about a curse set him over the edge.

"I am not cursed," Silas hissed, and his eyes darkened with a look that could kill. He was surprised by his own outburst, having not meant to say such a thing, and he quieted almost immediately. "You... you..." He struggled to find the words. He covered his mouth, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wanted to defend himself, to say that he was not what she thought he was, but he restrained himself. This whole thing was madness, but he was determined to keep his senses.

Silas opened his eyes again. "Are you sure it was me you saw?" he asked. "King Evander... I have often been told we are of close likeness." It would make sense for her to see his father dead upon the throne, although it would not totally ease this tension. If it was a vision from the past, of the King's death, then it would make a great deal of a difference.

When Yasmin reached for his hand, Silas flinched his own away from her as quick he could. He did not want her to see anything more. To his great relief, she did not fall into another trance. This did not make him comfortable touching her, however, and he pulled away. She still seemed fearful, and he wondered what she was thinking about him, now.

Silas tried to calm himself. This situation was not so out of his control. The harlot had seen too much, but all was not lost. He could remedy the situation, if things got out of hand. He just had to decide how to handle it. He glanced towards the door, then back to Yasmin. "No," he said. He could feel his face grow flush. "Tell me more." There had to be more to it than that, some detail that could help him make sense of it.

 

[peritwinkle]

Yasmin could not tell whether the hatred burning in the Prince’s eyes were for the likes of her or for the words he had heard. Nevertheless, it only amplified the feeling of sickness in her stomach; she wished to make herself disappear, but she knew that would never wash away the memory of the moments before, neither from his mind, nor from her own.

She jolted as he raised his voice, resonating through the silence of the room. As soon as he quieted down, she could only hear their breathing and the light crackling of the fire in the hearth behind them. He fought the rage quietly, yet if she listened closely, she might just be able to hear the wrath boil within him. ‘He is afraid.’That was clear to her now, and as strange as it was jarring. All of the confidence he had built within himself to impress her had just as easily faded with the wind.

‘But then again, so am I.’ She was terrified, and could not say whether the fear derived from him or what she had seen in her mind. If Lady Irma heard she had crushed such glorious night for the future King, she would cut her wages and food for the week, all whilst the girls laughed about their sister’s imaginary misfortune.

“I cannot vouch for anything, your Grace,” Yasmin said. “What I saw here... What I felt here, it has never happened to me before,” but it had been far from a moment of weakness and fatigue, she knew that now. “But if anything, I do know what I saw, and it was you whose temple was stained by crimson blood. I did not know your father closely, but something told me, fervently, that it was you.”

There was no question regarding that one detail. Whether the vision had been nothing but a daydream or a genuine warning, she was not able to tell, and even if she was, a part of her did not wish for him to know anything more than he already did. In that very second, she wished for something to appear between the two of them, to block her sight and his, and perchance a heavy blow if her words were not to his liking.

For the time being, she decided it would be better if she gave him space. With that, she lifted herself from her seat near him and paced to the other side of the room with stifled steps. Even farther away from him, she could feel him burning, as ardent as flames themselves, and all she wished for was to make it all disappear. To make herself vanish from his sight. But that would be to no avail, for she knew a man like him would never forget an ill-fated augury.

‘I should have lied,’ she thought to herself. ‘I should have told him I saw him in battle, with a crown of victory upon his head.’ At least that might not have lured the fear out of him, but kindled his curiosity. She was a good liar - not as good as Gina, with her green pools able to convince a lion that she was not food - but better than most. It did help that she had taken a liking to the man whose mind she had just muddled.

Yasmin closed her eyes tightly as the man demanded to know more. “I have told you everything I saw,” she said to him, her voice now louder than before, but lacking its past steadiness. “There is nothing more to say... Forget it, your Grace. I am a harlot, not a Seer. I might as well have spoken nonsense.” As she opened her eyes, she noticed she was trembling, and made an effort to stop herself for a few moments as she paced towards the door.

“If you still wish for me to spend the night with you, then I will... But otherwise, I will not disturb you any longer, your Grace.” She could do naught but wait for his command; it would not take too much fighting to slip back into her character once again; after all, it was what she had been training for, for a good portion of her life. Visions were only part of the game she played with those in need of something more inciting; at the very core, she was nothing to the Prince but a poor, talented actress.

 

[insteadofthis]

As Yasmin flinched at his words, Silas almost rolled his eyes. He simply took a deep breath, and tried to stifle his rage if only for his own sake. Silas had to think about what she saw. The true nature of divination was not familiar to him. He needed to know the details. How much of the vision was meant to be taken literally? He was sure that she was telling the truth. She was far too different than the role she had been playing earlier. But still, he felt like he was missing too much. He wanted, desperately, to know every tiny detail of what she had seen.

Silas wanted more desperately to hear that it was his father that she saw on the throne, dead and bleeding. But she had described it in a way that seemed so vivid to her, and he was not confident that he was so close to his father's likeness that she could be mistaken in such a way. That must mean that there was someone, out there, plotting against him, waiting to kill him.

And what of his father? There had been many rumors floating about his death, but it had all been so unclear as to Silas. The days surrounding his father's death were all so blurry and incoherent to him.

He listened to her recall the vision again, feeling his heart skip a beat again when she admitted that she saw his face stained with crimson blood. Crimson? Silas wrinkled his nose a bit in thought. "That doesn't make sense," he protested, more to himself than to her. Was she lying about the blood? Was she trying to convince him of that so that he would not be angry with her? She must have heard rumors that people who knew too much about the royal family were silenced, and wanted to protect herself. Silas didn't know whether to trust her.

There had been a few that had learned the royal family's secret before. It was impossible to keep the secret perfectly. The rumors were true, all of them had been murdered. Silas had always been privy to it, it had just been a fact of life to him. But he knew the consequences of silencing these victims, for that was even more fodder to the rumors. There was a whole brothel of women that would know Yasmin had slept with the king, and if she did not come back, people would talk. That would be truly damaging to his image as the new King, and on the night before his coronation, no less. Silas had to weigh out his options carefully.

The girl did seem truly afraid of him when he demanded to know more. It made him almost feel ashamed of himself, the way she closed her eyes and trembled. He was too caught up in the moment to really regret scaring her, too much wanting to know more. When she denied knowing any more, brushing it off as nonsense, he shook his head. "You know what you saw," he said firmly.

Silas knew that they could not go back to their evening of entertainment, although he was almost amused that she thought either of her two suggestions were possible. He watched her as she crept towards the door, and he sighed. "You cannot go," he said reluctantly. That much, he knew. Silas did not know what to do with her. He paused, biting the inside of his cheek.

"We have to try again," Silas decided. It did not matter what she saw. He must use her talents, no matter what wicked or shameful things she witnessed. He stood up, hesitantly walking towards her. Perhaps Seers were more prone to using their magic in the presence of demons. Perhaps it was just their magic, intertwined. But if it was touch that set this all into motion, then maybe she could see something again, something that would help him to get the upper hand. Silas could change his future. He was sure of it, even if those feelings were naive.

Silas reached for her hand with one of his, the other hand reaching for her face, trying to recreate somewhat of what had been happening before she had had her vision. "Try very hard," he instructed her. "You can see something again. Maybe you can control it. Look closely. Do whatever you can." Silas was trying to convince both of them, but he knew that they must try.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was clear that the former would never be an option. As she gazed at him, Yasmin knew that Silas was more lustful for her gift than her body. He had thought of her as pretty, nonetheless, but it was no wonder that he had seen women far more beautiful than she was. If he so much as raised his finger, he could have any piece of flesh at his disposal to knead through the night.

When his refusal to let her leave was voiced, Yasmin felt her heart sink. She could not hear anything from behind the doors, not even the guards rustling and moving about the corridor, and she longed for that silence more than anything. She could still feel her head spinning, but forced herself to remain steady on her feet, if only to avoid seeming like a frail feather before the King.

“I have told you everything,” she repeated, not yet daring to look at him. “I cannot...” The moment of dissociation had rendered more her weak in the knees than his lingering touches trailing on her body. Yet the man did not seem to accept denial, and he rose from his seat to approach her once again, just as carefully as he had slipped from his touch in her attempt to soothe him only moments before.

As his hands came to take her own and touched her skin, Yasmin found the strength to look him in the eye again, and felt a cold wave shiver down her spine. With her own free hand, she gently pressed her palm to his cheek and drew closer, soft breaths leaving her nose and lips. Trying again was the last thing that she wished to do, but what would become of her if she dared refuse the King? She feared him, as much as he feared her words. There was little she could do to save herself, and even less that she was willing to risk for the sake of it.

With one last glance, she closed her eyes once again, the memory of the vision playing in her head. Shortly, she felt herself weak on her feet yet again, as though her soles were no longer touching the ground, and the face of the Prince replaced the image of darkness behind her trembling lids.

She saw him yet again, but this once, no longer donning the crown upon his head. Instead, she saw a pair of hands, pale and wrinkled, clutching the jewel as they slowly brought it towards the dark bush of hair. Her sight jarred for the fraction of a second, and in the next moment, the gruesome sight of crimson reappeared before her, dripping from beneath the clean, glimmering gold.

Her sight jarred once again, and as she opened her eyes, she saw not the Prince before her, not the room filled with sumptuous furniture, but an amalgam of warm light and hues that staggered her. She felt something pulling at her hair, but fought the inertia and allowed herself to fall forward, her knees buckling and bending beneath her weight. She could not hear her breathing, nor the slow beat of her heart, but only a sharp ringing in her ears that seemed to reverberate through her eyes.

She had seen it again, she knew, and this once was not fear that took over, but a mixture of pain and daze that dragged her lower and lower to kiss the ground. “No more,” she whispered, and briefly wondered if she had voiced it, or only thought it in her mind. “No more...” Her voice - or the voice within her head - was as weak as she felt, but strangely vivid, as if a pair of lips had spoken it in her own ears.

Yasmin was unsure if she was on the ground or still standing. She felt something hard pressed against her side, which meant that, at least, she was not still falling. Her only certainty was that Prince Silas was still near her, and was likely waiting for her to speak. But how could she speak, when her voice is only in her mind?

“I saw a pair of hands...” She tried again, this once the voice felt louder, vibrating within her chest. “They held the crown, and placed it on your head... Then again... Again, the crimson... All over again.” It had been the same, but the image had seemed more vivid than reality. It was only her body that had felt odd, as if it had not been meant to be a part of the scene. As if time itself was pushing her back into reality.

Every piece of her felt weak, as she made the attempt to push herself away from the surface pressed to her. Colours slowly began to fuse together into shapes forming the Prince’s apartment. She knew she could not take it one more time, just as she knew he would force her to do it again.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas could only hope that she could recreate the moment, see something-- anything. Anything would help, he felt. He knew magic had consequences, but he felt that his consequences would be more dire if he did not explore further. There were just too many questions. He felt more lost than ever. What would his father have done in a situation like this? What could anyone do, in his shoes? He felt sick, but he only wanted more.

"You can," said Silas defiantly. "You can see more." Silas watched her expectantly as they touched, trying to discern if she had felt the same thing as before. He came so close that they could feel each other's breath, and to his delight, she seemed to lurch into her next vision. He reached to grab her more tightly, watching intently, and with amazement. The moments seemed to spread into hours, and he felt great hope that she had seen something that would truly shed more light upon the situation.

He released her, watching as she fell to her knees and got a hold of herself. Silas looked down at her, frowning. He was impatient to hear what she had seen, and as she begged for no more, he felt disappointed. If this night was the first time she had ever used her magic, then it surely would not be strong, and there was no telling what else the magic would do to her. She seemed so feeble already.

Against his better judgement, Silas knelt down on the floor so that he could better help her up. "Here, come, lay on the bed," he said. There was little more he could do to help her, and he wanted her to regain some strength. "Tell me what you saw, Yasmin." There had to be more, something concrete, something that would actually help answer his questions instead of just leaving him with more.

When she described what she saw, Silas furrowed his brow in frustration. "That's it?" he asked indignantly. That was not much more than she had seen before. "That does not help me." He thought about the crown, about the hands, struggling to come to terms with it all. Silas was for sure that it had something to do with the coronation ceremony, but as to how literally her vision was to be interpreted, he did not know. He groaned in anger, wishing that he had her gifts instead of his own.

And she still saw red blood. "You are being honest about every single detail?" he demanded, his tone accusatory. "If this is a matter of my life, you must tell me the truth. Everything. I will not be angry," he lied. She seemed too distracted to come up with lies about what she had seen, but he wanted to be sure. For a moment, Silas was tempted to cut his own flesh, just to confirm for himself that he would see the same thing he had always seen, as though the Seer had done some magic that would change his fate. But he knew that was foolish. All he must think of was the plot against him.

"We must try again," Silas insisted, although he already knew that she would beg to not to. "Magic can be controlled. We will wait a few moments, and we will do it again." Silas was not a very patient man, but he decided to allow her a minute to recover. Maybe then, she could control herself better. It was all Silas had to hope for.

Silas looked down at her, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He was struggling to come up with a plan based upon what he had just heard. Silas sighed. "And you have no history of magic?" he asked her. "Try to think back into your past. Tell me anything you could possibly know."

 

[peritwinkle]

Yasmin did not acknowledge the movement as she was gently dragged over to the bed. She only felt the soft cushion beneath her, and she allowed herself to fall on her back, her breath slowly returing to normal rates. The canopy danced lightly in the breeze caused by their shifting, almost glimmering in the candlelight like a veil of rain in the sky. The room felt surreal for a few long moments, before slowly starting to regain its vividness.

Prince Silas’s voice rung like a strange humming in her ear. She did hear him, but his words only became decipherable once she processed them for a while. She could read anger in his tone, irritation and impatience. He almost did not sound like the mesmerizing Prince she had managed to entrance earlier that evening, but rather a commander giving orders to his humble servants.

As her vision cleared, the sight of him only made her blood boil. Yasmin slowly urged herself to sit up, locks of hair already having slipped out of the intricate braid Gina had given her. She must have looked like a madwoman to him, or perhaps a thoroughly pleasured harlot after a long night. The latter would be quite the opposite of what they had truly been doing.

“You are so full of selfishness,” she muttered weakly. In that second, fear was replaced by a sudden gush of courage and anger. “You did not know my pain... Therefore it is null to you.” The illusion of care and encouragement he had breathed into her now tasted bitter. Trust came through words, through touch, and he had so easily lured her into his selfish game, never bothered by her suffering. Frankly, it had not come as a surprise to her. She expected a blow to her cheek or gut. A man of noble blood would not bother to look down as a common whore pined at his soles.

It only made her sick in the stomach; had she had the strength and gut, she would have bit her tongue and ran through the closest opening. But she did not, and instead, she was but a feeble being trembling before him like a child. Yasmin felt pathetic, but did not know how to wash it all away and regain her poise. That night had been too much of everything but what she had expected, and she did not wish to have anything to do with it again.

“I have no reason to lie to you,” she quietly explained. “I have told you all I saw... Make what you will of it.”

So close to the edge, she felt like she might fall on the floor at any given moment. Gripping the sheets, she forced her back straighter and steadier, although almost to no avail. “I have never felt this before,” she continued. “I have never felt anything like this before... I could only imagine. My mother... she only told me such tales. They were eerie... not easy to believe, so I never truly did.” Lifting her eyes towards him, she fixated her glare on his darkened form. “Until I touched you.”

It made her wonder briefly if it had been him giving her such visions, and not her own mind. If it was him that the Gods - or whatever deity - had graced with such a gift, with herself as the pawn of the pain and suffering of it all. Perhaps the rumours were true - the blood of House Dagen was stained, and not by a holy touch. Alyssa’s warnings from that morning no longer came as difficult to believe.

“I have to go,” she concluded, breathing heavily as she fought to rise up again. “I need to go.” The way to the door only took a few steps, but felt almost impossibly far away in that moment. It did not help that she knew he would not easily move from between them, but could only hope that he would let her go, for her sake. “Your Lord can have his gold back... I do not need it. It has gone to waste.” Her true talents had not been of use that night, and she was certain that Lord Dinadan would soon be made aware of such. Lady Irma would not be pleased, but Yasmin had no intention of explaining what had unfolded in the Prince’s room that night.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas was restless and desperate to hear what she had envisioned, and each moment she took to recover, he became angrier with her. Surely she understood the urgency of the situation, that she needed to stay alert for him. For a brief moment, he considered calling upon a servant to bring her some water, but he decided that it was best they stay in the room. He did not want anyone near her, not for the time being.

When Yasmin called him selfish, Silas's expression darkened. "You are a fool to say such things to me," he said indignantly. "You have seen a vision of me dead, and you say I am full of selfishness?" Hardly anyone had ever spoken to him in such a way before, no matter how mean or selfish he had acted. Silas did have half the mind to strike her, but he resisted. She would come to her senses, and then maybe she could be encouraged to attempt another vision. It would take a great deal to convince her, but Silas did not know what to do.

Silas still did not suspect her of lying. He wanted to believe she was lying, if only to be able to direct his anger at her, but she seemed incapable of coming up with such lies. But he did find it hard to believe that that was all she saw. "You didn't see anyone else besides me?" he continued to badger her, despite knowing that she was annoyed with him. "You did not see who the hands belonged to? I was dead?"

As she spoke more, her fierce and hateful glare made him uncomfortable. Silas fidgeted, looking away from her. They both seemed to suspect that they were connected in this magical vision. "I see," he said quietly. Silas tried still to think of some outside solution, something to ease his troubles. He recounted the information she had given him over and over in his head, never seeming to get any closer to an answer.

As the girl said she needed to go, Silas frowned. "You cannot go," he said to her, more firmly this time. He put a forceful hand on her shoulder, looking at her quite seriously. "I already told you you cannot go." She was too important, now. Silas did not want to kill her, but he wanted to force her into another vision somehow, no matter what it cost her and no matter how much it hurt her.

But Silas suspected that might not be the best thing to tell her. "If you can help me," he said, in a calculating voice, "I will give you gold. Enough gold to truly change your fate. More gold than you have ever seen before." If he could tempt her with wealth, maybe he could make her try again of her own free will. That would make things much easier.

More confident in his attempts to manipulate her, to change her mind, he continued. "Please," he said, his tone changing again. The word felt strange upon his mouth; he sometimes used it out of formality, but never out of necessity, as he did now. "Please, Yasmin, you must see more. My fate is by extension the fate of the entire kingdom, my entire family. If you can help me, you will be rewarded handsomely for your... heroic deed."

 

[peritwinkle]

Despair. It was what rung in the Prince’s voice and what echoed in Yasmin’s mind as she listened to him beg. She had almost entirely returned to her senses now, and each word that left his mouth immediately panged her as strong as a needle through her stomach. He clung so tightly to the concept of his endangered life that it almost seemed pathetic, but she was not heartless. She could not blame him for wanting to live.

Deep within her, she knew she would not find the strength to do it again. She was weak, inside and outside; one more try, and she might as well not wake up from her trance. And even if the Gods blessed her with more strength, she would not do it out of spite. He thought highly of himself, when truly, all of them were but pawns, nothing but brushstrokes in the bigger picture, almost unnoticeable if faded from the canvas.

At the mention of gold, Yasmin felt her heart clench, but her poise remained intact. “I do not want your gold,” she almost growled back at him. She did not want the life that she had either, but gold would not persuade Lady Irma to drop such an important asset from her collection. “I do not want your gifts, your Grace. I want your mercy.”

More urgently, she wanted to leave. That room already felt tighter, like a dungeon cell holding her captive. Even if she dared to simply shoot through the door, one call from the Prince and his guards would bring her back in by the hair, and it was not more suffering that she was looking after, or making her situation even more difficult than it already was. There was no use in begging, it seemed; it had been a futile attempt, and all that was left for her to do was to accept her imprisonment.

Her brows furrowed as he spoke, almost entirely shadowing her eyes, irked. They were no longer blue, but mere darkness, and her hair seemed to be afire in the flames dancing behind her by either sides of the bed. ‘Please.’ It sounded like a foreign word coming from his mouth. She could tell he did not speak it often, but she knew that he meant it. He was indeed desperate, but she had given him everything she could have.

Had it not been for the context, the heavy hand on her shoulder could have been comforting. She could feel his soft breath on her own lips, and almost see the flames in his eyes as he begged. Yasmin hesitated, before slipping out of his grip and crawling to the other side of the bed. The quick movement caused her to lose her balance momentarily, before she stabilised herself back on her feet.

“If I cannot go, then I will simply stay to watch you fret, for I have already told you I can give you nothing more.” The distance between the two of them gave her a new confidence that was not part of her previous act. Something told her that he would not strike her, be it mindless hope, or the softness beneath his shell that had earned a please out of his mouth. “If you want a whore to only mess your sheets for the night, that is,” she added with a touch of spite.

Her eyes lowered then, as she silently listened to her heart. She felt herself soften, as she gripped onto the sheets, searching for a momentary sensation of strength. “I have never done this before, and I do not want to do it again,” she murmured, her back turned to him. She was glad that he could not see her face then, although her voice had likely given it away. “You do not understand what it feels like. You never might.”

It was something beyond pain. Something cold and warm at the same time, boiling and freezing her insides as thousands of claws pulled at her limbs and dragged her fervently. For certain, beyond the likeness of a nightmare which one could easily endure, and she had no will to return to that place again, be it for the endangered Prince of Ehren.

 

[insteadofthis]

Of course, Prince Silas was not used to such begging. And to be begging a harlot, no less, was extremely disturbing. He comforted himself knowing that perhaps no one would ever know except her. If he were to die, Silas was determined to take everyone with him that he could; including her just out of spite. His fear was growing more primal by the moment. He hated to beg, but he needed her.

He stared at her, mouth agape when she told him she did not want his gold. Silas wondered if she truly just hated him, to deny such an offer. "It is more than just gold," he said. "It is your identity, your dignity. You would never have to return to your brothel ever again." Truthfully, he had little idea of how commoners' lives worked. He thought, to them, that money would be all they could ever want, so how could Yasmin deny such a generous offer? Nobody had ever refused him so bluntly before.

When she said that she wanted his mercy, he stared at her in disbelief. "My mercy?" he asked incredulously. "I will not hurt you." She was foolish, but she knew that she had power over him. Silas knew she would demand next to leave, but perhaps she would know better than to ask such a thing. "My offer was an offer of mercy as it was," he said bitterly. "And a very generous one."

As Yasmin moved away from him, Silas crept towards her persistently. "Lay with me," he suggested, although to him it was more of an order to her. "Take some time to rebuild your strength. You need to calm down. Tell me how you did it. Did it happen when we touched?" There had to be some way to convince her to help him, he just had to figure out the right words to say.

Although she continued to say that she could give him nothing more, he did not believe her. Silas decided that he would not verbally protest to that statement, in spite of his great annoyance. When she said that he didn't understand what it felt like, he scoffed. "I understand how it feels," he said to her, in an attempt to show some sympathy. "I know it is... unfamiliar to you. I know that it is jarring, but with practice, that can change. The Gods gave you these talents for a reason."

Silas was growing quite impatient with her. They were running out of time, and surely she knew that. He wanted to shout at her that she was the one who was cruel, and selfish, but he had the sneaking feeling that that would not help her opinion of him. Silas walked to the window, covering his mouth as he again became lost in thought. He leaned against the window, fighting against all the horrible emotions that he was feeling.

"You have to try to understand," said Silas, even though she tried to get him to back off. "There must be something..."

 

[peritwinkle]

The night was no longer young, yet Yasmin had lost all of her needs to rest. As soft and warm as the canopy bed had looked when she had stepped into the Prince’s apartments, it was no longer inviting her to get lost beneath its sheets. She longed for the comfort of her own mattress, in her own home. For the reassuring feeling that nothing and nobody could hurt her anymore.

“Lady Irma would never let me leave,” she explained, although it felt like it was for nothing. “Your gold offers me no solace.” She did not care for new gowns or jewels. Deep within her heart, she simply wanted a life of her own, without having to depend on another to live by the day.

Right then, she merely wanted to be left alone - was it too much to ask?

As she felt him draw closer to her, Yasmin jolted up from her seat on the edge of the bed, keeping her arms clasped around her middle. “Can you not understand?” she shouted at him. “I have given you everything. I have given you both my pain and suffering, and yet you are demanding more and more, as if I could just fashion the entirety of the Gods’ plan before you.” She was growing utterly sick of his begging, and just as sick of explaining it to him. “Even if I were to try... Even if I wanted to try, I can’t.”

She knew it. It was clear to her, deep within her, and frankly, there was no will left within her to try. Not for anyone, but particularly not for him. The second time around, she had not given him much more than the initial vision; such details did not matter, she thought. It was only an excuse for her to suffer whilst pretending she cared enough to ache for him, when she doubted he would ever make such effort for his people.

Bitterness filled her mouth as he mentioned knowing how she felt. “What do you know of it? What would a man like you know of pain, when you would crawl pining for your guards if a commoner dared to as much as scratch you?” She was being crude, but no longer cared for it. He ought to hear the truth from someone, although she knew he would not put it to heart. He did not care as much as to do that.

Eventually, he drew away from her and paced towards the window, seemingly quiet, yet momentarily. In that moment of silence, Yasmin managed a half-relieved breath through her nose and hushed the candles burning on her side of the bed with a quick blow. Then, she let herself fall back, almost defiantly slipping beneath the covers, her fingers keeping the light pink veil tightened around her form.

It was a pathetic scene: she wore almost nothing but for a thin piece of dyed material that barely hid anything from one’s view, whilst the Prince was inebriated and boiling with anger somewhere in the close distance. And she could not help but regret the moment she had told him the truth, or that in which she had agreed to give the visions a second chance.

“I will lay here until you wish for me to leave,” she stated, her voice soft, muffled against the pillow beneath her head. “Or until your mind becomes clear again.” She doubted her looks were of his interest any longer, although she could at least hope for the better evil out of the two. After all, he was a handsome man. It was the bile within his heart that broke his character.

‘You would not hurt me,’ she thought then, thinking of Silas. ‘You promised you would not.’ And she doubted he would be as headstrong as to let her sleep in his room for the entirety of the night. He had to be smarter than that, for only the Gods know what new strengths they would give her once the man fell into slumber, defensless.

“And for your reassurance,” she thought to add then, “I did see blood... But never death,” and closed her eyes, hoping to convincingly fall asleep.

 

[insteadofthis]

As Yasmin continued to protest, Silas frowned at her. "Your Lady will be disappointed, then," he said flatly. "You are no longer under her orders." She didn't seem to understand. He knew that commoners were often detrimentally uneducated, and he remembered now why he was so reluctant to talk to them. They were always difficult and they never seemed to know what they were talking about.

She continued to refuse him, and while Silas wanted to refuse to back down, he was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she was right. Magic was not so simple as to try again and again until they got what they wanted. Even if she could produce another vision, there was no telling whether it would be helpful. Her second vision had barely been different from the first.

Silas stared in disbelief as she shouted at him. "Be quiet," he said. "You have no right to speak to me that way." She acted as though she had done him a great kindness, as though she had suffered purely out of the goodness of her heart for him. Perhaps that was not far from the truth, but Silas didn't think of it that way. He thought of her as selfish, just a whiny commoner that didn't understand such important matters. He wanted to keep his promise, but she kept testing his temper. The only thing keeping the promise was the idea that he might need her in the future.

But as she began to insult him, to say that he did not know pain, Silas was for a moment struck speechless. He flushed as he regained his voice. "You are wrong," said the Prince, fuming. "You meet me here tonight and think you know my whole life? I have felt the pains of magic. I do understand how it feels." He paused to take a deep breath. "You are trying my patience."

Silas wanted to get away from her to cool off. When he heard her snuff the candles, he glanced back over in indignant surprise, watching as she went so far as to make herself comfortable under the covers. "I don't understand you," he grumbled under his breath. How could she be so unsympathetic to him? Not long before, she had seemed so frightened, so genuinely upset by what she had seen. Now, she seemed hateful.

Yasmin was right in thinking that he didn't care anymore for her looks, or for what their previous plans had been. Silas looked away from her, continuing to pace as he became lost in thought once again. He knew that it would be a sleepless night for him, so he did not yet send her away. He would have to find accommodations for her, whilst keeping her presence somewhat of a secret, which would be difficult. The palace was full of guests that would be attending the ceremony. He did not trust her to be by herself in the palace, of course, which made things even harder.

The harlot's quiet voice brought him out of his trance again, but he did not look at her, taking a moment to sulk instead. At least this time, her words were reassuring. She had not had a vision of him dead... yet. Simply bleeding crimson on his crown. Still, it was a dark warning come from the Gods and it would be unwise for him to ignore it. "Perhaps it wasn't my blood," he muttered, mostly to himself. That would be an almost impossible mistake for her to make, and even he did not even believe it, but Silas struggled to think clearly.

After a while, Silas turned around and saw her with her eyes closed. He sighed. "We will make somewhere for you to stay until after the ceremony," he told her, figuring she was not yet asleep. "Perhaps you can stay in the temple..." Silas decided that would be comfortable for her. The spare rooms in the temple would be mostly unfurnished, to make it a bit easier to trust her.

 

[peritwinkle]

Yasmin did not flinch beneath the sheets, but felt her breath tremble in her chest as a tear rolled over her nose and dripped onto the satin pillow. That evening had been an endless chain of waves of emotion, staggering her and hurling the heart inside her chest. She had felt fear, lust, terror and confidence, yet in that moment, everything within her mind seemed to melt into one potent sensation of boiling, as if her own brain were cooking her as she stood still.

She feared him. It was finally understood then, as she contemplated in the silence of the night. It was what had driven her from kneeling before him to spitting on his name. The sudden gush of adrenaline had rendered her brave enough to fight a statue, and she had been idiotic enough to expect for it to fight back. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if he had,’ she thought then. He was being as kind as he was cruel, and it baffled her.

At his words of magic and eerie aches, Yasmin felt her stomach sink into the ground. She thought of Alyssa, of the look of doubt in her eyes as she had discredited her beliefs. After what she had seen that night, after what she had felt, it did not come as difficult to believe in magic. Pulling herself out from beneath the sheets, Yasmin hopped back on her feet and turned towards his shadowed figure, only barely kissed by the light of the moon glistening through the window.

“It is true then,” she murmured. “What my mother said... what the people say about you.” Many words had reached her ears, yet she had never bothered to listen to them. They were but songs with strange tunes, never something that had peaked her interest, for she knew, or had known, that such things were mere tales to frighten the children. “It is true that, when I touched you, I felt it all because of what you are.” Not who he was, for it had not been his honorary titles inspiring her visions, but his nature.

A sigh left her lips as she lowered her eyes and tightened her grip around her middle. “I will not ask to know more,” she whispered as her dampened gaze returned to him. There was softness in it then, one not akin to anything that had stained it that night. She had looked him in the eye with passion, but never empathy. “I have already seen enough of you to have me executed.”

Most of all, she had seen him at his weakest, begging for an answer to soothe his fears, driven into madness by a common whore. Only one candle was still burning, and it amplified the scarlet in her hair. ‘They burn the witches far North,’ she remembered suddenly, and felt a shiver run down her spine. Fire was the most gruesome way to go - even the soul choked with the black fumes and pang of dying flesh.

A pang of guilt struck her, and it burnt just like flames in her heart - not for refusing to obey, but for showing him the bitterness that had built up within her through the years spent at Lady Irma’s brothel. The promise of freedom had peaked her interest, but she had forced herself not to nurture her hope until she saw it done. “I suppose we have both seen eachother’s darker sides,” she murmured. “One more than the other...” and she could not decide which was which.

There were still questions lurking in her mind regarding him. Questions that she had never truly asked herself until then, but did not have the courage to voice before him. If his secrets were to be taken to his grave, then she would surely follow him beneath the ground; there was no use for an already dead woman to have hef curiosities quenched.

Yasmin’s brows then curled into a frown. “Until after the ceremony?” She did not understand. “Why do I have to be a prisoner until your coronation? I am but a messenger, not one who can fight your wars.” If there was an attempt made at his life, then there was little she could do prevent her vision from fleshing out. “I do not need to rest. I doubt I ever will again after what I have seen,” or at the very least, until the intrigue came to a conclusion, be it in the Prince’s favour or his enemy’s.

 

[insteadofthis]

Silas flinched when she stood up from beneath the blankets, realizing only then that he had said something wrong. He took a step back, listening to her put the pieces together, and he shook his head. "No," he said, raising his voice, then lowering it again. "No, it is not true. Those aren't my words. I merely know the detriment that magic can cause." Perhaps it was too late to convince her. "They only talk of dark magic because they do not understand. Commoners always spread rumors."

When she came to the conclusion that she had had the vision because of what he was, Silas glared. "Don't say such things," he said fiercely. "You insult me with such accusations. Strange things have happened tonight, yes, but you are becoming confused." She seemed surprisingly calm, so maybe she did not truly believe it. She was just upset by everything that had happened to her since entering his bedroom. He knew it was petty to be concerned with what she thought about him, especially at a time like this, but he could not help it.

Silas was quiet for a moment, befuddled by her gentler gaze. He was sure she was just afraid, for she had come to the conclusion that she could be executed. Silas had mixed feelings-- part of him resented her, but he had a blind hope that she could still help him in some way. "You've come a long way from calling me selfish," he remarked with some measure of bitterness.

As she said that they had witnessed each other's dark sides, he knew it was true. Silas had not meant to become so comfortable and personable with her. He had gone from begging, to demanding, and felt such a strong conglomeration of emotions... It was closer than he had gotten to most people, even after years of knowing them. "I fear it will only get worse," said Silas gravely, "when your vision comes to life."

Silas did not know what she thought of him now, or whether he could trust her. She did not seem as resentful as she had mere moments ago. But if she truly did believe that he was a monster, then there would be no building trust. She could be just as harmful to him as the betrayer she had seen in her visions. He knew that his father would have wanted her executed long before she had even suspected the truth. Still, there was something that kept him from thinking that was an option.

As she questioned why she needed to be kept into after the ceremony, Silas sighed. "I do not mean to keep you as a prisoner," he said. There was no other way to describe it, but prisoner sounded like such an ugly term. He did not want to sound cruel or unreasonable. "You will be comfortable and well fed." Perhaps she could not help him now, but it was too risky to let her get away, or speak to anyone.

"After what has happened tonight, you must stay," said Silas. "Something will surely happen during the ceremony." Silas knew she could not help him in that regard. So what was he to do? He could increase the number of guards on his person during the ceremony... perhaps forever. But that would not make him impervious to harm. Again, he thought back to what had happened to his father. His father's death had not been bloody, or violent.

Feeling unsteady, Silas collapsed into a cushioned chair and covered his face. "No, I don't think I will rest again, either..." he said. The thought of having to face the ceremony was now overwhelming to him. Just hours ago, he had been filled to the brim with a stressed, but excited energy. Now he lacked most of his confidence. "This is all madness."