ARTIZEA
AS THE LOVERS STROLLED THROUGH A QUIETER PART OF THE FESTIVAL, Artizea marveled at it all: children chasing each other with glowing lanterns, couples laughing while they danced to the lively music. They stopped occasionally to sample the food. It was truly a world so far removed from the palace.
Then Artizea's ear twitched. A child's scream, her gaze landed on a commotion to her left. She recognized the mother and child she had helped earlier, but her heart sank when she saw a thug towering over them, snatching the coins from the woman's trembling hands.
"Please," the mother begged. "That is all we have."
"And now it's mine," the thug growled, shoving her to the ground.
Artizea's blood boiled. She stepped forward without hesitation, "Stop," her voice sharp.
The thug turned, his sneer deepening while taking a look at her. "And what are you gonna do about it bitch? Who do you think you are, the Crown Princess?"
Before Artizea could reveal her identity, a shadow loomed behind her. Eric stepped forward, his expression dark with anger. "Show this kind woman some respect," he said, his voice dangerously calm.
"Tsk," the thug spat, "How about this, you move out of the way, and I won't beat the shit out of you, Prince Charming." But his bravado faltered as Eric grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the nearest wall.
"How about this? Apologize…" Eric commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And I won't send you to hell."
"S-sorry! I'm sorry, here—take it," the thug stammered, his voice shaking. He dropped the coins and scampered off into the shadows.
Eric turned to the mother, helping her to her feet. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.
The woman nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you…" she whispered, glancing nervously at Eric before her gaze shifted to Artizea. Her hood had slipped slightly during the commotion, revealing a glimpse of her golden hair and unmistakable crimson eyes.
The woman's breath hitched, and her grip on her son tightened. "Crown Princess," she breathed, falling to her knees abruptly, her face pale with fear.
Artizea moved forward, startled by the woman's reaction. "No, please, stand up," she said, her voice gentle. "There is no need."
But the woman's fear only deepened. "I am so sorry, Your Highness, for wasting your time. Forgive me," she stammered, grabbing her son's hand and bowing her head. Without waiting for a response, she scrambled to her feet and hurried away, her child in tow.
Artizea opened her mouth to call after her, but stopped when Eric placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned to him, her expression tight with frustration.
"Do not take it personally," Eric said, his voice calm but knowing. "They are not afraid of you, but the mask you wear."
Artizea frowned, looking in the direction the woman had fled. "I am more than a mask," she said quietly.
Eric tilted his head, his grin laced with dry humor. "You and I both know that, but… they, however, do not."
Artizea sighed inwardly, her thoughts turning to her father. History says he had come a long way from the tyrannical king he once was, but his legend lingered like a shadow. To many, he was still a figure of terror, a larger-than-life ruler whose mercy was as unpredictable as his wrath. To her, he was just well… Dad. She turned to Eric, her gaze softening. "Are you afraid of him, my Father?"
Eric raised an eyebrow, "Naturally." his grin turned mischievous. "But as far as Consequences go, I would prefer a swift death."
"And why is that?"
"Let's see." Eric leaned closer, closing the space between them as his voice dropped to a playful whisper. "Touch a knight, lose a finger. Touch a lord, lose A limb… Touch the king's daughter…" He exclaimed with a smirk.
Artizea's skin caught goose bumps, not because of what he said, but the truth in it. "You have not touched me…" she mumbled.
"That is true…," Eric continued. "But, I am pretty sure he will think I have done much more than just touch."
Artizea blinked, her face heating slightly before she smacked his arm. "Eric!"
He laughed again, holding his hands up in mock surrender. The instant they turned a corner, he quickly froze. His earlier laughter swept with the wind.
Artizea frowned, noticing his hesitation. "What is it?"
"My grandmother's shop," he said, pointing to a modest stall adorned with handmade trinkets and small lanterns. Behind it sat an elderly woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, her hands busy crafting a delicate lantern from thin paper and reeds.
"You're grandmother? She's here?" Artizea asked, a mix of surprise and curiosity.
Eric nodded.
"You are worried she'll what? Hug me?" she asked.
"I am worried she'll—"
"Eric!" the old woman called, her voice full of joy. She set down her work and waved them over. "Come here, boy."
Which was odd because she never turned to spot them. Before Eric could protest, his grandmother had already stepped around the stall, her eyes lighting up upon taking in Artizea's appearance.
"And what is your name?" the elderly woman winked.
"Uhhm…" Eric began.
"Maddie…My name is Maddie." Arrtizea finished.
"Oh, such a lovely name for a lovely lady! Look at those eyes, so striking!"
Artizea's lips twitched into a smile. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Please call me, Rosetta," the old woman beamed.
Eric's heart pounded as his grandmother reached out, gently taking Artizea's hands in her own. "And such soft hands, too. You are a rare beauty, my dear."
"Grandmother—" Eric panicked, his chest tightening while imagining the repercussions.
Rosetta waved him off. "Hush, child." She turned back to Artizea, her warm smile unwavering. "I hope he's treating you well. He's always been a bit thick-headed, but his heart's in the right place."
Artizea chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with amusement. "He's been very kind." She said, glancing at the intricate designs on display. "Your lanterns are beautiful,"
The old woman beamed. "Oh, you have an artist's eye. Here, take this one." She handed Artizea a small blank lantern.
Artizea hesitated, "I cannot possibly…"
"Nonsense! it is yours." Rosetta insisted, pressing the lantern into her hands. "You and my grandson can light it together tonight." She turned to Eric, "Take her where your father took you when you were a boy. You loved it there."
Eric sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I will. Thank you, Granny,"
She patted his cheek affectionately, then watched as they walked away.
"She's lovely. I can see where you get your charm." Artizea said with a playful smile on her lips.
Eric groaned. "She has no idea what she's done."
"How can you be afraid of your grandmother and not my father?" she chuckled.
"I would rather take the guillotine than a wooden spoon any day…"
"We do not do beheading anymore; it is a fair trial or death by old age in the dungeons."
"Hell no, I am sure there's someone to put me out of my misery, you would be surprised at the lengths people go to. Unless…" He glanced at her with a grin. "Will you visit me?"
"Of course!" She nudged his arm lightly. "I will even sneak you some treats to ease your suffering,"
That earned her a crooked grin. "Deal's a deal."
"No deal." Artizea continued to chuckle, holding the lantern close. "Because our secret's safe with me."
ARTHUR
Arthur could vomit.
"Is that not the first Prince?"
"What is he doing here?"
"He's even more handsome in person!"
"What I would do to be his personal slave."
What. the. fuck.
Arthur groaned internally, pretending not to hear; it was entirely his fault for not bothering to conceal himself. Nevertheless, his focus was sharp while he rode through the festival grounds. He scanned the area. He knew she was somewhere. He could feel it in his brother bone. He slowed his horse and dismounted, handing the reins to a nearby stable boy, tossing him a coin, which he gladly accepted cheerfully. He continued to ignore the curious stares and whispers that followed him.
Lanterns cast warm light over the bustling streets, and the air was filled with laughter, music, and the smell of… sweetpastries. A small part of him marveled at the festival's charm, the lanterns, the music, the laughter that spilled into the streets, but he had a task at hand, one bigger than it masked itself, one deeper than it led on, and he would not falter. No matter how tempting the distractions, he could not afford to stray—
"Arthur Pendragon," Another teasing voice called out, only…he could not ignore this one; it was impossible to.
Arthur's lungs tightened before his eyes dared to gaze into the forbidden corner, until they did. And there she was, Cesealia Quint, Eric's sister, standing as though she had stepped straight out of his last recollective memory. She had been helping her grandmother arrange all the goods at the stall, her sleeves rolled up and curls tied back. Her deer-like hazel eyes met his ocean. For a moment, everything around them blurred: the noise, the people, even the mission that had brought him here.
"Cece.." Arthur said, his voice softer than he intended.
Cesealia tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "What brings you to our humble corner of the city, Your Highness?" she said evenly.
Rosetta stood by her stall, her hands releasing whatever was previously in it, to find his. "Oh, my! Have you grown into a handsome young man!"
Arthur felt the heat creep up his neck, yet he smiled politely. "Good afternoon, Rosetta. It is lovely to see you again." His gaze flickered to her briefly before settling back on Cesealia. "I'm looking for my sister," he said, his voice steady now. "Have you seen her? Blonde hair, red eyes—"
Rosetta's eyes twinkled with amusement. "If I did not know any better, I'd think you were talking about the Crown Princess." She glanced slyly at her granddaughter. "But what would the Crown Princess be doing here?"
Arthur sighed. There was that mischievous sense of humor. "I am in a bit of a rush—"
Instead of answering, Rosetta reached into her basket and offered him a strawberry. "You think I do not know it is you who buys me out every Thursday, sly fox. Are they feeding you at the palace? You should be twice the size you are with my flour." Doubling his portion, her tone playfully scolding.
Arthur shook his head with a faint smile. "I am afraid I have not a clue of which you speak…"
Before Rosetta could continue her playful banter, Cesealia stepped forward, her expression softening. "Grandma, why not let me take over for a bit? You have been on your feet all day."
Rosetta frowned but did not argue. "Fine, fine. But only because the old arthritis is starting to kick in…"
Cesealia turned back to face Arthur, crossing her arms. "So, you are looking for Artizea," she said, her tone turning more serious.
Arthur nodded. "I did not think it would be this hard," he let out a sigh. "She does not exactly blend in."
Cesealia gave a faint giggle, "She's not the only one." Her words lingered in the air.
"Long time no see…" he said finally.
"It has been quite some time indeed."
"How have you been?"
"Busy. Working at the ports, running the goddamn ships basically," she replied cheerily.
"You always wished to be a sea captain," He said, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"And I will, one day," she said with a hint of pride. But then her expression faltered, her voice softening. "I heard about the fight. Between you and Eric that day."
His jaw tightened. "I heard you got engaged…" he forced out.
She sighed, "Long story, short ending." Her shoulders sagged slightly. "He misses you, you know. He will not admit it, as neither would you, men. But he does." Not falling for his deflection.
Arthur looked away slightly, the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. "And you? Do you miss me?"
The question lingered between them.
Cesealia hesitated, her hand brushing against the edge of the stall as if grounding herself. "It is not so simple," she said quietly.
Arthur met her gaze, "It could be," his voice soft but firm.
She shook her head, a bittersweet smile returning to her lips. "Some things are better left in the past."
Before Arthur could respond, Rosetta called out from her seat, "Cesealia! Do not forget to pack those orders before the port closes!"
"I will!" She shot back, shaking her head with a soft chuckle.
"How is Eric…?" Arthur reluctantly asked.
"Why?" Rosetta piped up, forgetting all about her bad knee, "Is he giving trouble? He was supposed to work late tonight at the castle gates. Be sure to tell him to be home before supper, will you?" She knew about their separation, but that did not stop her from trying. After all, what are grandmothers for?
Arthur resisted the urge to groan. Realizing he was getting nowhere, he sighed in acceptance. "I will make sure the message gets to him, and… fine, I will take a cookie."
Rosetta laughed and handed him the tart. "You should come around more often. The two of you were the best of friends growing up. You are always welcome here, you know."
Arthur's eyes shot up, glancing at Cesealia. "I will certainly try," he said, giving her a small smile before turning back to his search.
Cesealia straightened, her mask slipping back into place. "Good luck finding your sister," she said, her tone polite but distant.
Arthur wanted to say more, to hold onto the fleeting connection, but he knew better. "It was nice to see you both again."
"You too, Kid," Rosetta replied. "Do not stay out too late!"
"Gran…" Cesealia groaned.
Arthur chuckled, then nodded. He turned to leave, the cookie still in hand.
As his figure disappeared into the mass, Rosetta leaned closer to her granddaughter, her voice teasing. "You two really would have made the most beautiful baby."
Cesealia froze, her cheeks flushing a deep rose, the same blush Cesealia had been holding in since Arthur arrived, now impossible to hide. "Grandmother!" she hissed. "He will always be a Prince," she whispered.
"And you, his Princess." Rosetta countered, returning to her work. "They always come back, I should know, your grandfather was smitten—"
"Okay, I am off! Love you, bye." Cesealia grabbed the crate and sped off.
As Arthur walked away, he all but chuckled to himself; the weight of the moment stayed with him. But Cesealia was right; some things could not be undone.
Arthur's breath came sharp, ragged, his fist trembling as the truth sank in. "Eric…" His voice cracked, carrying more disbelief than rage. "What have you done?"
Eric's gaze did not waver. Blood still clung to his hands. "He had to die, Arthur."
"He was a lord!" Arthur roared. His chest heaved, anger sparking in every syllable. "I know you—I know you would never do something so stupid for nothing. Tell me why, Eric. Tell me!"
For a moment, silence pressed between them.
"You do not wish to tell me, fine. Let's try again—You're godsdamn Prince demands it."
Eric's lips twisted, but still no answer came, only that hollow look. "It does not matter why," he said at last, "What is done is done. So why do you not just get it over with and kill me!"
Arthur's chest burned when he looked down, closing his eyes. 1, 2, 3 so no one bleeds… his fist slackened, and a bitter laughter slipped past his lips. "You know…" his eyes hardened, his voice low, trembling. "I could never do such a thing—to you, to Rosetta, to Cesealia," he then looked up. "For them, I will cover this up… Because if this gets out, it is not just you; my father will kill. I will do this for them, Eric, but I will never forgive you. Our paths end here."
"Understood," Eric replied flatly.
Arthur turned away then. From him, from her. Whatever bond had once tied them was severed.
Just then, from beyond the carved pillars of the incense-scented courtyard, Arthur caught a cluster of veiled concubines lingering by, half-hidden behind fans and expensive jewelry.
"Did you see the Prince?" one cooed.
"He walks just like the king did at that age."
"It is a shame he will never be one."
"Forget the crown—" another said with a languid flick of her fan, "I wonder what else he inherited."
A ripple of laughter passed between them, hushed and wicked.
"Do you think he will take a concubine?"
"If he's anything like his father? most likely."
More laughter. Darker now.
Arthur froze; the air all of a sudden felt warm. He shook his head, turning to walk away, then he heard it. One of the women stepped forward, voice honeyed with memory. "My mother was one of the king's favorites… before the preciousqueen arrived. It took her three years of trying before she finally gave him the Crown Princess. A girl no less, and by the last one, the king barely looked her way."
Another leaned in close, voice dipping into a conspiratorial hush. "I heard he fathered a child with his favorite concubine. Then, the council married her off to a foreign envoy."
What.
"Some say the queen still does not know," one whispered behind her veil. "Or worse, she knew… and said nothing."
A slow inhale. What the fuck
"It was a political marriage, after all. I would have kept my mouth shut, too. About my age, my past—anything for a life of silk and safety."
"Speaking of which…I swore to the gods I thought I saw the Crown Princess dancing with a commoner… I would not be surprised to see a new heir in 9 months, as you say, what fool would pass up the chance…"
Their laughter filled the area.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat. He adjusted his pace, his eyes scanning the vibrant red eyes, once more. "Artizea…" he muttered under his breath. "Where are you?"