Crown of Embers

A thousand spelled candles hung in the air, reflecting in the crystal wall hangings and silver goblets. Music from the string quartet in the corner danced in and amongst the guests, mingling with laughter and conversation. Said guests, arrayed in bright colors, paraded like peacocks, and just as loud. 

The goal of the evening was to stand out, but Prince Alaric did everything in his power to blend in. He knew the purpose of the celebration and that he, a prince among dukes, was the prey. Princess Elia of Kaliden had come of age, and she needed a husband.

And their fathers demanded he be that husband.

So he stood still as Elia approached. He wiped his sweaty palms on the lining of his pockets and greeted her with a nod. “Princess.”

She extended her hand and he pressed his lips to her porcelain skin. Objectively, she was a beauty. Her dark hair highlighted the amber of her eyes and the rose of her lips. She moved with practiced grace.

But when Alaric looked at her, he felt nothing.

“It’s quite nice. Happy birthday.” He tried to maintain eye contact with her, but the waves of desperation rolling his direction were off-putting. The music slowed and the prince exhaled deeply. “Would you like to dance, princess?”

It was an offer of obligation, not of desire. But she brightened and nodded. He led her to the center of the ballroom, and the rest of the guests moved out of the way to form a ring around the pair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he placed his on her waist, and they began to sway to the music.

Their kingdoms had been at odds for nearly two decades. While that was a relatively short time frame for a feud, the economic toll on both sides had been staggering. Alaric hated being used as a pawn, but if marrying King Hamlin’s daughter would stop the fighting? It was a chance his father, King Lothar, couldn’t ignore.

Her warmth against his body wasn’t terrible. Her gaze was soft, as were her hands. So why did he still feel empty? No matter how hard he tried, he’d never felt anything for a woman. “When you meet the right princess, you’ll know,” Father always told him, but he was beginning to believe he was defective in some way.

“What are you thinking about?” Elia looked up through her full eyelashes and gave the prince a smile. “You look like your mind is a million miles away.”

Alaric shrugged and forced himself to smile back. Her attempts at flirting were just so awkward! “Just thinking about how I’ve not managed to find my beloved yet.” That was a safe way to put it, right? It seemed to be, because Elia blushed and looked away. Did she expect that sentence to be followed by a ‘but’?

Unfortunately for her, there wasn’t one.

They rotated as they swayed, and as Alaric faced the corner of the room, he spotted a young man. His hair was shaggy and his clothes were little more than stained rags. Over one eye and half of his face, an equally stained scrap of fabric served as a mask. He was so out of place that Alaric couldn’t help staring.

He spun Elia as an excuse to step closer. The fellow gazed across the room, unresponsive to the movement around him. The milky white iris of the young man’s exposed eye explained why. Ah, he was blind! The way he pressed himself into the corner, he looked like he was doing his best not to be noticed.

But curiosity won out in the man who did notice. “Who is that boy in rags?” he asked Elia, pointing to the corner. The princess turned to follow his finger and all the joy drained from her face.

“Just a servant boy. A blind and useless one, at that! He knows he shouldn’t be here! The only servants allowed at my party are the ones filling the food and drinks. Excuse me, sir. I need to speak with my father for a moment.”

She broke away from Alaric and disappeared into the crowd. No sooner was she out of sight than the prince sidled closer to the unkempt young man. He stood with his back to the wall a few feet away, taking the chance to examine the stranger.

The scraps of fabric covering him hung from his empty frame like a clothesline. Through frayed holes, Alaric could see the purples and blues of fresh bruising on the man’s arms and legs. “What’s your name?” The words slipped from his lips unbidden, as if they had a mind of their own.

But there was no response. Perhaps he hadn’t heard him? Or was he also deaf? Alaric slid closer and asked again. “What’s your name?”

This time, the stranger jumped and turned toward the source of the sound. His sightless eye stared right through Alaric as the young man trembled. “Are you speaking to me, sir?” His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, as if dusty from disuse.

“Yes.”

“Cyprian.”

Alaric’s head tilted and his eyes narrowed in thought. The name echoed back from somewhere deep in his memory, but had no meaning attached. He shrugged it off and instead focused on his new acquaintance. “Nice to meet you, Cyprian. I’m Alaric. You seem a little out of place, my friend.”

What had been meant as a gentle jest to start the conversation instead caused Cyprian’s eye to widen and his body to flatten against the wall. “I shouldn’t be here…” He began edging away from Alaric to make an escape.

“No, you shouldn’t be.” The booming voice startled both of them, and Alaric spun around to see King Hamlin standing behind him with Elia at his side. “Prince Alaric, thank you for keeping track of this useless and disobedient servant while my daughter fetched me. Please, return to the festivities. I’ll have him taken care of.”

A cold chill ran down his spine at the king’s tone, but Alaric nodded and bowed. “My pleasure, your highness.” He took Elia’s outstretched hand and returned to the center of the ballroom. A more formal dance had begun, one with whirling skirts and frequent partner changes. The steps were familiar and he jumped right in. He was surprised that their kingdoms performed the same dance. Idly, he wondered what else the warring lands shared in common.

He also kept an eye and an ear on Cyprian and the king. Not that it was hard to hear the old man’s loud shouting.

“What made you think you could come and ruin my daughter’s ball?! I could have you hanged for this! Get out of my sight. I’ll deal with you later.”

Cyprian scampered out of the room, disappearing around the corner like a startled mouse. The guests pretended not to notice any of it, laughing and drinking to drown out the dramatics. Alaric kept glancing at the empty doorway each time he turned toward it, as if expecting to see the ragged servant again.

When the dance ended, Elia appeared at his side again. Her chest bobbed up and down as she drew breath after breath. He gave her a cheeky wink. “It seems you put your all into that one, princess.”

“It’s my favorite! But I could use a bit of fresh air. Would you be so kind as to accompany me to the garden, Prince Alaric? It certainly wouldn’t do for me to be out there alone in the dark. A strong man such as yourself would make me feel quite safe.” She squeezed his bicep, and he did his best not to let her see his eyes roll back in his head.

Instead he nodded and allowed the eager princess to drag him through the main doors and into the garden. Light from the windows trickled out into the first few feet of greenery, but after that their eyes had to rely on the light of the moon. Fountains splashed around them and crickets formed the serenade.

“It’s much nicer outside away from the heat and the noise, don’t you think?” She led him to a bench quite hidden in shrubbery and sat down beside him. “I know it’s my celebration, but there are far too many people in there.”

Alaric agreed, though he was only half listening. The cool night air drank the dampness from his skin, leaving behind prickling gooseflesh. It was refreshing, but didn’t manage to distract him from his thoughts.

He kept picturing Cyprian’s face screwed up in terror as the king degraded him in front of the entire assembly. The fresh bruises made sense, after seeing that display. Something nagged at him to do something about it. Nobody deserved to be treated that way! Not even a servant.

“Alaric?”

The princess’s voice pulled him back to the garden. “Oh, sorry. Just lost in my thoughts again.”

She giggled and patted his hand. “Does that happen quite often? I do like a thoughtful man, you know.” She closed a bit of the distance between the two of them until their shoulders touched.

“Yeah, I suppose it does.” His eyes had adjusted to the dark of night and he gazed out over the many statues wrapped in ivy. “So, that servant boy. It seems like your family isn’t very fond of him.”

Elia’s face fell. Her lip curled upwards in disgust as she shook her head. “No. I don’t even know why Father keeps him around, honestly. He’s useless for most tasks because of his blind eyes, and he never takes off that scrap of fabric around his head. It makes me uncomfortable, wondering what he hides under there.”

She shivered and scooted even closer, closing the gap between them entirely. “I wish he would just disappear instead of skulking around the castle like a wraith. He never talks and he hardly makes a sound when he walks. So many times he’s snuck up on me and scared me half to death.”

“Does he do that on purpose?”

The question required a moment of consideration. She looked up at the sky and then shrugged. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. What else would he do to keep himself busy? There are only so many floors to scrub with the sheer number of servants we have.”

“Does your father often yell at his servants like that? I can’t remember my father ever shouting at ours, though he used to shout at me a fair bit as a child. I was a bit of a problem.” He chuckled at a memory of hiding in a broom closet with a face covered in jam, as the king searched for his five-year-old self.

She shook her head before reclining it on his shoulder. “No, not really. Most of the servants are eager to please and don’t do things that get them in trouble. Rag Boy, though, is constantly lurking around and annoying us rather than doing anything useful.” One side of her lip rose in disgust.

Every word she said made a marriage sound like a punishment. She may have been a beauty, but her attitude toward another person was appalling. “I see. Well, princess, I’m feeling sufficiently chilled. May I deliver you back to the ballroom? I shouldn’t monopolize your time when there are so many young men excited to share a dance with the guest of honor.”

Her disappointment was obvious, but she allowed him to help her off the bench and followed him back toward the lights of the ballroom. “I hope seeing Rag Boy hasn’t ruined your evening, Alaric. I know his presence is unpleasant.” She tucked her hand into his elbow and he fought off the urge to push her away.

“Not at all, princess.” A lie that made his teeth itch, but he followed it with a smile. When they reached the ballroom, he gave a bow and kissed the back of her hand. “It has been a pleasure, Elia. I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

She bounced with excitement at the thought and disappeared into the crowd, allowing Alaric to escape unnoticed into the corridor. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to process the emotions he was feeling.

Why did he care in the least about a servant boy whose station was so low that he didn’t even have proper clothing? He didn’t know, but something about him left the prince feeling unsettled. Cyprian felt…familiar, somehow. Even though that was entirely impossible.