Young Writers Society

“Why are you even here?” I asked down at the water.

He sighed heavily, brushing my hair from my face with the cloth. “You know how I just love to heal your wounds.”

“I’m still mad you.” My eyes found his. His jaw clenched and he rested his forearms along the bath’s edge. He was dressed in a white shirt with an embroidered deep blue and gold waistcoat. The matching coat was draped over my bed. It appeared to be a ‘dressed down’ version of what he had worn at the ball.

“I know. And I deserve it.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Give in so easily.”

“What would you rather me do?”

I ran my tongue over my teeth, my anger swelling painfully in my chest. “Let me be mad at you. I have every right to be.”

He said nothing to that. The mix of the heat of the bath and my own temper had my heartbeat pounding in my ears so fiercely I thought I may have missed his reply. But when I looked at him through my hair, his head was bent, fingertips delicately tracing the murky water.

“You made me feel like a plaything back in your room. Just something to keep you entertained. To distract you.” Tears swelled in my throat. “I know I am that for everyone else. I know most people don’t even see me as a person. But you were always different. You made me feel different. You made me feel real.”

His eyes found mine once more and my heart thudded violently in my chest at the pain displayed so openly in them. His brows furrowed, lips trembling.

“You made me feel like a person,” I forced through my tears.

“You are more than that to me.” A fierce surety sharpened his gaze as he locked eyes with me. “You know that.”

His jaw worked again, lips parting to form words but they died on his tongue. Those lips. I couldn’t help but recall how they tasted. How they pressed against my own with such bruising passion that all thought escaped me. Everything escaped me. The whole world melted away and it was just him, him, him.

The way he grabbed me. His big hands gripping me against his body. His possession over me. I had relished in every frivolous second of it because I was his, his, his.

My eyes clenched shut and I felt my salty tears slip down my cheeks and sucked in a hiss of pain as they found my cut lip. How foolish I had been. It hadn’t been passion that had lifted me off the ground, pinning me between the cold marble and his warm chest. It hadn’t been his desperate want for me that had had him panting for breath. It had been anger. It had been a need for escape. It had been the exhilaration of finding something mindless and numbing to get lost in.

The bathwater swirled around my arm as his hand slid through it to reach for me. I jerked back and the water smashed against the wooden floor behind me.

“Get out,” I gritted out in a voice so poisonous my body flushed with gooseflesh.

He froze beside me. “Wally.”

His nickname for me had never sounded so insulting. I tilted my head just enough to catch his eyes. He shrank back at the blazing fury I could only hope he saw in my gaze.

“I said get out.”

“At least let me help you out. You might hurt yourself-”

“You’ve done enough!” I screamed, lurching to my feet. Water dropped off me in a sheet, slapping to the floor. The room spun. Black flecks swarmed my vision and I stumbled, my legs unable to support my weight.

“Please, Wally!”

I felt his hands on my shoulders, setting me straight but my vision was still swimming. My arms lifted to swat him away but they weighed too much. His body was then against mine, his side supporting me. He cupped the back of my knee and helped me out of the tub. I followed his guidance and let out a breath of relief when both of my feet met solid – wet – ground.

Shivers suddenly assaulted me. My teeth clattered together as Kaspar’s fingers carefully pulled my hair from my face. He was beginning to piece together before me but once I was able to focus on his concerned gaze, another wave of revulsion ripped through me.

I pushed him- well, I attempted to push him. Instead, my heavy arms folded against his chest like they were made of fresh clay.

“Let me stay,” he pleaded. “Let me get you a towel.”

“You need to go,” I managed to mumble back, releasing more tears. I was struggling for breath as I openly sobbed. “Please, leave.”

He let go of me then, his hands sliding from me cautiously. The loss of his weight against me was so sudden and emptying I felt like he’d taken a piece of me with him. I kept my eyes to the floor as he crossed the room to collect his coat. And then he was gone and I was left cold, naked and alone.

I dropped onto my bed. Pain like a red-hot poker lanced right up my bruised spine. I fisted my bedding, biting down on my lip only to release a cry of agony when my busted lip tore open and fresh blood filled my mouth.

Drying and dressing myself was a challenge. My body was a mess of grazes and bruises. Some may have been from the night with Kaspar. Belatedly, I wished I hadn’t been so determined not to look at the evidence of our tryst. It would have been nice to be able to differentiate between the marks of love and hate.

Way back in the woods, Kaspar had told me he loved me. It had been sweet and awkward and it was very much him. To which I responded with a joke, which was very much me. I liked to think he meant it but, I guess, being a baby abandoned in an inn and being told for the first few years of my life that I was sickly and unlovable, that stuff was bound to make me question things. And it appeared to have left a sour taste in my mouth ever since I was a boy.

Kaspar was the prince. A very strong, handsome, adored prince. I was a pale, skinny jester. Knowing that Kaspar sometimes despised being royal, in the back of my mind, there was always the nagging thought that our hidden relationship was all just a way for Kaspar to rebel against his father and his title.

It was only a matter of time before I pushed him away.

And it seemed like that night in his room was the perfect excuse to do so.

Back in my simple pedestrian clothes, I grabbed my pail from next to the basin to start emptying the bathtub. I lost my footing on the wet floor and went flying into the air. The pail swung wildly and I let go of it to prevent it hitting my square in the face. My back collided with the floor and I felt every bump of my spine connect to the wood. The pail clattered against my wall, upending a shelf and sending pots of paintbrushes sprawling over my workstation.

A cry of gut-wrenching anguish ripped out of me so forcefully it made my stomach cramp. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I lay there, the cold water quickly soaking into my shirt. I curled up onto my side and wept, lacking the strength to even pretend I was all right.

The booming knock on my front door was very much not welcomed. My jaw clenched and I let out a silent scream against the floor before I collected myself enough to call out,

“Leave me alone.”

I did not need Kaspar guilt-tripping me into forgiving him right now.

“Wallace Treager?”

I sprang up, eyes wide on the front door. That was not Kaspar’s voice.

“Wallace Treager, open up.”

Using the end of my bed for support, I managed to pull myself up to my feet right before my door flew open, spitting bits of wood from the broken lock. Two guards marched into my home.

“Wallace Treager, you are under arrest by order of the king.”

One grabbed me and hauled me to my feet. When I stumbled, they both looped their arms under my armpits and dragged me out.

“Wait! What – what is this about?”

The breeze cut through me like glass. My bare toes stung, the sharp stones biting.

This couldn’t be for the play, could it? I was trying to help. I was on the king’s side.

“The king has reason to believe you have disobeyed his direct orders.”

My heart pounded erratically. My feet caught the ground and after several paces, I was walking upright without their help. There was a horse and jail cart awaiting me at the end of the path. I jerked against their hold but they urged me inside and locked the door.