Chapter 8 #2
“I must admit that almost gave me pause, but the truth of the matter is that I don’t give a fuck.
If he will have me, I will have him. End of discussion.
I do not care what my father thinks or where the crown will end up.
If I must be exiled, I accept that. I have my own ways of surviving.
We could be free.” I closed my eyes and imagined it: freedom with the man I chose, with Cyprien, whose name will forever be on my lips.
Travis snapped me out of my reverie with another laugh as he headed toward the door.
“I’ve never even heard of any tale of one who was so infatuated with another.
Especially with the other knowing nothing of it.
I hope it works out for you, mate.” He opened the door, calling over his shoulder with a snicker, “Maybe you’ll get lucky and your father will condone this match! ”
He shut the door before I could respond, so I threw a plate at the wood, only to regret it the second it shattered to the floor. I was not a destructive man but this farm boy, Cyprien, was driving me mad. Every emotion I had ever experienced was laid bare on the altar to his love, raw and bleeding.
I didn’t have much time alone to stew in my feelings. A knock at the door rattled through the room, pulling me from my thoughts. It was the tailor and his apprentice. I stood and beckoned them to my changing room, fit with a pedestal and triple mirrors to capture every possible angle.
The tailor laid out a garment bag and gestured for my servants to undress me.
I waved them off and undressed myself, unable to bear the touch of another doing such a thing–unless it was Cyprien.
Getting through this fitting would be hard enough without additional hands upon me.
When the tailor pulled out the costume, I was taken aback.
It was a silk abomination, made from gold and fitted with a tuft tail.
There was barely enough fabric to cover my unmentionables; including gold boots, and a lion-shaped mask to cover half my face.
I allowed the tailor to slip the sorry excuse for a loincloth onto me, then pin it in a few places, gritting my teeth through trying on the boots and the mask.
While I was in costume, my mother’s makeup artist appeared to color match the perfect gold shade for the rest of my exposed skin.
Every item must match perfectly with the body paint.
When the tailor withdrew a golden ruffle collar, I nearly threw it across the room.
I was going to look ridiculous. My father had given me no choice in costume.
I was to be a regal, golden lion statue.
“This is preposterous!” I grumbled, catching sight of myself in the mirror, of the various shades of gold swiped up and down my arms and legs. “My father expects me to be a gilt statue and find a bride at this infernal ball. I swear that man is trying to kill me.”
The tailor’s apprentice chuckled, haphazardly covering it with a cough. I glared at him, then at the tailor. “I apologize for my apprentice, your Highness. He is young and opinionated.”
“Opinionated? About what, exactly?” I turned back to the apprentice and waited for him to speak.
“I’m sorry, your Highness. I just… thought it was funny that you speak of dying because of your father’s costume choices when there are those with nothing, really dying on the streets due largely to bad luck… and no support.” The apprentice looked away and bowed low. “I meant no disrespect.”
The tailor looked aghast at what his apprentice said and dropped to the floor to grovel at my feet.
The gut punch delivered by the apprentice and the grovelling of the tailor struck me in just the wrong way.
I began laughing, and couldn’t stop. Though they tried to hide it, everyone in the room was looking at me as though I had grown a second head…
maybe a third. I didn’t care. Something other than Cyprien finally occupied my mind.
There stood a boy committing treason to the prince, in said prince’s dressing room–which was obviously located in the castle–and his master is the one groveling. I couldn’t wait to tell Lydia.
Once I regained control of myself, I scanned the room, making eye contact with each servant.
“No one heard him say all of that, is that clear? If I find out anyone in this room let it slip, the punishment will be your heads.” Then, to the apprentice, “Boy, I appreciate your honesty, but if you want to keep your tongue in your mouth then you really shouldn’t speak that way–especially to a member of the royal family. ”
The apprentice trembled as though he had just realized what he had done.
“Your Highness, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to say all of that, especially within the castle walls.
My friends and I, as children, had a game where we would go around and act out what we would say or do when confronted with royalty. I didn’t mean for it to come out.”
“We’ll all forget you said it and you’ll tell no one how I look in this costume. Deal?”
“Absolutely. Yes, your Highness, thank you so much. I do not deserve your mercy.” He dropped to the floor to grovel with his master, whispering hushed apologies.
“We don’t police your minds. You can think and feel however you want.
But since you definitely didn’t say anything, we’re going to get me out of this costume and go on about our day.
You two will figure out how to make this costume more complimentary and I’ll wash away this paint.
Maybe give me the dignity of shorts instead of a loin cloth?
I really do not think my father wants the royal package just flopping around.
Now, get up here and help me with this thing.
” They silently helped me out of the costume and left.
I gave everyone else in the room the evil eye before letting in the servants with my bath water, knowing they would keep their word.
No one would say anything, and we’d all go on with our lives.