The Autobiography of the Dark Prince

by Dan Wingreen

  * * * *

  "So you've lived in your father's fortress your whole life, then?" Elias asked as he scratched out notes in his small book, without taking his eyes off the Dark Prince. It was a skill he'd mastered back when he first started interviewing his repetitive offenders—it was much easier to tell when someone was lying when he was looking at their eyes and not a piece of paper—and it had been especially useful these past days.

  "Hmmm, yes. Although I'd like to think of it as our fortress, and not exclusively his," the Prince answered. "You grew up in a castle as well, didn't you?"

  "Yes," Elias said shortly. Then, before the Dark Prince could say anything further, he added, "So, am I to understand that the rule of Mournhelm is more of a joint venture between heir and king, instead of a more traditional monarchy?"

  The Dark Prince laughed. "Of course not! I said I'd like to think of it as ours, not that it was. I swear, Elias, the things you say are rarely anything less than fascinating." He brushed a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. "I'm particularly fond of how you seem to be under the impression that I'm Father's heir."

  His quill actually stopped for a moment as that registered. "Your father has other children?"

  "If he has then I doubt he knows about them," the Prince said dryly.

  "Then how are you not his heir?"

  "Elias," he said, amusement coloring his voice. "My father wears the Mournhelm. Among its many traits is a freeze on the aging process, as long as one doesn't take it off. He is effectively immortal. When, exactly, am I supposed to inherit?"

  "And you?" Elias asked. "Are you immortal as well?"

  The idea of the Dark Prince living forever was singularly disturbing.

  "Without the use of virgin's blood, you mean?" the Prince asked with a grin.

  "Highness…"

  The Prince laughed. "If I was, it would be a state secret and not something I could admit while I'm in enemy territory. Everyone would want me to use my magic to make them immortal, too."

  "Can you actually do that with your magic?"

  The Prince's answering smile was frustratingly vague.

  Elias frowned, but decided the Prince was most likely teasing him, and turned the conversation back to topics which might actually bear fruit. "The Dark King can never remove the helm? Not even when he sleeps?"

  The Prince shook his head. "Not if he wants to stay alive. He's already well over two hundred years old; he'd turn to dust in an instant."

  "That poor man," Elias said as he started writing again.

  "Oh, yes, he's poor because he has to keep a hat on all the time." The Prince made a face. "What about me? I'm a prince with no kingdom to inherit. At least he has subjects to order about when he can't sleep."

  Elias rolled his eyes. "There are millions of people in the world who go their entire lives without a kingdom to inherit, Highness. Some of them are even the sons of kings."

  Royalty…

  "Perhaps, but those sons have the option of killing their elder siblings. I, on the other hand, could slaughter a million hypothetical brothers and still be no closer to a throne." Despite his words, and the petulant tone, a small smile hovered about his lips. "Although, I suppose there are some things that are worth more than a crown."

  Elias raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask the Prince to elaborate, he continued. "And what of you, Elias? Is there anything you stand to inherit later in life?"

  Elias sighed even as he felt the familiar pang of grief, which time had never completely dulled. It was there and gone quickly though, as usual, and replaced with a somehow even more familiar flash of irritation. All night long, ever since they'd sat down in their customary chairs before the fire, the Dark Prince had been turning almost every single one of Elias's questions back on him. He'd ignored it at first, then started giving short answers when the Prince became insistent, but it was becoming very hard not to give in to temptation and throw something at him.

  "Highness, was I mistaken in the assumption that the reason I come here every night is to interview you for your biography?" he asked, pausing once again in his note taking.

  "Autobiography, but otherwise no, you're not mistaken at all."

  "Then why," Elias asked slowly, "do you keep asking me every question I ask you?"

  The Prince smiled. Apparently he wasn't even going to try to deny it. "I've come to realize I know very little about you. I'd like very much to change that."

  "I do not enjoy talking about myself," Elias said flatly.

  "I know that much at least, which is why I'm tricking you into it," he said, his smile stretching into a grin.

  A whole kaleidoscope of emotions flared up inside Elias, another experience which had become increasingly common as the night wore on, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Analyzing the reasons behind his feelings was, in fact, much harder than he'd anticipated. Especially when he couldn't identify half of them. The negative feelings were easy enough to recognize for the most part, but the positive ones, the warmth and the less disturbing tightening in his chest, were a complete mystery. He had no idea what it said about him that positive feelings were so rare as to be unidentifiable, but he wasn't sure he liked it.

  Normally, he would have just shut the Prince down and forced the conversation back on track in the hope that the Prince would let the subject drop, and in the end that was why he paused. He had been trying all night to figure out why the Prince affected him, and he was no closer than he was when he'd formed his grand plan earlier in the day. His feelings kept getting in the way, and he was starting to suspect it had something to do with the fact he was still stuck in his normal rut, for lack of a better word. Context was important in any research project, and if new facts couldn't be explained in the current context, then the context needed to be changed. Maybe it would be a good idea to do something he wouldn't normally do. Maybe he'd have better luck identifying his feelings if he came at them from a different direction.

  "All right," he said calmly. He closed his small notebook with a soft snap, then put it in one of the many pockets of his robe. It was quickly followed by the newly stoppered inkwell and capped quill. "Ask whatever you want."

  The look of absolute surprise on the Dark Prince's face was almost worth the discomfort which was sure to follow, even if Elias ended up with no new insights at all.

  "Really?"

  Elias raised an eyebrow. "Is that your first question?"

  The Prince laughed, one of those laughs, and, for once, Elias had little trouble sorting out his feelings. I like it because it makes him seem like a real person. Although why that's important to me is less than clear…

  "Elias, never stop surprising me. I find I enjoy it entirely too much."

  Not even a day ago, those words would have annoyed him, since surprising the Prince was one of the only ways left for him to feel in control of himself. Now, however, Elias found himself content with just getting him to act less like a spoiled noble and more…

  More like a friend?

  That thought had been coming to him more and more throughout the last few weeks, but he wasn't able to dismiss it as easily as he might have in the past. While it was true he had very little experience with friendship—his relationship with the Crown Prince was more tolerance born out of forced proximity than anything else—some of his more pleasant moments with the Dark Prince often mirrored the kinds of interactions he'd often seen between people who considered each other a friend. Did he truly wish to think of the Dark Prince that way?

  Regardless, it's been made clear he wants more than just friendship with me.

  That thought brought the confusing jumble of feelings roaring back, and he firmly pushed it away.

  "There doesn't seem to be a question in either of those sentences," he said, after a small hesitation.

  "Astute as always." The Prince sat back in his plush chair and rested an ankle on his knee. He was the very picture of idle nobility. "All right, then. What's your favorite color?"

&nb
sp; Elias blinked. He had been bracing himself for something incredibly prying which was designed to get some kind of reaction, not something Elias would ask on the rare occasion he was forced to interact with children.

  "That's your question?"

  "You did say anything," the Prince drawled. "Did I upset your expectations again?"

  Elias gave him a small smile. "Which one of those did you want me to answer first?"

  "I'll allow you to choose," he said airily as he gave his hand a lazy wave through the air.

  Elias snorted. "Yes, you did," he said. "And my favorite color is green."

  "Really?" A matching smile pulled at the Prince's lips. "I never see you wear it. I would have guessed red."

  Elias glanced down at the burnt red robes and burgundy tunic of his profession, then shrugged. "Scholar's robes don't exactly come in a wide variety of colors."

  The Prince frowned. "Surely you aren't saying you only own clothes related to your vocation?"

  "And why wouldn't I be saying that?"

  "Elias!" The Prince looked horrified. "How do you live? What about nightwear or casual clothes? Evening wear? Surely you must have at least one set of formal robes. Your best friend is a prince! You've had to have been dragged to at least one formal function in your life."

  Elias barely kept from laughing. I knew he was vain but who would have guessed he was this much of a peacock?

  "I have." He allowed, his distaste curling his lip for a moment. "But I refuse to dress up for a room full of nobles who will just sneer down their noses at me because I didn't spend two years' worth of wages on some ridiculously expensive imported silk, or some other nonsense."

  "So you wore your scholar's robes?" The Prince's tone was almost begging Elias to tell him he was wrong.

  "Of course."

  The Prince let out a pained groan. "Elias!"

  "What?" Elias asked, amusement coloring his words.

  The Prince gave him a look that was part pity and part determination. "You poor soul. I see now I'll have to take upon myself to ensure that you have a sufficient wardrobe."

  "What? No!" Elias's amusement vanished in an instant. "Absolutely not."

  But the Prince wasn't listening. "We need to start with a set of formal robes and tunics. Three sets should be enough, to start with at any rate. Green would be a good color for you, but how do you feel about blue? Or black, everyone looks good in black, and it's slimming, too. Not that you aren't slim enough already." He frowned slightly, tapping his finger against the leather armrest absently as he studied Elias. "I'll have to take your measurements, of course…"

  "No," Elias said firmly. This wasn't the first time he'd had to tell a prince that he wasn't allowed to shop for him, but it had been so long since the Crown Prince had dared broach the subject that he was somewhat out of practice. "Highness, I promise you any clothing you buy me will end up in the nearest fireplace."

  The Prince gasped, his leg falling off his knee as he sat up straight. "You wouldn't!"

  Elias crossed his arms. "Would you like to find out?"

  They stared at each other for the longest time as a silent, and rather ridiculous, battle of wills played out between them. In the end, it was the Dark Prince who gave in.

  "Fine!" He threw his hands up. "I suppose you'll just have to suffer your monochromatic wardrobe, then."

  "I'm sure I'll survive," Elias said dryly.

  The Prince just shook his head. "There are days, Elias, when I think that I'll never understand you."

  This time, Elias couldn't help laughing. "Just because I put more stock in things of actual import?"

  "He says, as if clothing isn't important," the Prince muttered, just loud enough for Elias to hear.

  The small smile had returned, though, so Elias doubted the Prince was truly as upset as he was pretending.

  Elias hoped, at least.

  "It really isn't, to me at least." He would allow that much.

  Who was he to dictate the priorities of royalty? Well, royalty of a kingdom I don't have to live in, anyway. The Crown Prince needed an entire cadre of advisers to keep his priorities on track.

  "And it's not like I have any particular dislike for red. If I did, I could have been a professor. They get to wear whatever they want."

  "I suppose I have to concede, then," the Prince said with an overly dramatic sigh, "For now."

  Elias rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. He could hear the fire crackling next to him in the sudden silence. He rather enjoyed the sound.

  "Why didn't you, though?" the Prince asked.

  Elias looked away from the fire. "Why didn't I what?"

  "Become a teacher."

  Elias actually shuddered. "I spent enough time in classrooms when I was a student. It was hard enough learning anything, sitting in the back of a room full of nobles whom the teacher wasn't allowed to properly discipline. I have no desire to repeat the experience at the front of the classroom."

  The Prince conceded the point with a small nod. "Yes, I could see that being the way of things here. It's a shame. I think you would make a wonderful teacher."

  Elias snorted again. "And what was it you were saying about not knowing me?"

  "Oh, I know you well enough for this," he said. "You've taught me several things since I've known you." His lips twitched. "Not the least of which was to properly identify who is sitting behind a desk before I demand anything of them."

  Once again Elias found himself unable to hold back his laughter. A fact which seemed to please the Prince to no end.

  "So how did you end up in a class filled with nobles, anyway?" he asked a moment later. "I can't imagine that's the norm."

  Elias looked away.

  There was no artifice in the Prince's voice, no knowing tone behind the seemingly innocent question. He asked it as if it was no more important than asking what Elias's favorite color was. Apparently, it never came up in the "litany" of stories he'd heard about Elias. Somehow, the Prince really didn't know. And it wasn't as if Elias hadn't known it would come up at some point. In fact, when he'd agreed to answer the Prince's questions, he thought it would have been one of the first things he was asked. None of that helped, however, and he could feel the raw, emotional wound, which had never quite healed properly, flare to life as it was unknowingly prodded.

  To say he didn't enjoy talking about it would be an understatement. One of the few positives of the castles penchant for gossip-mongering in general, and people's seemingly intrinsic need over the years to gossip about him in particular, was he never had to, anymore. Everyone already knew, and nobody particularly cared enough about harassing him anymore to bring it up. Even Dunbar wasn't crude enough to make light of Elias's childhood misfortunes.

  Childhood misfortunes… What an elegant way to avoid even thinking about it…

  And since he didn't even want to think about it, it should go without saying he most definitely didn't want to talk about it. Especially not with—or was it even with, now?—a Dark Prince with whom it was becoming easier to see himself developing a friendship. Normally, he would never consider it, and, once again, that was why he decided to do it.

  After all, few were the lengths to which Elias wouldn't go for research.

  "My parents died," he said simply.

  It hurt to say, of course, and part of him hoped that would be enough of a response, even though he knew it never was. The Dark Prince shifted in his chair, but Elias was pointedly not looking at him so he couldn't tell if it was because he was uncomfortable with Elias's answer, or because he didn't want to be lounging like a desert Sultan in a harem while they had this conversation.

  "Oh," the Prince said quietly. There was a long silence after that, the air between them filling with a strained quiet, which seemed to press against Elias's skin.

  "I'm so sorry, Elias," he said finally. "I know how inadequate that is, but I find myself at a loss for anything meaningful to say."

  Elias almost smiled slightly at that. Almost. The
Prince sounded genuinely distressed that he couldn't say anything more, which was a hundred times better than people he'd never met telling him that he'd be all right, or that his parents would have been happy with the way things turned out in the end.

  "If…if you don't mind me asking, what happened?" the Prince asked gently.

  Elias closed his eyes for a moment. He did mind. He minded very much. And yet, he found himself speaking.

  "I was…" He cleared his throat. "I was nine when it happened. My father was a stonemason, one of the many contracted by the crown to work exclusively on the castle and its various outbuildings and such. A very prestigious position for a stonemason, or so I'm told. Yet he never seemed to be particularly proud of his work. That's not to say he didn't enjoy it…but he never put on any airs, the way some did. Even then, it was easy to spot the pretense of those who thought they were more important than they actually were." This time, a brief smile did pass across his lips. "We used to make fun of them around the dinner table, actually. Especially Gregor, one of my father's colleagues who acted like a duke around the other masons, and yet could immediately turn into the most obsequious servant when in the presence of actual nobility. Father's impression of him often had me spewing my drink across the room through my nose, much to my mother's disgust."

  "I find that impossible to imagine." The Prince sounded fond, yet hesitant. As if he was unsure if his comments would be welcome. To his surprise, Elias found that they were.

  "You wouldn't be alone. Even as a child, I was rather taciturn."

  "Now that doesn't surprise me."

  "It was different with my family, though. Other children were a mystery, which I never felt the need to solve. My parents, however, were completely devoted to me, and to each other. I never felt the need for other companionship. Sometimes I think that, if they hadn't died, it might have become a problem in later years…"

  Elias swallowed heavily. It went without saying he would have much rather dealt with any fear of independence issues if it meant his parents would still be alive.