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Patriots In the Night

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I never conceived I'd be saying this: the undead is serving me soup.

There are rumors that in big cities, the extremely affluent exhume the bodies of those too poor to buy protection and fill them with enough living essence to do their bidding. Growing up in Willowbrook, I assumed I’d never have the means to confirm or deny such a heinous accusation. 

In small towns, we let the dead lie. The closest we come to meddling with the affairs of the dead is our belief that occasionally the spirit of the deceased resurrects inside of a living vessel, like a beloved animal.

At first glance, they look almost alive. But, upon closer inspection, the skin is sallow with a plasticky film. Which I can only assume is some sort of preservation technique. The eyes are focused to such a fine degree that it is unnatural. Even their smiles seem painted on and disingenuous. 

“They call them phantoms. The wealthier you are, the more phantoms you can afford,” Jacoby whispers to me while we’re sitting at the table. “They’re barely sentient. Just husks of once people with one-track minds, if that isn’t too generous a term. No emotions. No free thoughts. They can only take commands and follow them out. There’s no reasoning with them either. So, keep your distance.”

“Rich people are so…” I whisper back, baffled at the lengths those with money will go to flaunt said money to other people who also have money in their inane competitions. It sickens me to my stomach.

“Well, as of this moment, you are one of those “rich people.” Jacoby reminds me before he straightens up and turns to make conversation with Esper. Although I know he’s just trying to help keep our facade as strong as possible, I can’t help feeling chastised. He’s right, of course. I am one of these people. And if I act any other way, it means death for all of us. I have to start thinking more like a princess and less like a boyish orphan from the countryside. 

Our audience with the king and queen isn’t for a couple more days. This week is purposed for the prince and I to get acquainted. We have an entire itinerary that includes things like walks in the royal gardens and private lunches. Also, there is a performance to be held at the end of the week in honor of my arrival where I’ll make my first public appearance as future crown princess. I want to be nervous, but I’ll have every evening until the performance to wallow in my anxiety; so, I choose to savor this moment of relative ease. 

Besides the walking dead, the dining hall is beautifully decorated. Braeins sport their colors with pride, I’ve noticed. Blue and silver tapestry hang to the side of every door. Blue linen adorns the ornate, wooden tables. And adjacent to every window is a sparkling flag. Growing up in a tiny village where if you're not starving that means you're in someone's good graces, I can't imagine having so much pride in that. Love for the people, yes. And appreciation for the blessings, yes. But, pride in an invisible, unreachable country where the chosen lot live in luxury and the discarded others fend for themselves? When I know Ama is wasting away in her bed while these nobles stuff their faces with handfuls of privilege, it's impossible to find a place in my heart for patriotism. 

I'll play the part of a spoon-fed princess for as long as I have to in order for us to get back to Ama, but I'll never consider myself to be truly apart of these greedy people's ranks. And that, I can take pride in.

During my quiet survey, I notice the prince taking glances at me. My first instinct is to tell him off before I remember where I am and who I’m supposed to be. Of course he’s curious. I’m his bride-to-be. I suppose I should be curious about him as well. He’s handsome; that much is obvious. And he seems to be amiable enough. Definitely not a nose in the air type of royal. I can appreciate that. But, I do have to consider that he’s mingling with “the princess”. If he knew I was just a poor orphan from one of the discarded villages he and his royal posse, or whatever they’re called, deem unfit to bother with, maybe it would have been a different introduction. 

Throughout the dinner, I do my best to obey Jacoby’s instructions. Polite, and brief. Don’t say much more than I have to. So when the prince addresses me, asking me about our journey, I simply mention how hot it was. But, when I feel Jacoby stiffen beside me, I know I’ve already said the wrong thing in so few words. It takes me a couple of stalled beats, but the realization dawns on me. I’m a princess. Or, ...a thief playing the role of a princess. I should have been in my comfortable carriage, shielded from the sun, being fanned by my personal servants and drinking the chillest water that’s been fetched from the clearest of rivers. There is no reason for me to have felt any sort of temperature I found displeasurable. With the daintiest flick of my wrist, I should be able to have anything I desire. Moreover, I can dismiss anyone who doesn’t bend over backwards in pursuit of those desires, no matter how silly or trivial. And absolutely no one would dare accuse me of being unreasonable for it. The world is within my palm. I should want for nothing at all. 

So, for me to complain about my journey being uncomfortable in the slightest is a dumb mistake I’ve made before the dessert has even hit the table. Elora may have been right. Should I have fought harder for my sister to take my place instead of letting my own ego get the better of me? Perhaps.

“Hot, huh?” The prince seems to mull over my words. And although irrational as it would be, I fear he’s going to see right through our facade at this very moment and throw us all in the dungeons to await our shared fate. However, his gentle grin doesn’t falter for even a second as he says, “It can get quite warm even inside of a carriage with this weather. Today, we’re cursing the heat. And soon enough, we'll be cursing the cold. Funny, no?”

“Quite,” I say, biting back the relief that pulses high in my throat. 

This is only the first of the intimidating list of mistakes I make during the various courses. 

The dinner passes in long pauses and heavy sighs. I couldn’t be worse at this if I tried. My hubris is going to be the death of us all. By the time the prince is bidding us goodnight and Jacoby is escorting me to my room for retirement, I have to hold in tears. Not the sniffle and whimper kind, either. It’s the tears that make me say a prayer because I’m afraid I’ll really just suffocate with my face in a pillow. 

“Tomorrow will be better,” Jacoby says and pats my shoulder. I can hardly look him in the eyes. I’m so ashamed I may just curl in the tiniest ball I can manage and evaporate into the air. Not much harm I can do anyone as a particle floating through the universe. 

“No one died. Stop looking like that.” Jacoby lowers himself on the enormous bed beside me.

“Not yet,” I say, finally looking at him with wet, itchy eyes.

Jacoby huffs. “The only one dying around here is me, of boredom! All the money he can wish for with the freedom to roam, much more than a princess has, and all the prince talks about are his horses and the gardens.”

“I’m serious.” I'm borderline shrieking. “I might get us caught and beheaded.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Serious,” Jacoby says with a dumb smile. “I’m Reasonable. No one’s getting beheaded. It’s been a stressful few days. I’m not going to lie and say the hard part is over. Truthfully, it’s only just beginning. But, by tomorrow, the prince will have forgotten all about your tongue slips. So, be careful not to make anymore and we’ll all be just fine, yeah?”

Maybe that’s supposed to be comforting. All I hear is our fate is hanging suspended over a bottomless pit. Too many hacks at the frayed rope and we’ll be consumed. And I’m the one tasked to safeguard the rusty axe that does the aforementioned hacking in my sweaty, tremoring fingers. Ah...very reassuring.

“As relieving as it is to know our lives are basically in my hands, I think I’ll refrain from hearing the rest of this moving speech,” I say. “Wouldn’t want the well of wisdom to run dry. Because, whatever would we do then?”

“I can take a hint.” Jacoby gets up, straightening his robes lazily. “Try to get some sleep, alright? You’re having a picnic lunch with the prince tomorrow. Just before high noon, some ladies will come and help you get ready. And then after that, you’ll have lessons with various tutors.”

“Tutors?” 

“Yes, tutors.” Jacoby confirms with a nod. “The princess is expected to be highly knowledgeable about most subjects. Mathematics, arts, science, and even a bit of politics. Not enough to rival your male counterparts. But, enough to sit in on discussions and make intellectual interjections.”

Groaning, I throw myself back on the bed. “Foraging in the blazing heat is easier than being a princess. You should have let Elora do it. She’s better at this stuff than I am. She’d probably even have fun. Meanwhile, this corset is making me sweat in places I didn’t know sweated until today. Plus, I’ve started to perfect breathing every two beats instead of one so it’s not digging into my spine constantly. As pitiful as it sounds, I’m actually kind of proud of myself.”

“Elora? In charge of sensitive information we need to save Ama’s life?” Jacoby deadpans. “If that sentence actually sits right with you, that corset is tighter than you’re letting on. Look, I need to squeeze information out of Esper, so I can get it back to you. I’ll come back later to say goodnight.”

After pressing a kiss to my forehead, Jacoby takes his leave. Soon after he’s gone, a group of women sweep in to undress me. I wonder where Elora is as the women pull my limbs this way and that. I actually miss her, smartass quips and all. 

By the time they’re finished, I’m left alone in a flowy nightgown that looks too exquisite to be worn to bed. I gaze toward the window. It’s well into dusk. But, I’m not tired. Oddly enough, all throughout the day, especially at dinner, I could only think of when I would be able to sink into this colossal bed. Now that nothing is stopping me, I couldn’t be more disinterested in sleeping. I look to one of the huge flags hanging on the wall. I know now that the prince’s room is just on the other side of the wall that particular flag is hanging on. I wonder if he’s also getting ready for bed.

It only occured to me briefly before that I might have to hold his hand. Maybe kiss him. Pretend that I’m falling in love with this man I’m destined to betray. I’ll have to deceive him. Lie straight to his face without so much as twitching or blinking out of tune. If I continue to bumble along like tonight, we’ll all be drug into scrutiny. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

Feeling strangely energetic, I slide my feet into a pair of slippers and venture out into the looming hall. It’s dimly lit. And empty in a sinister way. Maybe it’s meant to be that way. I only remember the dead-eyed phantoms when I hear something that sounds too much like feet scuffling. My heart thumps to an off-beat tune. Suddenly, I feel a chill that makes me shiver all the way to my curled toes. It’s as if my body senses it before my eyes have a chance to process. 

At first, it looks like a regular servant, arms heavy with bundles of candles. But, it doesn’t take long for me to notice the way it barely shifts. It doesn’t take a moment to shiver from the cold. It doesn’t allow its eyes to roam around the empty hall. It’s so focused on its task that my throat goes cold and my chest tightens. The other end of the hall doesn’t lead out. This is a little hallway purposed solely to house the prince and princess’ rooms. And I’ve already roamed too far from my room to go back. The only way out is to scuttle around the phantom as it passes. And the thought of having to get so close to it when I’m completely and utterly alone makes me want to cry. It’s gaining on me and I have no way of escape. So, I hold my breath and brace myself to rush past it.

But, before it gets close enough, the prince’s door opens and before I have time to think I rush inside and press my back against the wall, panting lightly. I know I’m being stared at, but I can only laugh hysterically as the relief floods inside of me. I feel at ease and stupid all at once. Of course, the phantom doesn’t dive in behind me in hot pursuit. It shuffles past the open door and goes about its business of light maintenance. Buzzing like a jack rabbit, I remove myself from the wall and force myself to look at Hyungwon. I expect him to seem disturbed, or surprised at the very least. Instead, he looks almost as if he’s holding back a laugh of his own.

“They take some getting used to,” he says. “But, I promise they mean you no harm.”

Adrenaline is still pumping like molten lava through my veins, so I can barely manage a jerky nod. Hyungwon poses me a speculative expression before closing the door and crossing the rug to sit on the edge of his mammoth bed. I notice he’s still in his robes from dinner. He pats the space next to him. I hesitate for a moment, supposing I should feel scandalized. I’m in a nightgown and slippers, drowning in the belly of this man’s room. My soon-to-be husband, sure. But, still...a princess of quality breeding should know better than to mingle unattended with a man who isn’t yet her husband.

How fortunate that I’m of rather seedy breeding then.

I sit next to him.

It’s my first time being so close to any man who isn’t one of my brothers. And I would hardly call Jacoby or Pond men. More like men-like creatures who still think it’s funny to shove their saliva-drenched fingers down my ears. Hyungwon is a full grown man of twenty. He smells of vanilla and musk. I realize that my palms are uncomfortably moist. 

“I always imagined I’d meet my wife on one of my courageous adventures. I’d probably save her from having her soul devoured by a demented necromancer. Then, we’d fall in love and I’d make her my queen,” Hyungwon says, voice low and hands clasped. Nostalgic. “On the eve of my seventeenth birthday, my father told me of a beautiful, accomplished princess from a small textile kingdom whom I was already betrothed. I was furious. I stomped around the castle for months, throwing tantrums like an overgrown child and detesting the very thought of you. Then, at some point, I stopped being angry. I realized you were into this just as much as I was. I was born into a life of privilege and I’m arranged to be wed to a charming and intelligent young lady. Oh, poor me.”

I have no words. I always imagined royals to be selfish and narcissistic puppets, incapable of having thoughts that stretch further than their distaste for the buttered rolls at supper or the color of their bed linens. Being brought up in a poor village bordering a tiny kingdom where even the privileged few are just getting by themselves, it’s easy to believe the stories of the gluttonous aristocrats. It’s comfortable even, just to figure they don’t care enough about anyone else. 

I look up, and notice he’s giving me that mysterious look again. His lips are smiling, but his eyes are heavily guarded, careful not to disclose his thoughts behind them. 

“I grew up privileged as well,” I say tentatively. It’s not a total lie. I never went hungry or had to beg for necessities on the side of the road. Ama provided for us as well as she could and we were always content. “That being so, I understand I have certain obligations and responsibilities. I’m sure you’d prefer as much as I would for more of a choice in this. However, if this is the way it has to be, I’ll do my best to make this a pleasant arrangement. If you are willing to do the same?”

Hyungwon takes my hands in his and I startle a bit. 

“I am more than willing.” His eyes are so penetrating I feel like the oxygen has been from my body and I’m breathing on borrowed air that will eventually run out. “This is my future, our future, at stake. And it’s going to be bright. That, I can promise you.”

I can hardly do anything more than nod. My chest is tight, conflicted. Not only am I going to steal from this man who has shown nothing but kindness to me. I’m also stealing the actual princess’ place in his heart. And I can’t be sure if she’s alive or dead. I’m a monster.

“It’s getting late now, and I have some work to finish before I retire to bed. I have something I want to show you, though.” Hyungwon stands, still holding my hands, and I rise with him. He leads me over to one of the many flags displayed in his grandiose room. I’m confused for a moment. He can’t possibly want to show me the Braein flag. It’s in every room I’ve been in so far. Then, before I have a chance to ask he lifts one end of the flag to reveal a brass door handle.

“It’s a little passageway that connects our rooms,” he says. “I’ve had the dirt cleaned and the cobwebs cleared. You are free to lock the door on your end at any time, but mine will always be open for you. If you want someone to talk to, or just a place to hide from your ladies-in-waiting, you are welcome.”

“Thank you, Prince Hyungwon,” I say.

“Just Hyungwon.” He smiles.

“Why are you so perfect?” I sound incredulous, even to myself.

The prince makes another one of those expressions I’m so caught up in decoding that I just barely am able to process his actual words. “I’m nowhere near perfect. There are some unsavory details about myself I’m being very careful to keep from you. And I hope I can keep it that way. But, you, Princess? You truly are flawless.”

“You say that after I made an imbecile of myself at dinner?” I scoff and look away. “There is no need to flatter me with lies.”

With a finger under my chin, Hyungwon gently guides my face his way. “In an earnest attempt to impress my royal court and bring honor to your kingdom you exposed an emotion so human as anxiety. Can't quite consider that a fault. Actually it was rather endearing.”

I can only spare a moment to relish in the gentle warmth that spreads across my chest before it hits me. Something like light tugging just above the nape of my neck. Of all times, it chooses now. 

The distinctive tingle in my scalp sets my face on fire. In an instant, I’m mortified.

“Princess, is something the matter?” Hyungwon’s voice sounds like an echo in the wind. I’m so ashamed I simply make a weak apology and excuse myself in a hurry so I can flee back to my room. I’m so aghast I don’t even spare any energy to be afraid as I whip past the phantom and dive inside of my room, pushing the door shut behind me and collapsing on my bed. 

The tingle ensues and I’m so out of breath at this point that I take in large and labored gulps of oxygen, hoping something can cool the inferno raging through my ribcage.

Am I blooming?