Dinner was simple. Yesterday, a few old hens had been slaughtered for food. Nearly two days of work went into turning them into a pristine and dense broth that was rich in flavor. This was served as the meal’s drink, while the main entree was a roasted vegetable salad drizzled with thick, green, spicy garlic dressing.

Sybil somehow doubted that the salad was what the servants were eating, but she was too tired to complain. It didn’t seem fancy either. She couldn’t ask if Duxton was breaking the rule of eating the same food as the servants. The poor girl was still confined in her room until they were absolutely certain that the poison had left her system.

At times like these, it was best to sleep it off and hope that something would have changed in the morning. Sybil dreamt that she was dancing. It was strange. She was rarely in her own dreams. They always felt like she was watching other people’s stories unfold in front of her. Sometimes they would do mundane things, such as chores, or they would go on fantastical adventures, but she was never cast as a part in her own nighttime theater.

Below her laid a single web. She was barefoot, toes gripping the edge of the web as she twisted about. Her body bent this way and that, threatening to snap and break with every extreme flex. Sybil’s lips parted as she sang along with the music, yet it was completely silent. No melody played, no voice escaped her throat, but she felt it vibrate deep within her bones. This was something precious to her.

Then an odd tapping began to disrupt the rhythm. A force droned itself into her forehead again and again and again. Her eyes snapped open and flitted to the side of the bed. Duxton was kneeling on the floor and jabbing his finger into her forehead. When he noticed her staring, he rested his arms against the edge of the bed and set his chin on top of them.

Sybil slowly reached underneath her pillow and pulled out one of her daggers. “Get. Out.”

“I had trouble staying asleep,” he whispered back.

“I don't care,” she spat back.

Duxton pouted at her. “You and your friends have formed quite an ill opinion of me. Alton certainly did wonders to turn the lot of you against my pure and unselfish self.”

She couldn't believe he would dare complain about that. Especially now. “You attempted to force yourself on me in Carapace. You act like it didn't matter, and no one wants to bring it up, but don't think I have forgotten.”

“I wasn't going to go through with it.” He looked off to the side. “... It was a prank.”

“You had me restrained to a bed while...” Sybil sat up and tightened her grip on her weapon. “You know exactly how you have wronged me. Don't act like you’ve never offended me and don’t place the blame on Alton.”

“... I am quite the prankster,” he said with a laugh.

Hearing him chuckle made her want to slit his throat. The rasping sound he would make afterward would be a welcome addition to the conversation. His eyes darted to her and then away again. Duxton had no fear of her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I didn't realize how sick you were and thought you were playing hard to get. Tallosi explained what had happened to you before he left for the war. Looking back on it, I should have had some suspicion that everyone was lying to me. Beat was abnormally tired for some time and Shaw changed the subject whenever I inquired about the manhunt on your attacker.

However, my actions were because I was angry with you for being careless. You were the injured one. You were the one that mistaken me for the fish. I was simply there to make sure you were doing well, but you… You had to say those words… And then you had to be the one to kiss me.

You were…” Duxton’s voice faded for a moment as a look of pain flashed across his face. “You were so open and vulnerable in those fleeting moments. The way you didn’t hesitate to voice your concerns all while clinging helplessly onto me. It made me realize how much you despise me and how much of yourself you buried away anytime you were in my presence.

… And I hated it.

I wanted to punish you for loving that fool. I wanted to ruin you so that he could never hurt you again. You didn’t seem to understand that you had been abandoned. Left broken and dying in the snow. Alton did nothing but flaunt about, preening himself in a vain attempt to capture attention. Then he vanished without any care that you had gone missing. He doesn’t deserve someone as precious as you.”

Sybil still kept a tight grip on her dagger. “You have no reason to hate Alton so much. He’s made… Some mistakes, but you have no right to hurt me and claim that it’s his fault.”

“I have every reason to hate him. Everyone expects me to live his life,” muttered Duxton as he rolled a hand about the air. “I was simply a boy who made the mistake of using my magic publically. Suddenly, I was locked up until someone came to verify my blood. When my father found out I existed, he told them to throw me away. When they refused, he demanded that I be castrated.

They lied and said it was done. I was forced to live in Grand Temple with a teenage boy as my only guardian. Can you imagine what Tallosi went through? A necromancer hiding in Grand Temple who was suddenly forced to raise an eight-year-old boy? And it was all because of Alton.

Alton, the precious little fish child. The one Wulfric claimed would purify the royal bloodline with his mixed heritage. Meanwhile, I was forced to change my name to Duxton so that we would be an adorable matching pair. I was ordered to call Wulfric my uncle if I wanted to live. Shaw was only born because Wulfric needed Alton to have an Arbutus protector. Even my first love may have ended up as his wife.

All of his responsibilities became mine when he was exiled. His paladin, his family, and his promised throne. I, the mistake, the bastard, a curse upon Wulfric’s legacy, had disrupted everything. If Wulfric had another heir, I’m certain he would have arranged for my execution.”

“And none of that was Alton’s fault,” replied Sybil. “He hated the thought of leaving, but not because he wanted power. He only wanted to be with his family.”

“I am his family,” growled Duxton.

“And how was he supposed to do anything? The both of you were children who were wronged by the adults around you. They took everything away but that doesn’t matter. Prince Wulfric is dead and both of you are grown. You’re an adult now. It’s time to realize that you’ve both been punished enough.”

“And how horrid Alton’s punishment was,” the prince muttered in a sarcastic tone. “He was given a loving family while I had to stay in that cold world. Both Wulfric and Sena were murdered, my aunt despises me, and I haven’t seen my grandfather in three years. Shaw, despite my closest friend, continues to obey my every word and worship me as his lord.

You must realize that the two of us, Shaw and I, we were rotting in Fogbloom. There isn't another way to put it. We had the opportunity to escape the disease by going to Braytons. I left and I had no intention of going back unless that court grovels for my return. Meanwhile, Alton makes friendly with Aunt E, who does nothing but bend to his every whim like a pampered pup.”

Sybil shook her head. “I don't know what you're expecting me to... Say or do about anything you're telling me. You know that isn’t what Alton wants.”

He paused. That look of grief crossed his features again. “... Has anyone told you about Sena?”

“I heard that she was Shaw’s older sister.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Duxton slumped on the floor. He leaned his back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. “Imagine someone as spontaneous and cheerful as your blue-haired friend. The only difference was that her passion was with books and giving the people of this country their best chance at life instead of violence and... I don’t know, I suppose bad table manners.”

“She likes telling stories,” muttered Sybil begrudgingly. It annoyed her that Duxton obsessed with so many people yet he couldn’t be bothered to use Zaniyah’s name.”

“So did Sena,” replied Duxton in a distant tone. “She looked so beautiful whenever she was lost in telling me about a new book she found. Even if I wasn’t interested, she would go on and on until I was able to honestly agree that there was something special about it. If she wasn’t so adorable, I think I would have died of boredom.

When we were children, she doted on us like a sister. Alton would cling to the edges of her dress, while Shaw held nothing but admiration for her. But that was never the case for me. I cherished her in a different way, and those feelings only deepened as we grew. I sometimes like to believe that she eventually grew to love me as a man, but I will never know for certain. There is always the chance that she was with me because of obligation. Either way, I didn’t care.

For that wonderful, book-obsessed woman, the one who expected me to be my best because she cared for person I was and not because I was a prince… I would have done anything for her.” Duxton had to steady his troubled thoughts with a deep breath. “When she died, I didn’t… I didn’t know if I could continue on. I didn’t know if I could ever accomplish everything we had promised.

So I went to Braytons, where Rebecca attempted to mend my broken heart. Rebecca always treated our relationship as temporary. She asked to break it off last winter. I had asked her if she would consider staying with me after we graduated Braytons. Her feelings didn’t line up with my own.

I had spent a long time turning into the worst possible version of myself. I didn't care what sort of man I was anymore. Life had taught me that people didn't care about being used as long as they were rewarded… Nothing but toys to be played with. Toys do not have feelings. Toys can be discarded. They exist only to numb away the contempt I hold for everything in this world.

Then you appeared... You threaten me, you hit me, and you…” Duxton glanced at her. “You remind me that I need to be a good man because this country deserves a good man as their king. That I am only what I choose to define myself to be.

The reason I tell you this is because I need you to understand that that night, when you held me as gently as you did and told me that you loved me... I didn't know until that moment that I loathe any person as much I hated you in that moment... Because all it took was three words to make me feel like Sena was with me again.”

Sybil lowered her dagger. He was crying. Tears were slowly forming in the corners of his eyes. As much as he loved to play tricks on others, she didn't think he would go as far as to cry in order to do it. “... Duxton?”

Duxton stood quickly and his hand snatched the dagger out from her own. Without a care that she could summon it back to her, he tossed it aside. He then wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against the side of her neck. Choking sobs escaped him. His tears soaked into the collar of her nightshirt and felt hot against her skin.

Not once was he ever allowed to cry for the woman he lost. Not at the sight of her dead body nor at her funeral. He needed to maintain the image of a prince. It was always about what others thought of him, not about himself. The weight of it all was too much for him to bear.

“How can I make you understand?” His fingers tightened against her back. “You were given to me. I have a responsibility to protect you… I knew that man wasn’t with the militia, but you had vanished before we were clear of the crowd.

I wish I could ruin you in such a way that you would never dare run from me again. I wish I could make you understand that I can’t afford to lose you. If only you can see how Alton is destroying you… This is my last chance. I have to get this right.”

Sybil waited patiently as he ranted and poured out his feelings. She didn’t hold him or attempt to reassure him. His mind seemed broken, like he wasn’t able to differentiate between the past from the present. She wasn’t Sena. She had no idea why he was stuck on drawing parallels between them, but it didn’t make her comfortable.

“You’re scaring me.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered back.

“... Please go.”

He shook his head. His face was still stained with tears and he made no attempt to clean them off. Sybil didn’t know what to do. If she let out a shout, Vincent would be here in an instant. However, Vincent might start a fight. Duxton was unstable at the moment. Sybil dreaded the thought that either could end up seriously injured or worse.

“Let go of me and leave,” she asked again.

“Or what?” He snarled back.

Sybil opened her mouth to threaten him but a wave of dizziness hit her head, causing her to wince. She felt her chin being firmly grasped as Duxton studied her face. Out of reflex, she swatted him away.

“I am a squire,” she hissed. “I don’t care if you are a king or a common man, but your behavior is inexcusable. Get out or I will do something to force you to leave.”

Duxton tightened his grip on her chin. “You have not the power to do so,” he said with a glare. “What frightens you, Sybil? Why do you run from safety and embrace death?”

“Get out and I promise to never speak of this night,” she whispered back.

He narrowed his gaze before scoffing with disgust. “You’re weak,” he replied in a low and threatening tone. “It won’t be long until you’re dead.”

Duxton eased himself off her bed. Turning away, he whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to dab his cheeks. He let out a sigh and made his way towards the door. It was closed quickly behind him.

Sybil didn’t dare move until the sounds of his footsteps disappeared down the hall. She clutched onto the sides of her head. That headache was back. There was a horrid fear creeping up the back of her neck. One of death or being locked away in someplace small and dark. Her heart was racing and she put her hand to her chest in order to steady it.

She didn’t want to think about it. Everything was shoved away in a vault in her mind, where practically everything she didn’t want to think about went. No one came to wake her in the morning. After getting changed, she went downstairs and found that Shaw was serving breakfast. He silently pulled out a chair for her before returning to his own seat.

Sybil looked down at her meal. It was a poached egg over a scattering of roasted nuts and mushrooms, with wild greens and blackberries, and a thick slice of toast. She picked up her fork and poked a flower petal. Duxton was forcing his definition of beauty back into the estate. As annoyed as she was, at least she could confidently say that Duxton was depressed.

“I wonder if Lainee is doing alright,” she said. There was no sight of the maid.

Duxton muttered in a low, sad voice. “I sent all non-essential staff away on paid leave. You're a grown woman. You can dress yourself.”

They barely had anyone working there as it was. “Who is left?” More importantly, who was supposed to help her with the weekly parties?

Duxton continued to stare down at his plate. He started to mindlessly push a hazelnut around a dab of sauce. “The butler... I suppose the gardener and the night guard.” He did a mental tally. “That's it.”

Sybil knew she could handle some cleaning, but she wasn’t skilled enough to handle launder the fragile clothes that she and Duxton were wearing. Shaw and Vincent could help with other tasks, but what if the bandits launched an attack? The four of them against who knows how many?

She was too stunned to fully comprehend how terrible this news was. “Who is cooking the food?”

“Shaw is.”

Vincent looked up from his plate. “Gwyn did mention he was an excellent cook.”

“Why did you have to come here instead of Gwyn?” Shaw asked Vincent with a glare.

“It wouldn’t do well to let a woman travel by herself,” replied Vincent, ignorant of the backhanded tone that Shaw had used. He stuffed a mouthful of food in his mouth. “This is an interesting flavor.”

“It’s the rose petal vinegar,” muttered Shaw. “I made it myself.” He then began to mutter to himself about how he was aging it as a surprise for Gwyn, but some dumb idiot was making him waste it because he was being a big baby. Both Sybil and Vincent glanced at him and then each other. “Shut up and eat your meal. I will let all of you to starve if I hear anything about it.”

Duxton picked up his plate. “I have work to do. I’ll have my lunch at noon. If anyone arrives with something that needs my attention, direct them to the girl.” He took his food with him as he left the room.

Vincent quickly shoveled the food in his mouth and washed it down with his tea. Shaw scowled at the sight. Seeing his cooking being disrespected in such a manner was unnerving. Nothing he could do about it. Soldier mentality. Scoff down one’s meal and return to work.

“I need to do some shopping in town,” said Vincent. He picked up his plate so he could wash it. “I’ll return by early afternoon.”

Shaw let out a heavy sigh. “I was asked to attend a school in Greenmount today.” He wasn’t fond of children. Teaching children the importance of “Will you be alright until Highland returns?”

She gave a nod. “I’ll be fine. There’s plenty of books to keep me company. Stay safe and I'll see you when you get back.”

Brom would handle anyone that showed up. All Sybil needed to do was barricade herself in a room so no one could enter Everything was going to be fine. All the memories of the night before were going to be locked away. Locked away and never brought out again.