by Dan Wingreen
Dunbar.
"I know him," Elias said.
The duke grinned. "Good. My son likes to spend his nights whoring about the slums with his diseased little friends. His rooms will be empty then. I'd suggest—" The duke erupted into another fit of coughing. "Dammit! Plant your evidence when he leaves."
But Elias was barely listening. He made his farewells to the duke, not caring if he bothered to keep up the pretense of actually going along with their plan. When he left the duke's chambers, he chose a direction at random, knowing the Dark Prince would catch up to him quickly. He wasn't wrong.
"So, we know who stole the letter, then?" the Prince asked.
Elias nodded. "Dunbar."
The Prince's eyes narrowed. "Really? He must not have taken my warning as seriously as he should have. How unfortunate for him."
Except, as it turned out, it was more unfortunate for Elias and the Prince since Dunbar ended up having no knowledge of the murder at all. Even though Elias had—barely—convinced the Prince to let him question Dunbar alone, the very sight of the scholar sent Dunbar into a near panic, and it took very little prompting for the scribe to confess everything. Everything apparently meant an incredibly simplistic plan for Dunbar to get the Prince thrown out of Ellington. The scribe had, in fact, overheard the duke's conversation with Elias, and he'd possessed enough intelligence to figure out Hightower probably wanted the Prince gone as much as he did. After having his services as a spy rejected, he'd kept his eyes open for anything he could use to prove his usefulness to the duke, finding nothing until he came across the letter the Librarian had left out on his desk. Dunbar had hoped the letter's threatening tone—which Elias still didn't understand, since the Prince was only threatening to withdraw help that he had offered, and not anything actually threatening—would be enough for Hightower to somehow get rid of the Prince. He had nothing to do with framing the Prince, and certainly nothing to do with the murder. In fact, it was the murder which had Dunbar so terrified. The imbecile thought he was next.
"So," the Prince asked, once again having caught up to Elias in the halls after leaving Dunbar shivering in the deserted storeroom he'd been dragged into by the scholar. "Back to square one?"
Elias clenched his jaw, only slightly surprised to find he wasn't angry with the Prince's flippant attitude. It was the situation that was bothering him. The way they seemed to struggle and struggle and yet make no headway whatsoever. The way every lead had turned to dust the moment Elias tried to sink his fingers into it.
"You're implying that we ever made it past," Elias said.
He picked up his pace and stalked off before the Prince had a chance to respond.
Chapter 26
Twisting flames crackled and snapped in their fireplace, but, for once, Elias wasn't content to gaze into them. After returning to their rooms, it had been his turn to pace, his turn to be restless. Yet unlike the Dark Prince's restlessness, Elias's was silent. No constant litany of complaints. No bald, manic tension lacing his words. No stubborn insistence on one single solution being the only possible way to solve their problems.
He found himself longing for that last. At least then he would have some solution.
Elias had long since finished his pacing and was now planted in front of one of the large floor to ceiling windows to the right of the fireplace. The heavy, room-darkening curtains were, for once, thrown open, and he looked out over a beautiful view of one of the castle gardens. A beauty that was altogether wasted on the brooding scholar.
Elias was stuck. Utterly and completely.
There were no more leads for him to follow. No more suspects to question. The only avenue still left to him would be to question the witnesses who found the body, but if there was one thing Elias was capable of recognizing, it was busywork. They already had detailed witness statements—no matter their other failings, the guards were thorough—and any follow-up questioning was unlikely to turn up any new, reliable information; assuming any of the witnesses would talk to Elias in the first place.
This wasn't the first time Elias had been stalled—when one spent their life on research and study, it was an inevitable state. But this was the first time he was stalled with a deadline that had actual, real life consequences beyond a delay in a paper or book that a few dozen people might read. If Elias failed, Ellington would be wholly annihilated, and there was just enough patriotism and fondness for his home kingdom's history in his heart for the thought to be distressing in the extreme, making it almost impossible to think.
There may have a tiny, infinitesimal chance Elias wasn't dealing well with his impending failure. At all.
"Is the garden really that fascinating?" the Dark Prince asked.
If Elias had been in a more whimsical mood, he might have been surprised the silence the Prince had broken hadn't left actual shards covering the carpet.
As it was, he said nothing, barely even hearing the words as he turned the facts over and over in his mind, trying to find something he had over looked. Something that could be interpreted in a new light if looked upon from an unorthodox angle.
All he could think of were pastries and the smell of old books.
The Dark Prince sighed. "Are you all right?"
Again Elias stayed silent.
"Very well," the Prince said with a small huff. "If you're going to make me say it aloud then you forfeit your right to call me mawkish. Save for a certain two-day period after a certain incident involving magic, I've never known you to be this upset over anything. I'm…worried about you, Elias."
A sudden, irrational burst of anger surged through the scholar. What right did the Prince have to so thoroughly cut through all of Elias's thoughts and attempts at logical deduction, and leave behind nothing but the desire to assuage the Prince's concern? What right did he have to make Elias want to assure him that he was perfectly all right? And, most of all, what right did he have to make Elias feel guilty at the thought of lying to the Prince about how he felt so he could turn his mind back to the real, tangible problem of trying to avoid catastrophe.
When did comforting the Dark Prince become more important to me than stopping a war?
"You—"
Before he could even start the second word of his instinctual, invective-laden rejoinder, the answer to his question came to him with the ease of taking a breath.
During the dance that shattered my world. Although the precise time—
Elias sighed, dismissing the unimportant follow-up thought. His anger drained away along with a decent amount of his energy as he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He couldn't very well be angry at the Dark Prince for a shift in priorities that was entirely his fault. Anger was one of the first emotions he had ever associated with the Prince, and it was only then he realized it was somewhat comforting to fall back into when he was upset. Which, really, was absolutely ridiculous and illogical. There were many other ways to gain comfort from ones intended; and they all started with sharing his burden.
"The consequences of my impending failure are…weighing on me," Elias admitted.
His voice was so soft he was unsure the Prince had even heard him. Then he heard a rustling of robes, followed by quiet footsteps before he felt two delicate, deceptively unyielding hands come to rest on his shoulders.
Elias let out a small, involuntary gasp at the unanticipated contact, at almost the exact same time as Chappy made a small noise of disapproval. Yet, when the hands remained, the chaperone made no further protest.
And hadn't they locked the door as soon as they got back to their rooms without Chappy? How did he even get in?
"That's a rather silly thing to be worried about," the Prince said. Elias was about to snap at the Prince for so casually disregarding his concerns, when he started to massage Elias's shoulders. Elias gasped again. "Since when does Elias Sutterby fail at anything?"
Elias closed his eyes, barely even registering the Prince's words. The Prince's hands were firm and deft and comforting as they expe
rtly worked the knots of tension out of Elias's shoulders and neck. Elias made a noise that was halfway between a moan and a scoff, his breath temporarily fogging up the window.
"There are several books which—"
The Prince did…something with his slender fingers and this time the sound Elias made was definitely a moan.
"There are several—Oh! That's…" Elias swallowed roughly. "Several books which remain unfinished in my old rooms."
"Hmm." The Dark Prince was so close to Elias the scholar could feel his breath on the back of his neck, a few loose strands of hair tickling his skin as they were accidentally shifted. "Unfinished books aren't failures, my dear. As my father is fond of saying, they're merely postponed successes."
Elias found it hard to formulate a response with the Prince's massage distracting him so completely. The Elias of a month ago would have been furious at something so ridiculous as physical contact interrupting his ability to think, but the Elias of now was quite happy to sacrifice his mental faculties if it meant the Prince kept digging his fingers right—
"There." He breathed.
The Prince let out a satisfied chuckle, and Elias briefly wondered if it was possible for a massage to turn smug. He very quickly decided he didn't care. Smug massages, if they existed, felt just as amazing as the regular kind. They were relaxing and good and exactly what Elias needed.
For the first time in Elias's life, he allowed his mind to quietly shut itself down and did nothing but feel.
* * * *
"Your father is immortal, and thus has unlimited time to finish anything he might abandon," Elias said, some indeterminate amount of time later. He and the Prince were both seated in their respective chairs, and Elias had vague recollections of being carried to his in surprisingly strong arms after almost falling asleep against the window. He decided he was pleased these recollections were, in fact, vague, because he was altogether too limp and placid to muster up the proper embarrassment. "Even if your jest about your own immortality were true, unlimited time is, unfortunately, a luxury we don't possess."
The Dark Prince shot Elias a reproachful look, but no matter how relaxed and grateful he was, he refused to be lulled any further. After a moment, the Prince sighed in defeat.
"And yet, I still have every confidence in our abilities. Especially now that you aren't so wound up." The Prince's smile was definitely smug. "Don't worry, my dear. We'll figure it out."
Elias found himself briefly smiling back before he could think better of it.
"Perhaps if we calmly go over our findings so far?" the Dark Prince suggested. Elias shot him a skeptical look. "Yes, yes, trite and simplistic and all that, but I do seem to recall we haven't exactly been very calm when we discussed the investigation in the past."
"One of us less so than the other," Elias murmured. Relaxation apparently brought his childish side to the surface.
The Dark Prince ignored him. "A calm conversation might do some good."
Elias didn't think a calm conversation would do anything but remind him how utterly stalled their investigation was, but since he didn't have any better ideas he saw little harm in trying.
"All right," he said. "Someone murdered the marchioness."
The Dark Prince nodded, giving Elias a small, satisfied smile. Whether his happiness was because Elias had given into his suggestion, or because he was still pleased Selma was dead, was up for debate.
"We don't know why," Elias continued, "but it is very likely she was killed specifically to frame you for her murder."
"That makes sense. I did threaten her life, after all."
"Whoever murdered her also has enough power to be able to order the guard to limit their inquiries to you and you alone, which greatly limits our suspect pool."
"And your Crown Prince is the only one of them who has any reason to frame me."
Elias sighed. "Highness—"
"Yes, yes, I know," the Prince said, waving his hand impatiently. "You're convinced he isn't able to commit murder, and since you know him better than I do, I have to take you at your word. But you mark mine, Elias, he is involved in some way."
Elias bit back his automatic denial. Calm. We're having a calm discussion. The Dark Prince had acknowledged Elias's points about the impossibility of the Crown Prince being a murderer; Elias could do the same about the Prince's suspicions.
"Fine, we won't completely discount him as a suspect. But if he is involved, then he's only involved as far as telling the guard to investigate you; something, I might add, you yourself already dismissed. Which means we have absolutely no idea why Selma was murdered."
The Dark Prince raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why does that mean we don't know the reasons for the marchioness's murder?"
"Because if someone killed her with the intention of framing you, then they would also need the means of ensuring you get investigated," Elias said, holding back his impatience. "Even with most of Ellington's ingrained prejudice towards Mournhelm, you're still a prince and a royal guest. It's bad form to not at least pretend that you aren't the first and only suspect."
"Your guard commander is certainly prejudiced enough," the Prince pointed out.
"Yes, but I doubt anyone knew that," Elias said. "I certainly never did, and I spent as much time with him as anyone these past several years. Someone would have to know him very well to know the extent of his hatred of Mournhelm—a hatred that seemed very personal to me—and Spellings is notorious for being abrasive and unfriendly. He's even the only person in Ellington to hold animosity towards Sir Knight. I can't imagine him allowing anybody to get close enough to confide his deepest secrets."
The Dark Prince pursed his lips in a way Elias knew meant the Prince was deep in thought. Other than the way the Prince looked upon waking, it was Elias favorite expression on the royal. Intense concentration was, after all, incredibly attractive.
"Who is Sir Knight?" the Prince asked suddenly.
A disbelieving laugh slipped from Elias's lips before he even fully recognized the question. He cleared his throat. "My apologies. It's just that I find it hard to believe you've never heard of Sir Knight."
The Prince's lips twitched. "Although my massive intellect may seem to indicate otherwise, I don't actually know everything, my dear."
Now it was Elias's turn to roll his eyes. "Perhaps your intellect is so massive it interferes with your powers of recollection. Sir Knight is the most famous champion Ellington has ever had, and he's the man we sent to Mournhelm in exchange for you."
The Prince's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? How intriguing. Father never told me the particulars of my invitation to your kingdom. What is he like, this Sir Knight?"
"No one ever mentioned him to you?" Elias asked skeptically. There were few people in Ellington who were shy about launching into detailed descriptions of Sir Knight's heroics, especially amongst the nobility.
"Not once. Most of my conversations with people who aren't you are limited to idle gossip and some tentative trade proposals from the few people who aren't afraid to exchange words with me. Rather boring, actually. If I hadn't met you, my dear, I probably would have killed someone in the hopes that it would have at least spawned a new topic of conversation." The Prince tilted his head. "Sir Knight is a well-liked figure, then?"
"He is the kingdom's hero," Elias replied, feeling very strange explaining something so basic. "Everyone adores him."
"Except your guard commander."
Elias nodded. "Yes. They've never gotten on, although I have no idea why."
"You never asked?"
"I was trying to stay on his good side so he would continue to let me interview criminals in his dungeons," Elias said. "It would have been counterproductive to bring up a subject likely to enrage him."
"Hmm." The Prince pursed his lips again. "Enraged, you say?"
Elias nodded. "According to gossip, at least. Spellings is known to fly into fits of anger if Sir Knight's name is mentioned
in his presence. I thought it wise not to test the rumors."
"And as guard commander, Spellings would have been informed about the particulars of my visit, yes?"
Elias frowned briefly at the question. "I assume so, yes. Why do you ask?"
"It occurs to me," the Prince said slowly, "that if I hated someone who was beloved by all, I might be very tempted to take advantage of an unexpected opportunity to be rid of him, should one present itself."
"What are you talking about?"
The Dark Prince seemed legitimately surprised Elias didn't understand. "The agreement between my father and your King, of course. I may not have known the details, but it is, at its core, a standard hostage trade between kingdoms. If something were to happen to me, say if I were to be imprisoned or executed for murder, the first thing my father would do would be to kill his own hostage."
Elias blinked. "You can't possibly be suggesting…"
"It fits," the Prince said. "Rage is rarely rational and prejudice never is. Someone who holds deep, unshakable hatred towards a person for their nationality might very well hold similarly unshakeable feelings for any number of crimes or slights, real or imagined. To someone like Spellings, having me in the dungeons and your Sir Knight murdered by my father could seem like killing two birds with one stone."
Elias started to open his mouth to deny the Prince's logic, yet he'd barely wet his suddenly dry lips before he realized the logic was sound. He really didn't know Spellings as well as he thought, and just because the man wasn't a noble didn't necessarily mean he was more rational then they were. Spellings was intelligent, that was true, but he was also clever and bigoted. He was capable of the kind of hate and the kind of planning necessary to conceive and execute a plan like the one the Prince was suggesting. Yes, his resentment towards whoever had been interfering in his investigation had seemed real, and as far as Elias knew it very well might have been. Spellings had displayed traits in the past which would suggest he wouldn't take well to being told what to do by someone he felt had no authority to do so, and he did hate the Crown Prince was a passion. If the Prince had ordered Spellings to focus on the Dark Prince as some form of revenge for "stealing" Elias, he could easily see Spellings being infuriated, regardless of whether or not the order aligned with his goals.
