The Fractured Prism (The Prism Files Book 1)

by Brendan Noble

  To me, it all seemed petty. The throne was nothing but a title for the Whites to distractedly squabble over while the socialists held the real power. King Timothy III was no abolitionist, but he seemed more pragmatic than the alternatives. The Bilgram family had been the largest royal advocates for the initial creation of the Prism, and the Duke had a private army along with large funds from Red Tag slave trading dedicated to ensuring that the Prism Test never ended. If I wanted to make a difference while with the royals, the Hughes family needed to remain in power. Even after such little time with them, I had already learned that the royal game was hardly ever all or nothing. Welcome to politics…

  As a crew member not part of the show’s run-crew, I had been assigned as an usher for the show itself and as a general server during the after party, which would take place in the palace’s ballroom. As per the tradition with royal events, all servants were to wear white masks, which not only concealed our faces but our tags as well. The Queen believed this positioning, combined with the mask’s added bit of anonymity, would put me in a suitable position to keep tabs on the Duke without arousing suspicion. Apparently, she trusted me more than the average crew member: both because of my previous actions and because she knew that I understood betraying her family would lose me everything I’d gained and probably more. Our second meeting had been shorter than the first, but that point she had made clear.

  Before the audience was to be allowed in, the house manager called us to the booth to give our final instructions. Due to my lower status I was to seat the people in the back-left corner, far from the Duke’s seat near the front. I would have better luck overhearing his conversations at the after-party.

  Following the briefing, I leaned against the railing on the balcony outside the booth, looking over the empty theater and its velvet ice-blue seats, soon to be filled with the richest and most powerful people in the country: royals, UPF elite Purples, and a few foreign ambassadors. If there had been more time to plan and I had not been given this task by the Queen, I could have gained something from my close proximity to the UPF high-ups, but that would have to wait for another time. I had my objective, and one objective was enough for the night. One step at a time.

  The pre-show music began to play through the speakers, filling the vast, beautiful room. It was a moment of tranquility. I felt like I could fly up there and wished it could last even a few seconds longer, but I was ripped from that peaceful place by Archibald and yelled at to “get my ass downstairs.”

  I assumed my position in front of my section just as the doors opened and the guests entered. After examining many tickets, most of which were in fact not in my area, I was beginning to suspect that most of the guests were already drunk. A faint aroma of wine filled the air, and I couldn’t help but smile behind my mask at the ridiculousness of it as they stumbled through the aisleways. These people had the honor of seeing one of the world’s most famous shows performed by the country’s best entertainers, and they probably wouldn’t even remember it.

  The guests in my section were mostly obese minor royalty and unimportant bureaucrats within the UPF’s government. The former group was mostly asleep by the time the show started, while the latter sat as if they were at a military gathering.

  As I scanned the crowd, I only caught a glimpse of the Duke out of the corner of my eye. He was tall and handsome, striding along with the beautiful Duchess Ilana by his side. They circled through the room like vultures as they interacted with the other guests, their gold and obsidian family rings glistening on their hands. Even from that short moment, it was obvious they wanted to make a scene.

  The last of the guests settled in, and I stood alongside the edge of the chairs as a man walked across the stage and greeted the audience. A spotlight struck the main doors in the center aisle and they opened as the Hughes family was introduced by the man. The audience promptly stood and placed their hands over their hearts as the mellow Royal Anthem played slowly in the background. I followed suit, while scanning the members of the Hughes family as they made their entrance, a sea of blonde hair and ice-blue clothes. The King and Queen pridefully led the procession, followed by the two oldest daughters, Natasha and Alexandria, while Julia walked next to her youngest sister, Helena, in the back.

  This was the first time I had seen Julia since the throne room, and my heart raced as a genuine smile crossed her face. She was enjoying the spotlight. Then I remembered that this was probably the closest I would ever get to her, and my heart sank at the thought.

  I didn’t know what to think about Julia. She was why I was where I was. Plus, she obviously cared enough to request that I be in her service, pushing back against her dad’s interrogation, but what did that mean? Was it just repayment for saving her? Those were questions for later. Now, I had a job to do.

  The music faded, and the audience applauded as the royal family took their seats. Shortly after, the spotlights returned to the main doors for the entrance of General Secretary Lawrence Bachton to the UPF’s bold and brash National Anthem. The General Secretary was the head of the government and the most hated man among the Militia. It took every fiber of my being to not run across the theater in a foolish attack as I bit my cheek and clenched my fist in anger. You can’t kill the hydra by cutting off its head.

  The audience stood at attention and sang loudly, though the royals seemed less enthusiastic than the bureaucrats as he marched proudly down the aisle, the spotlight reflecting off his bald head and shiny purple tag. Lucky for me, again, the mask covered my face, so I could just stand and scowl at the man who represented everything I hated about the world. Even here, I wait in the shadows.

  When the General Secretary was seated, I followed my fellow ushers to the lobby. The Blue and Green ushers gathered on the other side the lobby around a smuggled fifth of vodka, fitting of the theme, and occasionally shot glares at me. We would not be of use again until intermission, when our goal was to ensure the drunk guests knew where the bathroom was, where their seat was, or what their ticket even said.

  Finally, intermission came, and we opened the doors and stood formally, waiting. I kept an eye out for the Duke, though he never emerged and was likely frolicking with other royals inside the theater. Part of me hoped that Julia would walk past on the off chance, but part of me wished she wouldn’t. It was impossible to know if she would look for me or if she even knew I was working the show. You have bigger concerns than her right now, Ivan… She never emerged from the crowd, though the Queen did momentarily, her eyes meeting mine for just a second before moving on. Her stare sent enough of a message. My time was coming to execute the plan. When the show was over, the games would begin.

  Chapter 15

  As we relocated to the ballroom across the gardens, I tailed the Duke while he walked with Franklin McGill, a minor royal. I made a mental note and tried to listen in on the conversation while not following too closely. They were discussing a trade deal of some sort, with Bilgram offering Reds in exchange for supplies of the McGill family whiskey. The UPF have put a tight lid on alcohol sales, so the liquor smuggling business had become big. Enslavement of Reds, on the other hand, was perfectly legal. While this wasn’t definitive proof of any conspiracy against the throne, the information could be used for blackmail, if necessary.

  The Duke kept looking over his shoulder as we approached the ballroom, and I slowed down to avoid suspicion. Better to not risk getting caught so soon in the evening.

  In the ballroom, I received a plate of hors d'oeuvres and began walking through the guests, offering one to each as I passed by them. It would be difficult to find the Duke again in the large ballroom with only the soft lighting from the chandeliers and the moonlight through the windows to illuminate the guests’ faces. The room was massive, loud, and packed with similarly dressed royals and Purples speaking loudly about this bullshit or that bullshit while live classical music filled the gaps. Where are you Bilgram?

  Everywhere I looked there were well-known faces: UPF milit
ary generals gathered in circles, Whites gossiping, and more. Among the crowd I noticed the infamous Baron Wilhelm Preus, the head of the third most powerful royal family. His sharp green eyes were focused on some conversation, and his white gold and green family ring was wrapped like a tiny snake around his finger. Well, at least he isn’t scheming with the Duke.

  Eventually, I spotted the Duke’s signature goatee near one of the windows and began towards him just as the King clinked his glass for a toast. Even with the crowd quieting down as the King’s deep and powerful voice filled the room, I needed to close the gap between Bilgram and me. “…yet another fantastic royal event…” I couldn’t quite hear them yet and inched closer, almost losing my balance as a drunk uniformed Purple toppled into me and muttered some obscenities. “…appreciate each and every one of you…”

  Finally, I was close enough to notice who he was talking with and overhear some of what they were saying. Tia Lin, a member of one of the few royal families not of European descent, was speaking, “… with the Chinese Mafia…” The audience laughed as the King made a joke. “…PL-47 model micro-camera…”

  The King finished. “Cheers!”

  The Duke looked at Lin, nodded, and they shook hands. Not much, but it’s something. I offered the Duke an hors d'oeuvre as he turned his head towards me with a raised eyebrow.

  He spoke with an almost German accent, “What is this?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m just a server, but I could ask the kitch…”

  Suddenly, he grabbed my right ear and pulled my tag from underneath my mask, knocking me off balance and sending the hors d'oeuvre plate flying into some poor lady nearby. His face was red with rage. “What is this?”

  I was too stunned to respond. He was not a tall man but, in the context, he was intimidating. It’s gone wrong…

  He stomped his foot, shouting. “What is this?!?” The room became silent. Bilgram ripped off my mask and threw it on the floor before turning to the crowd that had formed, gesturing outwardly. “They send a Red Tag to serve food to royals and the leaders of our government? Is that what the King thinks of us?”

  This is bad. I held my hands up in surrender, trying to formulate a response but was paralyzed in fear. I could only look around in shock as every face in the room was turned on me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Julia, and we made eye contact. She looked as helpless as I did, her narrow eyes filled with worry. She couldn’t save me this time.

  I finally managed to whimper. “I… I’m so sorry sir.”

  “Shut up, boy.” He hit me with a backhand, his family ring striking me in the temple and knocking me off my feet, though, the “boy” stung almost more than the slap.

  Rage filled me as I smacked into the marble floor. I could kill this bastard right now. Slave trading piece of shit. I glared but didn’t get the chance to seriously consider reacting as the King plowed into the circle that had formed around us, his large frame filling the space. “What is the meaning of this, Richard?”

  The Duke tore his attention from me and fired it at the King instead, meeting his eyes of ice and a mental clash occurred ahead of the physical one. Approaching the King and pointing at his adversary’s chest, the Duke continued yelling, “Did you invite us all here just to insult us by being served by him?” He pointed a finger at me at the end of the sentence. “What is this, a St. Paul diner? Could you not afford to hire any more actual servants while you wildly spend away the royal treasury?” There were murmurs in agreement from many in the crowd.

  The King stepped towards Bilgram, his voice filling the whole ballroom. “That is enough! You are in my house and you are talking to your King!”

  Bilgram hesitated, vocally overpowered by the King, before recovering his poise and holding his chin high and his arms out towards the crowd. “Timothy, you have a choice. Either he goes, or we go.”

  Crap. He doesn’t have a choice. The King was caught off guard, and I could tell from the look on his face that he knew he was backed into a corner. I realized in that moment why the Queen was desperate for information. There were threats everywhere, and the Duke felt powerful enough to stand up to the King in his own home.

  The King sighed and looked at Jonah, speaking reluctantly, “Please escort Ivan out.” His cold eyes returned to the Duke and his voice recovered its sharpness. “We will discuss this later, Richard.”

  Jonah stepped forward and bowed. “Yes, your highness.” He approached me and spoke in a hushed tone, “C’mon, Ivan, let’s get you out of here.”

  I felt like I’d been brutally beaten. It was hard to move, hard to even think. I shakily reached down and grabbed my mask before following Jonah towards the hall. Along the way I was met with a mixture of pitied looks, mostly from the women, and glares, mostly from the men. The looks, the pain from the hit on my temple, and the overwhelming smell of alcohol was too much. In my life I had been stabbed, shot, and hit by a grenade, but that moment hurt the most. I was ashamed of myself for embarrassing the King, for failing the Queen, and for embarrassing Julia by my inherent connection to her. The most important people in the country had watched and even encouraged my defeat. Some hero.

  Visibly shaking and barely able to hold my own weight, I stumbled into the hall with Jonah’s help before sliding down the wall, my head in my hands. Jonah grabbed me. “Are you alright? That was pretty rough.”

  I hesitated for a second, breathing hard. “I… yeah, I’ll be fine. Just… holy shit.”

  “I know. I’ve never seen anything like that. You have struck a nerve for some people, especially Duke Slave Trader.”

  “It seems I have.”

  “Well, looks like you’re done waiting tables for the night. I’ll make sure you get back to your room, okay?”

  “Yeah… yeah, okay. Thank you, Jonah. I really appreciate this.”

  He shrugged. “No problem. Just doing my job.”

  We slowly and silently walked through the halls back towards the servants’ chambers. When I returned to my room, I tore off my clothes, grabbed a towel, and headed for the showers, where I stood under the warm water, trying to process what just happened. I failed to watch the Duke the whole evening, to go unnoticed, and to even be a waiter. Smooth. Luckily, I did get some useful information. I hoped that could be my saving grace when I would be inevitably called before the royal family to be chastised for embarrassing them. Damn it.

  I rested my head against the side of the shower and soaked in the feeling of the warm water rolling down my head and back. Blood trickled from my temple and dripped into the drain, but I didn’t care enough to fix it. A tear rolled down my cheek. Am I crying? Everything was emotion in the moment, which was weird for me. I considered myself a rational guy, but the events of the past two weeks, culminating in that evening, had been a lot. For the first time in my life I really had something good to lose, and I had blown it. I’d gone from the savior of the princess to a disgrace in less than two weeks. What goes up must come down.

  After an eternity, I shut off the water and looked at myself in the mirror. The red mark on my temple contrasted harshly with my pale forehead. Great, just one more scar. I slammed the outside of my fist against the wall next to the mirror, holding it there as I looked at myself one more time. I analyzed the scars across my chest and abdomen and tried to understand what they all saw in me: an undesirable, a freak. Maybe I am.

  When I returned to my room, I quickly changed, turned off the light, and lied down facing the wall. After a few moments I sighed. “What am I doing here?”

  A voice came from the doorway. “That is a fascinating question.”

  Chapter 16

  Julia. I didn’t move. “You can’t be here.” How did she get in here without me noticing?

  Her smooth voice cut through the darkness. “Says who?”

  “Your dad, the King, who probably already hates my guts after tonight.”

  She laughed quietly and flicked on the light. “You have a lot to learn about my father, Ivan.” She
paused, and I heard her step closer, speaking tentatively, “How are you?”

  I rolled over and swung my feet over the side of the bed. Looking at them, I responded, “To be honest, I’m not sure.”

  Her voice was calm and reassuring. “That’s understandable.”

  I finally looked up at her, still in her regal ice-blue formal dress from the evening, a matching crystal necklace glistening on her chest. “Why are you here? The party can’t be over yet; they’ll know you’re gone.”

  She smiled, the cute kind of smile with just the edge of the mouth when someone is holding in a laugh. “Is it that hard to believe I just came to see how you were doing?”

  My mind was scrambled with the emotion of the evening, and I held my hands up near my head intently, trying to grasp the situation. “Yes. No. I don’t know. You’re a princess. This is all insane.”

  She giggled, her eyes entertained but her brows perplexed. “What is?”

  “Why am I here? Sure, I beat up a few goons who were attacking you. Great. Why am I here, right now, talking to a princess after creating drama between the two most powerful royal families. I’m just a Red. What the hell am I doing here?”

  She gestured softly to the other end of the bed and responded in a soothing voice. “Can I sit?”

  I nodded. What is going on?

  She sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed and thought for a minute. She kept looking down as she spoke, less confident than I’d seen her before, though her voice flowed like a river. “I’m not sure what put you on that corner that night. If it was fate, luck, or just a coincidence; it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that instead of walking by like so many people would, you risked your life for a stranger.” She met my eyes before I looked down at my feet sheepishly. “Ivan, you saved my life.” She paused. “I don’t know how to repay you for that.”