by Chii Rempel
“Thanks.” I smile and hold the door open for Xander to come in.
He grins and immediately goes over to my bed. Which is normal. Which he has been doing since we were children. Which nevertheless gets my heart pounding louder in my chest. Good thing that my skin is too dark to show a blush properly.
He arranges himself comfortably at the head of the bed and raises an eyebrow at me, as I fail to follow. I clear my throat and join him, taking one of the muffins and biting a big chunk off. My eyes close and I moan. Only now do I realise how hungry I’ve been. The muffin is still warm and the taste of butter fills my mouth.
“Thanks.” I roll my head to look at Xander. “I needed that.”
He lowers his head and smiles.
“It’s good to see you back among the living,” he says.
“Yeah. I’m … I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Head raised again, his eyes find mine.
“For being so weird. I must have freaked you out.”
He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Care to explain what happened?”
“… I’m not sure what to tell you.”
“How about the truth?”
I huff and let my head rest against the headboard. “Yeah, right. Well, I don’t know what the truth is.”
Xander shifts beside me and rearranges his position so he is sitting cross-legged, watching me searchingly.
“You still don’t make any sense, Xavier.”
“I know, it all just felt so … unreal. I don’t know how to explain it to you.”
“You could stop rumbling and just spit it out.” I can hear that he’s getting impatient.
“No, I genuinely have no idea how to explain to you what happened,” I say and face him again. “How about I just show you?”
Why did I think it was a good idea to take Xander to look for the skull? So soon after his father’s decease, he was still very sensitive about the topic of death and anything related to it. And here I am, taking him to show him a human skull. If it actually is still where I left it. If last night was in fact real. So far, nothing really confirmed me having met the ghost of King Aelfred. As far as I know, I could have just been so drunk that I dreamt myself into a living nightmare.
“Okay,” I huff, walking over to the little alcove by the roses. “Okay, okay.”
Rubbing my sweaty palms on my breeches I kneel down into the flowers, ignoring the stinging pain of their thorns. Now it’s going to show if I’m either mad, or somebody literally lost his head on the way to the cemetery. I cast a last look around to see if anybody is watching us and pull the twigs apart.
“What is happening?” Xander asks behind me.
“Wait,” I command and feel the ground for the cold, round …
I pull my hands out and there it is, even whiter and impossibly more gruesome in daylight.
Xander lets out a shocked squeak and covers his mouth with his hands.
“Pssst,” I hiss and look around, but there is nobody there to mind us. Quickly, I pull my jacket from my shoulders and wrap the skull in it.
“What are you doing?” Xander yelps.
I shoot upright, grab for his wrist and pull him back towards the castle. As fast as I allow myself to move without causing suspicion, I drag us back to the second floor and right into his room. As we step into the safety of his quarters, Xander pulls himself from my grip and takes a few steps back.
“Did you just bring a dead body into my room?” he pants.
“Not a body. Just a … head.”
“Oh. Oh, right, sorry. Let me rephrase that. Did you just bring a dead fucking human head into my bedroom?”
Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my speeding heart. “If you’re already freaking out over that, I definitely shouldn’t tell you about the other thing I saw in the gardens.”
“I have every right to be freaking out over stray human remains!” he growls and starts pacing around the room. “Tell me you’re not responsible for it.”
I look at him dumbfounded. “Fucking hell, Xander, of course I’m not responsible for it! I fell over it during the night when I was piss drunk and hid it, so nobody else would accidentally make the same acquaintance with it.”
I free the ghoulish thing from my jacket and let it roll onto the divan. It looks horribly morbid on the red cushion. “I can’t believe you think I killed somebody.”
Xander stops in his tracks and looks me over. “Why didn’t you tell anybody?”
“And say what?” I ask defensively. “That I just happened to find a skull in the middle of the fucking flowers? Why did nobody see it before me? What was I doing alone outside, at night?”
“What were you doing alone outside?”
I avert my gaze. “That’s not important right now. But you can believe me when I tell you that I had nothing to do with it.”
“I believe you.”
My eyes find his again. God, sometimes I forget how green they are.
I nod and follow his gaze as it falls onto the skull, a curious expression on his face.
“It looks awfully pretty.”
My eyebrows rise to the top of my head as I stare at him incredulously at the comment.
“What?” he says and shrugs innocently, “I’m just saying.”
I shake my head and huff out a laugh. Laughing feels good. Laughing feels safe. “You’re weird.”
“You like weird,” he states with a toothy grin. I can’t help but laugh again. The strangeness of the night starts to crumble from my shoulders, replacing the dread with the familiar comfort of Xander’s presence.
“Yeah,” I smirk, “I do.”
The quiet smile stays on the prince’s face, as he decides to sit down beside the skull. My eyes follow his movements. I’ve always been fascinated with the way Xander moves. There is a deliberation to every of his gestures, a grace to his every move. Although I was raised here at Trelburg, the castle and its mannerism never stuck to me. I am the son of the king’s captain of the army, but I am not royalty. My father has insisted on my learning how to behave in court, how to speak properly, how to eat without making a fool of myself, how to dance without making a fool of others. Xander’s and my education has been nearly the same and yet I never mastered the subtlety of grace. My limbs never seemed capable of such small, inconspicuous movements, and I’ve long stopped trying to imitate Xander’s impossible charisma. Maybe royal blood does make a difference. Maybe it’s because I am a fighter and he is a prince. Or maybe it’s just him. I guess it could be … just him.
“You’re staring.”
I blink a few times as my mind catches up with Xander’s words. Immediately, I avert my gaze and thank the gods for the inconspicuousness of my blush. “Sorry.”
“I don’t mind,” Xander says and glides his fingers delicately over the top of the skull.
“Stop caressing the dead,” I exhort. This only leads to Xander smiling at me crookedly.
“He likes it.”
I huff and shake my head in disbelief. “Then stop harassing the poor guy! How do you even know it’s a guy?”
“Oh,” Xander says and pulls his hand away. “I just assumed. It could be a girl, I guess.”
I take a chair and sit in front of the divan. “What do you think happened to the rest of the body?”
“How would I know? Looks like whoever this is has been dead for a while, so it can’t be someone who passed away recently.” His voice falters a bit at the end and his eyes travel to the window, losing their focus somewhere in the blue of the sky.
I indulge in watching him for a few seconds, convincing myself that it’s for his sake, that it’s because I want to give him time, before I disrupt the silence. “Are you thinking about your father?”
He startles a bit, as if being pulled out of a dream, then faces me. “I guess.”
“You know … there is something else I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“You have another skull hidden at the training grounds?”
&nbs
p; I punch his knee with my fist lightly. “No, and it’s not funny. I … heavens, it already sounds so silly in my head.”
He tabs his fingers on his knee and leans forward. “Spit it out, Xavier. I’m done with dramatic suspense for today.”
Sighing, I let my eyes rest on the lines of his hand. “Last night in the gardens, when I fell over this thing, I … I saw something. I think, I saw … your father.”
For a moment, everything seems to go quiet. Not that the castle is particularly loud at other times, given its size, but it feels like the sound has been sucked out of the room. Again, maybe it’s just me.
“Xander, please say something,” I blurt after a while, “I know how this sounds, you probably think I’m mad. Maybe I am, I mean, it could’ve all been a dream, I was so drunk, but the skull –”
“You made contact with my father’s ghost?”
Blinking a few times to collect my thoughts, I stare at his green eyes surprised. “Uh, I wouldn’t say ‘made contact’. It wasn’t on purpose.”
“What did he say?”
“Erm, I … what?”
“What did he say, Xavier?” the prince asks more insistently.
“You believe me?”
“Of course I believe you, you moron. Now stop acting stupid and tell me what my father said.”
I give myself a few seconds to get accustomed to this situation.
“He was looking for you. He didn’t really say much else … he was saying your name over and over. It was creepy.” I shiver at the memory. “I didn’t know that you believe in ghosts.”
Xander nods, biting his lower lip in thought.
“When was it? At what time, do you remember?” he asks suddenly.
I shake my head. “Like I said, I was piss drunk. It was the middle of the night.”
Xander nods again, as if he expected that answer. “You still have to tell me why you drank yourself into oblivion.”
“That’s … a story for another time.”
Xander reclines into the cushions and crosses his legs. “We’ll have plenty of time tonight,” he smirks.
I gulp. Why do I not like this expression? “What do you mean?”
His hand finds its way back to the skull, long fingers brushing the cracking bone. His tone is low, like he’s letting me in on a secret, when he says: “We’ll be spending the night in the gardens. We’re going to look for my father.”
4
Xander
“Lord Maleth, may I have a word?”
The guttural voice of Arcadia’s father makes me jump in my seat. Carefully, I clear my throat and fold the paper I’ve been reading, before I rise from the wing chair.
“How can I be of assistance, Lord Riverstone?”
The sturdy looking man with carefully styled grey hair and the perfect exemplar of a moustache strides into the sitting room with heavy steps. His eyes scan the room quickly, taking in my mother and her two companions sitting by the fireplace drinking tea. The three women whisper something unintelligibly, then throw their heads back and let out a shrill laugh. I grimace at the sound. So does Lord Riverstone.
“I was hoping we could discuss the matter in private,” he states, observing the women with an expression of incomprehension.
I nod and follow him through the giant double wing door into the adjoining study. In contrast to the sitting room, the study is way less pompous, having more bookshelves than ornamental arrangements. After my father’s death it remains unused, as my uncle doesn’t seem too concerned with managing his paperwork by himself.
I go around the wooden desk and slide into the chair, looking at Lord Riverstone expectantly. He doesn’t seem too happy with his current position, standing before the table as there is only one chair in this room, but I don’t really care.
He hunches his shoulders. “I will come to the matter at hand immediately. I understand that you have not been involved in the wedding plans of your parents –”
“Not my parents,” I interrupt.
Lord Riverstone’s eyebrows twitch. “As the ceremony is about to be held in two weeks,” he continues, ignoring my objection, “it is imperative to speak about your involvement in it.”
I huff and lean back in my chair, pulling my feet up onto the desk. My father would have beaten my hands bloody for it, but the look on Riverstone’s face is worth the guilty conscience. “That is fairly easy, as there will be no involvement on my side whatsoever.”
The Lord’s eyebrows twitch again. “The Lady Maleth warned me about your reluctance. As the prince and successor to the crown –”
“I would be king by now if my bastard of an uncle didn’t jump at the first opportunity to marry my mother,” I hiss, every lesson of politeness forgotten.
There is a vein on the Lord’s forehead, right between his eyebrows that begins to pulse threateningly. He clears his throat, his eyes are liquid fire.
“If this is what you think a king should behave like, then I am more than glad to see your uncle on the throne.” With these words, the Lord of Lilies strides out of the room. I know he is right and I know my father would be disappointed in my behaviour. But I just can’t bring myself to accept this marriage. It is not fair to his memory.
I haven’t spoken to Xavier all day. To be fair, he had quite a harsh training to endure, his father was not so happy to hear about his son’s nightly behaviour. The Captain is strict when it comes to reputation and he doesn’t seem to agree with the direction Xavier’s is going.
The sun is setting slowly over Trelburg, painting the tapestries on my walls in warm, pinkish colours. I grab the bag of food that I’ve prepared earlier and my jacket. The night promises to be a cold one. Just as I am about to leave for the training grounds to find Xavier, before he can slip away and I have to spend the night alone looking for the supposed ghost of my father, my door opens and a waterfall of brown hair slips through.
“Oh,” Arcadia says, looking me over, “Are you off to somewhere?”
“Erm,” is the only thing that passes my lips.
She raises an eyebrow as I fail to answer and crosses her arms over her chest. “What are you up to, now?”
“What? I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re obviously heading somewhere. Where to?”
“Nowhere. Just the gardens. I feel like I could … use some fresh air.”
“Hm,” she hums, “then there won’t be a problem if I join you, right? I myself could use some fresh air. When the sun is setting. And it’s getting cold. Because you love being in the cold so much. And in the dark.”
“Fine!” I grumble, rolling my eyes. “You don’t have to be such a smartarse.”
“We wouldn’t be friends if I wasn’t.”
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
Tilting her head, a half smile appears on her face. The expression makes her look a bit boyish, but I don’t think she minds. She comes towards me and grabs both my hands in hers. “I already think you’re crazy. Not much damage to be done in that department.”
I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh that comes out louder than I intended.
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Arcadia chides.
“I can’t. It’s my nature. It’s like telling a bird not to fly. Or Cyndranet not to love Varya.”
“Oh my, you’re beyond hope,” she says, rolling her eyes and lets go of my hands. “I’ll stop talking to you if you bring that awfully cheesy story back. I’ve had enough of it the last five times you’ve been obsessed with it.”
“It’s not cheesy, it’s romantic! Two young people in love who cannot be together, because their households are at war with each other. What can be more dramatically romantic than forbidden love?”
“Your not-so-subtle pining for Xavier.”
I let out another heavy sigh. “It is, isn’t it? If he could just see how terrifically brilliant our love story could be.”
“Better than Cyndranet and his oh so perfect Varya?” Arcadia asks with a crooked sm
ile.
I raise an eyebrow. “Way better. I’m much more charming than Cyndranet.”
Arcadia insists on joining me in my nightly adventure, even though I refuse to tell her what it’s about. I don’t exactly know why I’m so reluctant to let her in on it … maybe it’s because she’s not the type to believe in ghosts. Arcadia has always been very pragmatic, and even more matter-of-factly. There is no space for otherworldly interactions in her mind. In mine however, there is plenty, so I let her tag along. She stops asking, I stop complaining.
The training grounds are located behind the west side of the castle’s outer ring. My chambers are on the east side, which means Arcadia and I have to either cross half the castle and stay warm inside, or take the direct way through the gardens, which takes half as long but is twice as cold. I’m about to spend the whole night shivering between plants. I’m not starting before I absolutely have to.
The circular shape of Trelburg is iconic for our northern part of the lands. People often travel great distances to see the castle, admire its unusual double-ring architecture and take a stroll through the Garden of Seasons. The Garden actually consists of multiple gardens, cultivated by multiple talented gardeners, who are in constant competition with one another. Which benefits the gardens quite a lot. Who doesn’t like to observe the inevitably mesmerising results of a war of beauty?
“You were actually serious?” Xavier asks as we find him tidying up the ring after everybody has left. He is sweaty and his shirt is sticking to him, doing nothing to conceal the hard muscle underneath. I should look away. I don’t. It’s his own fault, really. Don’t be so fit if you don’t want people ogling you.
“I thought I made that clear,” I answer, raising my food bag demonstratively.
He lets out a sigh. “And you thought it a good idea to bring Cadi?”
“She tagged along.”
“How did you get her in on that stupid plan of yours?”
“He actually didn’t,” Arcadia interjects, “I have no idea what he’s planning. But it seemed like a bad idea, so I decided to follow.”
“All of his ideas are bad ideas,” Xavier proclaims.
“True that,” Arcadia agreed.
