Fantasy Til Death Do Us Part: Snippets

[GetThree]

Jaime - Prince

When they first met, he had been so small. Eight and six, just a two years difference yet it had seemed so large a gap then. With wide blue eyes and shy smile, Matthias had reached out to shake his hand with a soft greeting. He had taken the offered hand and introduced himself. Their friendship started like that, simply, as childhood friendships often did.

*****

Sometimes, he doubted that Matthias was human. At nine years old, to be able to create full spheres of water from thin air where others struggled with a single drop, surely he had to possess some sort of magical blood.

That power combined with that charm, was it not cheating in the game of life that he was also born a son of the Emperor? What about the people around him, who had to stand next to this beast? Were they doomed to be forced forever to feel like failures hung beside a masterpiece? It was a painful thing to experience, when he looked down at the small puddle of water he barely managed to conjure and then looked up to see little Matthias playing with the streams in the air with a relaxed smile. He hated it. He thought it was too extremely unfair, too biased. Then, he saw something that changed his mind.

He had wandered into the field by accident that night. It was late, people were streaming out after the long banquet. He thought the training field would be empty but it wasn’t. A small figure stood there, alone, still and focused. It was Matthias, still in the robes he had worn for the celebration. The boy’s eyes were furrowed in deep concentration, his hands quivering with effort. A flame burned between his palms, looking rather pathetic as it flickered in the wind. It died. The little Prince sighed, shook his head, and tried again.

Jaime never once complained about Matthias’s strength again.

*****

“Don’t call me that.”

“Your Highness?”

“Yes, that. Call me...just Matt will do.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. I’m telling you to.”

A sigh, exasperation mixed with defeat.

“Fine, Matt.”

If he had know how rarely that carefree laugh would appear in the years to come, he might have treasured it more.

*****

He was panting, out of breath. There was something grave happening today, something terrible. Something his Prince shouldn’t see. Where was he? How had someone usually so noticeable disappeared so thoroughly? It was bad enough that the events of today was happening at all, he couldn’t, mustn’t let Matt see it.

He ran all the way to the rooftop balcony, his insides clenching, a sense of foreboding capturing his heart. When he got there, finally, he understood what that ominous feeling was. A familiar, desolate figure stood there, silent, trembling.

“No,” the word fell from his lips as a gasp. Jaime reached out and pulled Matt away, covering his eyes. It was too late. He had already seen.

Every tremor that ran through the boy’s body was a stab in his own chest. He whispered comforting words, rubbed his back, dried his tears. But, for all that he did, he knew it was no use. He held a shattered heart in his arms but no idea how to fix it. Jaime had never before felt so helpless as then.

*****

He hadn’t been there when Matt was attacked in the Gardens. The only injury was a scratch. The culprits have been taken care of. It was just some robbers. But he saw the look on the younger’s face and knew that it had been more, worse, than that.

He knew, he felt so excruciatingly guilty for it, that it was not just once he had failed his Prince. It was twice, thrice, perhaps uncountable times. He was never told when something bad happened. Matt always kept on a smile. That smile hurt, more than anything, because he could always tell when something was wrong.

*****

When he finally found out what Matt had been forced through, was still being forced through then, he had been ready to unsheathe his sword and draw blood. How dare she. How dare they, all of them, those fiends, brutes, lowly pests.

“Enough.”

“Enough? This...no, we have to-”

“I’m fine.”

"Matt."

“I’m fine. Calm down, being reckless will only get you hurt.”

A long pause. Deep breaths against a backdrop of utter silence.

“You’re just going to let them off?”

“Of course not. You know me better than that. Just wait and see, Jaime, I’m going to destroy them, so completely that they’ll beg to kill themselves.”

*****

At age sixteen, Matt held more charisma in his pinky finger than most men have in their entire lifetimes. He did not merely draw attention, he commanded it. He let no one doubt that he was a Prince, that he was strong, formidable, superior. Gone without a trace were the shy smiles and soft greetings, replaced by confidence and power. He stared down at the world like he owned it, like there was nothing that could tear him down. And when people looked into his eyes, they believed it.

Jaime believed it, too, had from the very start. So he went against his family, his traditions, his name and swore his loyalty to his Prince who would one day stand above it all.

 

[GetThree]

Matthias - Rumor Has It

He was sitting down. Or was he standing? He couldn’t tell. The world was spinning, a mess of multicolored pixels. He wondered when Jaime’s tent had gotten so colorful. The said man’s voice cut through all the white noise around him, going off about something he couldn’t process. Nagging, probably, again. He would have rolled his eyes if he had more control over his facial muscles.

Drinking nearly four bottles of wine was a bad idea. Even his alcohol-flooded mush for a brain knew that. He couldn’t help it, his first defeat had hit him hard. Wait. He drunk to forget that. Right. He reached for a phantom glass, only to remember that Jaime had already kept any and all alcoholic drinks to a far away, “safe place”.

He tried to stand up. He successfully pulled that maneuver. Oh, so he had been sitting after all. He blinked his eyes but his gaze remained blurred and misted. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder trying to pull him back down but he shook it off, stumbling toward the door of the tent.

“Matt, no,” he heard Jaime splutter from behind him. He frowned as an arm wrapped across his chest, dragging him backwards. He let himself be pulled along, glaring at the offending limb before deciding on his counter-attack. He grabbed it and raised it to his mouth, his teeth grazing skin before the hand withdrew with a yelp sounding from its owner.

He left the older man behind, not registering the yells being directed at him as he stepped outside. Finally, fresh air. His deep breath was harmonized with by a sharp intake of breath from beside him. His gaze moved to the soldier staring at him in equal parts surprise and confusion. What was with that reaction? Matthias glanced down at himself, dressed only in cotton pants. Oh. No wonder Jaime had been so against him going out. Just as he thought that, his friend appeared from the tent, glaring.

“I swear to the Saints, Matt-” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes focusing on the stunned random soldier. Matthias turned to him with a pout on his lips and his hands came up to shove the taller male in the chest.

“Leave me alone,” he growled, sounding angry where he was actually just whining. Rough hands wrapped around his wrists as Jaime dragged him back into the tent, mumbling some sort of apology to someone that wasn’t him. Probably the unsuspecting third party, to whom, he later realized when it was too late, the whole situation would have appeared to be something completely different from what it really was.

That was how, for years ever since their late teenage days, the entire Imperial army became convinced that their commander’s “talented” son had managed to capture the famously sought after Third Prince.

That was also how Matthias started to realize that alcohol added to him was a recipe for disasters.

 

[GetThree]

Matthias - Bitter Victor

The thud of a body falling to the ground seemed to echo in the open field. He stood over his brother, sweating and panting, blunt sword in hand. He won yet he felt no sense of victory. Instead, an ominous feeling settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach as Andrew’s glare pierced through him.

He had not meant for his last strike to be so hefty. He knew that Andrew hated, no, loathed when he did anything better than him. He knew defeating his brother, fairly or not, was a wrong move. And as the older boy rose, slowly, quietly, and looked him in the eyes, he knew he would not be leaving here unscathed. There was silence for a long time. Agonizing, loaded, intense silence. His heavy breaths sounded harsh in his ears and he fought to hush them, fearing, illogically perhaps, that even that small noise may further agitate the older boy. He wished this excruciating stillness would end. But when it did, he wished it never had.

“Well,” Andrew begun, softly, almost in a whisper. The smile on his face was not a smile. It sent a shiver down his spine. He tried hard not to avert his gaze, a sign of weakness, but found himself looking down anyway.

“You’ve grown stronger haven’t you, Matthias?” His brother spat his name out like it was bitter, rotten. Once again he struggled not to seem afraid, not to flinch back or bite his lip. It was difficult to look brave when all he really wanted was to escape.

It was an honest victory, he had not cheated or broken any rules. He had defeated his opponent on even ground, fair and square, using nothing but his own skill. What did age matter when it came to a fight? Nothing. He was allowed to win. It was supposed to be his aim to win. He should not be forced to feel like this, like he had committed a crime for being strong. Those thoughts bubbled up in him, threatening to spill over as he stood there, pinned under Andrew’s frosty stare.

“It seems that I alone won’t be a challenge for you,” the older boy continued, malice and mockery coloring his cold tone. It did not take long for him to grasp what that meant. Andrew alone could not defeat him. But he was not alone. There was a shuffle from behind him. He did not need to look back to know that Marc, who had been watching from the sidelines, was walking over. A twelve year old child, no matter what kind, would never be able to match the strength of a nearly fully-grown adolescent. He was done for.

“It was just a lucky hit, Andrew,” he excused, mind whirling in a desperate bid to avoid this increasingly grim situation. He hated how pleading he sounded. He hated how he had no choice but to plead. There were only two but he felt trapped, like a deer cornered by wolves, as the brothers circled him like sharks. The brothers. The two brothers. It was a sudden realization. No, it was a sudden acceptance of a truth he had always known. He was not one of them. He was not their brother. In their eyes, he had never been. It angered him that a part of him felt anguish over that fact.

“Let’s test that out, shall we?”

Andrew lunged at him. He blocked. The wind was knocked out of him anyway. Marc did not carry a weapon. He did not need to. His fist alone had sent Matthias sprawling to the ground on his knees, wheezing. They had already won but they did not stop. He was too weak to make them stop and too strong to beg for it. So they carried on. They did not stop until he was bloodied and bruised, lying on the dirty floor of the deserted training ground, unmoving. He lay there for a long time. Then he stood up. His left leg was not working right. Shocks of pain shot through him, from his foot to his ringing head, with every move he made. But he stood up. And he walked, alone, back to his room.

His leg had been broken, his arms fractured. His whole body was bruised and there was a cut across his lower back that would never disappear. So many wounds but they were not what hurt the most. He would never admit that he cried that night, that he had mourned the loss of his brothers. The whole world will know, however, he swore it to himself, that those two who were not his brothers will lose to him, over and over and over. He will never apologize for his victories again.

 

[GetThree]

Thalia - Storm Lily

A stream of sunlight passed through the curtains, falling onto the enchanting figure of a woman. Stray waves of blonde hair framed her face, the rest of her long locks pulled up in an intricate bun, decorated with a single ruby tiara. Her eyes were narrowed, slim brows slightly pulled together in concentration as she bent over her work. Slender fingers wove petals into the pristine white silk surface with finesse. This was Thalia of Atlis, Empress of Vaela.

A man observed from across the table, chin in hand, a smile softening his weathered features. He wore silver like it was any mere thread yet it could not overwhelm the shine in his gaze that never left her. He leaned toward her as far as the table would allow him. This was Jan Vaether, Emperor of Vaela.

“Pretty,” he murmured, almost absently, voice husky and muted.

“Me or the flowers?” Thalia scoffed, finally tearing her eyes from the embroidery to spare her husband a glance.

“The flowers, of course,” Jan laughed, earning himself a kick under the table, “what are they called?”

“Storm Lilies,” she answered promptly, her attention already turned back to her work.

“For Matthias? Isn’t something like that too girly for a prince?” He gets another kick, a stronger one, accompanied by a glare telling him to shut his mouth. He does so. Emperor or not, wives were people to be feared.

Seconds passed by, turning into minutes, spent in comfortable silence. A simple time together but, for them to whom peace came rarely, a memory to be held.

Later, when the Emperor Jan had gifted the Prince Matthias a sword for his coming-of-age, people whispered of his too-clear favor to one son. A Storm Lily, a magical treasure rarely seen, brought in from an island miles away, dripping in gold, had sat on its handle.

 

[GetThree]

Mikas - Angel Eyes, Devil Smile

The abrupt scream from the fruit vendor. The loud whine of a horse, the screech of metal hooves against ground, the spray of dirt on him from behind. A figure tumbled off the horse with a painful thud. An icy glare from the fallen rider pierces through him. Lost and scared and overwhelmed, added to a sudden brush with death, he promptly began to bawl his eyes out.

That was how Mikas and Matthias first met.

*****

“What’s that?” The tall boy asks, with some hesitation, narrow eyes zeroing in on his slim figure. It made him shrink.

“That is a person, Jaime, obviously,” Matt, Prince Matthias, replies, sounding unimpressed.

“He has a slave collar,” Jaime defended.

“Still human.”

“Yes, but...whatever, anyway, that’s not what I was trying to say.”

“No? Must have heard you wrong.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I’m really not catching on.”

Jaime sighs, sufferingly, though it seems to Mikas like he’s been through similar conversations before.

“Sure, fine, who’s that?”

“Mikas.”

An annoyed growl leaves the older teen as he shoves Matthias nearly off his sofa. Having never seen anyone act like this toward nobility, much less royalty, his heart skips a beat. Matthias, however, only laughs.

“My new friend. I’m replacing you with him because he doesn’t have a rat up his ass,” Matthias explains as he reclaims his spot on the seat. The two teens launch into a verbal spar that Mikas struggles to follow. It didn’t really matter. Friend. He falls a step further down the spiral of hero worship and infatuation.

*****

There was blood trailing down his leg. There was blood trailing down his leg. That man had hurt the Prince. Mikas scrambled to call for a guard, a healer, someone. Matthias would not let him. There were bruises blooming across his arm. Ugly, dirty violet marring pale skin. Mikas reached out to touch. Matthias flinched like he was struck.

The sky in his eyes had darkened to an empty grey. There was something about his faraway gaze that made Mikas’ heart clench. Tears began to fall down his face that rose a weak chuckle from Matthias.

What are you crying for?

For you.

For a second, Mikas saw the calm in his demeanor waver.

Why do you cry for me?

Because you don’t cry.

Silence enveloped them for a long while before Matthias spoke. He whispered the words like he feared them.

Am I worth crying for?

Yes.

*****
He didn’t know who started it but it spread like wildfire. Saint Matthias became a popular term to address his lord. He couldn’t help but agree with that nickname. Look at that face, what else was it if not godly? He told Jaime about how he thought Matt looked like an angel once. It took awhile to explain what an angel was because Jaime only knew Saints but once the older boy understood, he gave Mikas this odd pitying look and patted his head. You dumb child, he said without saying. Mikas pouted indignantly.

It was only when he accidentally walked into that room without knocking and saw that messed up hair and wild eyes and smile that Mikas suddenly understood. Angels were not that beautiful. Devils were. Well, he found himself thinking, either way works. He told Jaime about that, too, later. He received an even more sympathetic look. You poor thing, he said without saying. Mikas was too far gone to really care.

*****
The first kiss was in the hidden corner of the Library. He remembers everything about it. The faint taste of citrus that lingered on his tongue, the trembling of his hands and the warmth that grasped his heart.

The thirteenth kiss was in the study of their new residence. He saw a man drown on land. He watched a man die because of his words. He would never admit he had nightmares about it.

The fiftieth, the sixtieth, the seventieth, all of them were carved into the walls of this house. Sweet pecks on his cheek, butterfly kisses on his neck, those that made him smile, those that left him breathless, all of them. One day, he promises himself, he will think of them with happiness untainted by loss.

The last kiss was on a solemn night in the dark lounge. Matthias sat upright and composed in his chair but Mikas knew better than to think that he was really fine. Mikas stood with pain etched in his eyes and shaking figure but Matthias knew better to think that he was anything less than sure. Matthias would never truly be his. Call it stupid pride, perhaps, for a mere him to want more than what he already had. Mikas did not want to settle for anything less than complete loyalty.

The last kiss was soft, a wordless agreement, a parting gift. The last kiss was fleeting with a hint of desperation. The last kiss was the final time he believed in happy ever afters.

*****

“Are you going to marry her? Lady Irene?”

“Probably, why?”

“Be good to her.”

“Huh? When did you become her father?”

“You’re going to spend your life with her.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Matt.”

“Fine.”

“Seriously.”

“Yes, fine, I get it.”

“I’m watching you.”

“I’m quaking in my boots, Mikas, really.”

 

[GetThree]

Matthias - Sword & Shield (I)

6 . 8

“We really should go, Your Highness.”

“Who?”

Jaime sighed like he was in physical pain.

“Matt, come on.”

“Why?”

“Just hurry up!”

The more agitated the older boy got, honestly, the less willing he felt to comply.

“I don’t want to, though.”

“My father will beat me to death if we’re caught.”

He considered those words and felt suddenly sorry.

“Fine.”

7 . 9

“Andrew said I look like a girl.”

He had not been expecting any response from the distracted Jaime, really, he was just wanting to vent.

“You do.”

It was just the sort of nonchalant remark the older boy liked to make. Even at his young age, he would normally not have thought anything of it. That day, though, he had been hurt and overly sensitive. He stood to leave before Jaime could see him tear up.

“Matt? You’re leaving?”

He could hear Jaime coming after him. He hastened his steps to the door, mortified, sure that he would die of embarrassment to be seen crying over something so petty.

“I didn’t mean it, hey, come on.”

He was too slow. Jaime got to him. He tried to struggle out of the sudden grasp on his arm.

“You’re crying?”

This was it. Jaime was going to think he was an idiot.

“Sorry, I was being a jerk, okay?”

His face was burning. He tried to push the older boy away but Jaime wouldn’t budge and that just made him cry even harder.

“Look, you’re pretty, that’s why they say you look like a girl.”

That was a horrible attempt at consolation. He couldn’t help but find it oddly funny.

“But, guess what, joke’s on them because that just means you’ll grow up more handsome than they’ll ever be, see?”

Laughter bubbled out of him through sobs.

"That makes no sense," he complained.

“Really, there’s nothing wrong with how you look or talk or anything about you. You’re amazing.”

He hadn’t believed that. But, even so, he clung onto those words like a saving grace.

10 . 12

“He won’t really believe them, will he?”

“I…guess.”

“He won’t. My mother would never betray us. He has to know that.”

“You should go to sleep, it’s late.”

“Nothing will happen to mother, right? There’s no way.”

“It’s really late, I-.”

“Please.” His voice trembled. He was being unfair, he knew that, and yet.

“I don’t know about these things, Matt, I’m sorry.”

Jaime, the idiot, left the room. He sat in the dark feeling desolate.

12. 14

“You really like Mikas.”

The sudden proclamation caught him off-guard.

“Well, yes?”

“You’re happier around him. It’s really obvious.”

“If this is you trying to make me admit I have a crush again, the kid’s tiny, no way.”

“No, I’m just saying…”

“What?’

“I’m glad. That you found him.”

“Even though he’s, the horror,” he gasped mockingly, “ a slave?”

“You’re impossible, man, I’m being serious.”

“I know. But, I mean, it’s both of you that I’m happy around, you know? Not just Mikas.”

Silence. Jaime’s usually stoic face showed traces of a smile.

15 . 17

Jaime had his hand still on the hilt of his sword as he watched man walk out. The air was tense. When the ambassador turned to greet Matthias, for a brief moment, the teen looked ready to cut someone into a million pieces.

“Put down the sword, Jaime, I-”

“Was it only this once?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighed. Jaime never failed to make him feel guilty in times like this.

“You were busy,” he excused weakly.

“You don’t trust me?”

There was so much emotion in those few words, it choked him.

“I trust you.”

“Then, tell me.”

16 . 18

“I talked to my father last night.”

“While you were drunk?”

“He says he’ll disown me if I pledge to you.”

“Just stay in the Imperial, seriously, I’ll manage.”

“I already told him to go fuck himself and watch me win all his wars, though.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Would I joke about this?”

“Saying that to Lord Aerie and living to see the next sun is…”

“A feat deserving of at least a Lieutenant position in your army, no?”

“Forget Lieutenant, man, I’ll give you Captain for that.”

 

[GetThree]

Matthias - Heart Strings

If love was the skipping of heartbeats and childish need to impress, his first love was Lilianthe Kalvin. A beautiful girl, a year older than him, who seemed to always be surrounded by friends and laughing. His eyes would follow her whenever they were in the same room and the number of his words would sharply increase once she joined the conversation. When she came to watch the boys spar, almost by magic, the time he took to defeat his opponents went down by half. It was so obvious that even Jaime had noticed.

She definitely likes you too, you know?

No way, how can you tell?

Because all the girls like you, Matt, don’t pretend you don’t know.

Yeah, but not her. She’s different.

She wasn’t. The moment her blushes around him became clearer, hold on his arm lingered longer and glares at the other girls grew fiercer, his feelings for her promptly died.

+++

If love was like friendship but with secret kisses and late nights spent watching stars, his first love was Cassandra Kalvin. Wanting to get rid of the now too-clingy Lilianthe and feeling more than a little malicious, he figured, what better way to tell her to move on than flirting with her hated half-sister? He never thought that unassuming girl in the corner would be so interesting or fun to be around. She spun tales as easily as she breathed and made it so easy for him to forget about everything. He wished he had noticed her earlier.

I think I’d like to run away from the Court, some day.

To where?

Far away. To a much less boring place. Will you follow me?

If only I could.

If she weren’t an illegitimate daughter, perhaps, he might have genuinely started courting her. But, alas, they were on different levels of a ruthless social hierarchy. As their responsibilities grew, so did the distance between them and he forgot about her in the end.

+++

If love was the desire to touch and monopolize, so strong it toed the line to madness, his first love was Lucian Mae. He never knew he could feel the same passion for another man as he could a woman until the dancer and his coy smiles. They were like two flames. When they got along, they lit rooms up. When they clashed, they burned rooms down. They were in constant competition to devour each other.

Do you love me?

What...does love feel like?

To me? It feels like free-falling.

Sounds dangerous.

Was that a ‘no’?

That was a ‘shut up and sleep’, Lucian.

It was just lust, he swore to himself, he would never be so careless. He couldn’t trust any random man. His apparent paranoia was proven correct when reports from spies spoke of Lucian meeting with Prince Andrew. Matthias did not tolerate betrayal.

+++

If love was trust, faith, warmth, safety, care, affection, if it was comfort just from being around someone, if it was happiness gained from another man’s smile, then his first and only love was Mikas. He didn’t know when it started. Maybe those painful days when the boy was the one thing he had to cheer him up . Maybe those lonely nights when the boy fell asleep in his arms instead while trying to help him sleep. Maybe even the very first day he brought a wide-eyed Mikas into the Palace. It didn’t really matter.

He was free-falling.

You’re the first person I’ve ever said that to, did you know? ‘I love you’.

No way, you liar.

No? You dare accuse your Prince?

The boy laughs, his stupid heart thinks it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

I love you, Mikas, more than I could ever tell you.

But when you fall, there will always be a time when you hit the floor.

+++

If love was like magic, if it could be whatever he needed it to be, light, water, gravity, then, perhaps, he was still searching.

 

[GetThree]

Andrew - A Step Behind (I)

6.9
“You really are a genius, Prince Andrew.” “That’s remarkable.” “You’re so talented, Andrew.” Everyone only had praises for him, whenever he performed that particular piece of magic, as he expected. There was only one voice that stood out as different.

“How do you do that?” Matthias asked, sounding intrigued, staring at the water Andrew had produced with wide eyes.

“Just like that,” he lied. In truth, he had spent hours exhausting himself just to manage to create those few drops. But the kid didn’t need to know that.

“Huh? Is it that easy?” The younger was giving him such an eager look that he almost forgot he didn’t want to teach this so-called brother of his anything. Creation was the most difficult form of magic. Even the most powerful water mages could only produce small ponds worth if they used up all their strength. Andrew caught himself before he told that truth.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he replied with a shrug, vanishing the water with a flourish of his hand, drawing a small gasp from the tiny prince.

“But I can’t do it,” Matthias mumbled with a small frown, his gaze never straying from where the water once was. Andrew scoffed at that.

“Keep trying,” he retorted dismissively, not knowing that he would inspire the younger to do exactly that.

7.10
“I’ve never seen a genius like you, Prince Matthias.” “That’s amazing!” “You’re brilliant, Matthias.” Everyone praised him so much now that Andrew had grown used to having those words in his ears. But, even then, there was still one voice stood out as different.

“As expected of my son,” Emperor Jan laughed, patting Matthias on the head with a gentleness rarely seen out of him, looking more affectionate than Andrew had thought possible of the man.

How do you do that? He wanted to ask. He would have, could have, had he not so much stupid pride. Instead, he observed the rivulets of water flowing out of those small hands from the side, wordless and lifeless.

Is it that easy? He wanted to demand. He wanted to strip the grin off Matthias’s face because he knew he would never be able to have that while doing magic like this. Something painful gripped his heart. In the years to come, he would become familiar with that pain and name it devastation.

10.13
Thalia of Atlis was executed for treason. Andrew felt a lodge in his throat as he watched Matthias stand in the middle of the hall, a fragile figure, all alone. Didn’t he hate Thalia for replacing his mother? Didn’t he hate Matthias for having everything he wanted? So, then, why couldn’t he feel good about this?

“Matthias of Asta,” Emperor Jan rasped, his voice weak yet piercing, his tone wary, “your mother betrayed this nation. What do you have to say of that?”

There was a prolonged silence. Andrew felt his heart clench, fingers digging into the armrest, feeling suddenly uncomfortable about being in this front row and facing the trembling boy. The Court was tense. For a moment, the thought crossed Andrew’s mind that Matthias might be fool enough to declare himself on his mother’s side.

“That traitor is no longer my mother, Your Highness.” His brother’s first words defied that fleeting possibility. The voice that left the younger prince was firmer than Andrew had imagined it could be in this situation.

“I feel nothing but admiration for your swift and merciful justice in dealing with her. I am ashamed to share such filthy blood and only wish, father, that you would allow me to prove myself better than my heritage.” Matthias continued with a forced smile that cleverly hid the tears in his eyes from the nobility on either side of him.

They were lies. All such blatant, self-serving, disgusting lies yet Andrew couldn’t help but feel respect for the boy telling them. He would never have been able to say those things so clearly. Not if it were him standing there, surrounded by judges, a hare among vultures ready to swoop in at the smallest sign of weakness. He wasn’t that strong.

For the first time, his admiration did not come with envy.

13.16
“You look tired.” He wasn’t exaggerating in the least. Matthias looked like a ghost.

“Leave me be, Andrew, I can’t deal with you right now.” What a blunt answer. How rare, he thought, coming from Matthias and his silver tongue. It only made Andrew even more curious.

“I guess those intruders in the Labyrinth harmed you more than the healers mentioned.” He only mentioned that recent event as a rather unlikely possibility. To his surprise, however, the younger prince flinched visibly.

“I said leave me be,” Matthias growled with a ferocity that Andrew had only seen out of him in spars. He blinked, dumbfounded, confused as to which part of his words had hit the boy so hard.

“I just-” he stumbled out but couldn’t even finish his sentence before Matthias turned to him with a cutting glare and snarling lips.

“What? Must I plead you for this favor? Must I beg?” The younger continued, teeth gritted, his volume rising enough to attract a handful of eyes in their direction. Against his will, Andrew found himself drawing back.

“Fine, fine, pardon my concern,” he spat in reply and turned back to face the rest of the Throne Hall. He couldn’t quite recover from his shock. Never before had he seen the boy act out carelessly like that. Andrew’s wandering gaze reached the Empress, whose focus seemed to also be on Matthias. The glint in her eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Odd, he concluded, but better left alone.

 

[GetThree]

Matthias - An Honest Conversation

Matthias used to like that shade of brown. The kind that was like honey, dark yet warm, glowing under sunlight. After seeing it so many times in the gaze of the enemy while he was in pain, however, he had turned to rather disliking it. He wondered if Andrew ever felt the same with the cold blue of his own eyes.

“I haven’t seen that dancer of yours in a while,” Andrew mused with a facade of nonchalance. Matthias knew it was a facade because Lucian had been giving his older brother information about his army. No doubt, the older man worried that precious resource had been caught and made useless.

“I got tired of him,” he dismissed. That was not a lie. Lucian had turned out to be worthless to him, in the end, hadn’t he? It was your fault, his mind nagged, you made him feel worthless. He locked those thoughts away before they could sting him.

“A harsh thing to say when you were so besotted with him before,” Andrew laughed. There was a tension behind his voice that told Matthias that his brother had already arrived to a conclusion. Lucian Mae was done for. Not dead, though. Matthias had not been able to bring himself to kill the boy by virtue of having once considered him a friend. He was still too soft.

“I am only nineteen, you know? I’m allowed to have some foolish moments,” Matthias replied with equal humour. They had no company here on this isolated balcony close enough to have to act for. That was probably why Andrew seemed rather surprised at his joking manner.

“Foolish? So, you didn’t love him?” There was genuine curiosity in the older prince’s voice. It was Matthias who was taken aback this time.

“I… No?” He cursed himself for that stumble. Andrew raised a sceptical brow.

“You seemed to,” the other prince remarked. His demeanour as if he knew at all how his younger brother was like made Matthias feel venomous. It was too real a brotherly act for even him to follow along.

“If I did,” he began after a pause to compose himself, “I don’t anymore.”

“I pity the people you love,” Andrew sighed and looked away. Matthias, in contrast, stared hard at the older prince with mixed emotions.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He managed to get out without letting his casual mask slip.

“You’re very cold, aren’t you?” Andrew said it as he would state the colour of grass. Honey eyes turned back to meet his with a knowing light in them. Matthias frowned.

“So are you,” he whispered with a scoff, undecided on whether he actually wanted those words to be heard.

“I can be cruel, Matthias,” Andrew replied with uncomfortably great honesty, “but cruel and heartless are different things.”

“So, I’m heartless,” he repeated. He wanted to end this conversation. Or, perhaps, have it with anyone but Andrew. He should have just hummed some vague answer and moved on. Yet, he continued, unable to help an accusatory tone as he demanded, “and who’s fault is that?”

Andrew studied him for a long while. He seemed to be taking the question seriously and that bothered Matthias.

“Forget it,” he interrupted before any answer could leave his brother’s tongue. He felt that, should this conversation go on any longer, he would no longer be able to pretend it never happened.

“We should rejoin the celebrations before they miss us,” he excused. Andrew said nothing, only following him out, looking almost resigned. Thus ended the only honest conversation they shared in a decade, left to float around in repressed memories, a single, unseen blade of guilt facing them among the thousand swords they had facing each other.