A Heart Wrapped in Thorns #5
He did not count Marceau a friend, but they were friendly.
Marceau did not staunchly avoid him like the rest of the court, at any rate, even if he never did much more than that.
And there was always a look in his eyes, the look so many in court wore.
Waiting for an edge, an advantage, the right leverage to lift himself up higher in the court.
Aurélien never entirely trusted that. Ambition itself wasn't the problem, only the cold ruthlessness that so often went with it.
"Rumor has it that prince who arrived yesterday was invited here by your mother to marry you," Marceau said. "I thought you'd like some warning."
So his mother was up to something, exactly as he'd feared.
"Well, she's in for yet another unpleasant surprise from me, because that's not happening.
" The magic would not permit it, and she damn well knew that.
The magic does as the magic wills. If she tried to ignore the spell she'd ordered cast, the magic would lash out. She knew that.
Yet here she was trying to defy the magic anyway.
"Your mother is the queen, in case you forgot," Marceau said dryly. "I hear Prince Zarin is…bearable. And of course, he's just a fourth son, so he's happy to remain here and serve your mother."
"Of course," Aurélien muttered. He set aside the wine and looked harder at Marceau, feeling tired. "So what does it matter to you?"
Marceau eyed him slyly, stealing the wine for himself and taking several sips. "We're friends, or friends enough. I know you don't want to marry someone your mother picks for you. So…what if you married me instead?"
If a single shred of affection had filled Marceau's eyes as he made the suggestion, Aurélien might have been tempted. For the barest moment he might have considered defying the magic just for the chance at someone who genuinely held him in some manner of affection.
But there was nothing but greed and ambition in Marceau's eyes. He didn't care about Aurélien anymore than this prince he'd yet to meet.
Nobody cared.
"You would be better than a stranger, I admit," he said levelly, "but you are overlooking the same thing as my mother: I am bound by the magic.
By her command, I was bespelled by the Test of Heart.
The mage told me the one meant for me—"ocean blue eyes, a soft smile, a gentle touch, vanished without so much as a fucking goodbye "—would appear some time after my siblings found their matches. "
Marceau seemed momentarily angry, but hid it quickly. "I think it's pretty clear by this point that spell isn't working. The only spell you seem to have are your ugly thorns."
"Ugly," Aurélien repeated softly, staring at where they just barely crept past his wrists to tease at the edge of his hand.
Keone had called them beautiful. Something no one else had done. Just one more reason he'd thought…
The magic does as the magic wills, and all will be as it should, even when it seems quite hopeless.
"I didn't mean that," Marceau corrected, hastily and poorly. "I just meant—"
"You made yourself perfectly clear," Aurélien replied in clipped tones. "I will not marry you. I will not marry anyone, save the one the magic brings me."
Now the anger took over, along with an edge of desperation. Around them, he could feel eyes watching as they drew the attention Marceau had poorly tried to avoid. "Don't be such a snotty bitch. You know by now nobody else wants you, Your Highness. But I do. Why can't I be good enough?"
"I appreciate your offer, I do, but I will not spurn the magic."
Marceau snarled, reached out, grabbed his arm as he tried to leave—then jerked back, screaming in pain, hand covered in bloody holes and scratches where he'd been pierced by thorns.
Aurélien kept walking, ignoring the angry cries, the exclamations, the whispers, that followed in his wake.
He continued on his way, body burning and tingling as the thorns continued their journey down his legs, reaching to his knees now.
Normally they did not grow so quickly, but he did not care if they consumed him entirely.
He focused on his work—meetings, paperwork, luncheon, more paperwork, more meetings, until his mother finally summoned him to the blue parlor an hour before dinner.
His siblings and their spouses were there, and next to his mother stood Prince Zarin. He was handsome enough, with pretty blue eyes and hair that was so pale a blond it nearly seemed white, but he regarded Aurélien with cool disdain, not a single spark of warmth or even curiosity in his eyes.
Was he so terrible a person? His siblings did not care one way or another about him. His mother detested him. Everyone else avoided him. Even Marceau, the closest he had to a friend, had not cared about him in the end.
The pain grew, the thorns twisting even further down his legs, but Aurélien smiled politely and bowed deeply to his mother. "Good evening, Your Majesty, Your Highness. How may I serve you?"
"Aurélien, this is Prince Zarin of Corlanis. He has heard much about you and has come to offer for your hand."
That actually took Aurélien by surprise. He'd expected to be told they would marry. Not that Zarin had asked for his hand, had heard about him, whatever that meant. "You've…heard about me, Your Highness? I'm sorry, but I've no idea what that means."
Zarin laughed in a stiff, condescending way.
"Of your beauty, of course. Your peculiar thorns.
But also that you're quite the intermediary, always sorting out disagreements, helping to arrange deals and more between antagonistic parties.
You're a peacekeeper and a shrewd politician, Your Highness.
An invaluable set of skills. Who would not vie for your hand? "
"I am honored, Your Highness, but as my mother surely mentioned, I am bound by a Test of Heart that she herself requested of no less than Ivan the Heartless himself. I cannot defy the magic, only await its promise."
His mother looked as though she wanted to slap him, but even if she could, she wouldn't do it in front of a guest, not until she was certain they were equally rotten.
"The magic gave you those foolish thorns, Aurélien.
If the magic had intended a spouse for you, it would have done so by now.
Your twenty-fifth birthday is in six months.
I think by now we know the magic has nothing for you.
In six months you will marry Prince Zarin, am I understood? "
It would have been easier to agree, go along quietly and slip away in the night. But he was tired. He had waited all these years. Been a dutiful son, even if he wasn't as meekly obedient as his siblings. Held his tongue. Asked for nothing except that people not touch him without his consent.
Even a beautiful stranger who'd brought so much joy to his life for a single stormy night hadn't wanted to remain with him in the sunshine.
He was just so very done.
"No," he said coldly. "If thorns are the only magic cast upon me, then so be it. You want me? Get past my thorns."
"Aurélien!" his mother snarled, and swung out before she thought—and screamed in pain as thorns shredded her hand. Servants rushed in to help her.
Aurélien stepped back, but Zarin followed, reaching out to grab him, only to find himself in pain as well, rearing back, holding a bloodied hand. Around the room, his siblings, servants, and guards recoiled, fear filling their faces.
Turning on his heel, Aurélien stormed from the room and through the palace back to his chambers.
"Tell the kitchens to pack me food," he told the first chamber servant he saw.
"Enough for many days, that I can prepare myself.
Go now. I want it taken to the stables and packed on a cart, my horse saddled and readied alongside it. "
"Yes, Your Highness."
He went into his bedroom and started packing, until he had a trunk of belongings and a couple of bags, along with his usual satchel, where he stuffed the memento box that held everything that really mattered to him.
When he was ready, he headed for the stables. Guards hovered, clearly under orders to contain him but reluctant to chance the pain they knew would come from touching him without permission. Gloves, rope, canes, whips, it didn't matter. Whoever touched him suffered for it.
So they hovered, followed, obeying as best they could without hurting themselves.
A fully laden cart awaited him as requested.
Aurélien thanked all the staff and made certain they would thank the kitchens for him as well, since he knew this would have interfered with their day.
He climbed into the driver's seat with Pip next to him yipping excitedly for this unexpected adventure, and rode off.
When he reached his tower, he set to work carrying everything upstairs.
It took several trips, and by the end, he was exhausted, and night had fallen.
Guards lurked outside, their lanterns marking them, but Aurélien was beyond caring.
Let them lurk, waste their time. If anybody tried to come here and grab him, they'd regret it.
He sent the horse and cart off toward them, so they could be returned, then went upstairs.
He filled a tub with water and used it to clean himself, too tired to bother heating it first, then dressed in bed clothes and a warm robe.
After he had the woodstove going, he set a kettle for tea, then went about unpacking everything he'd brought with him.
He wouldn't be able to stay here forever, but he could stay long enough to sort out what he wanted to do long term, without anyone trying to force him into marriage or anything else.
And up here, Pip was safe from being hurt in his stead.
Currently, Pip wandered about the tower like usual, happy to be back so soon, curious about all the boxes, crates, and bags that had come with them.