Chapter 5 The Stroke of Midnight
Chapter five
The Stroke of Midnight
There is something inherently magical about midnights. The time in between when the past fades, and the future is anything you can dream.
-Tales From Meridea, Volume II
All at once, she was sixteen years old and standing in the middle of a maze of greenery.
“What a shame such a proud house name went to such a weakling.”
Did he remember it the way she did? Judging by the way his lips curled up and his eyes roamed over her, it was difficult to say. Then again, he thought she was Brielle. A thousand retorts filled her mouth, but when she opened it to speak, she did it for Brielle.
“Prince Lucien,” she inclined her head, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough that she tasted blood.
“I guess all the rumors were a lie,” he said, perusing her body in a way that made Luci’s skin crawl.
She was two seconds from losing her best behavior mantra when Prince Ira stepped in front of her. It was like her chest could rise again instead of being paralyzed in the past. Yet, the phantom sting across her cheek was a reminder just as good as any.
“Lucien,” he said, voice deeper than it had been.
“You don’t have to be such an asshole about it, Ira,” the younger prince said.
Clearly, they were having a silent conversation as their stares held one another, but more concerning were the eyes on her. One pair in particular was edging closer to the dance floor. Absolutely not. She was not getting caught by Lord Treveon after all of this.
Bowing, despite no one paying attention to her, she said, “Thank you for the dance, Your Highness.”
That was polite, right? As good a dismissal as anyone without seeming ungrateful. Which she strangely wasn’t.
As she turned, his hand wrapped around her forearm, gentle pressure staying her even as every particle of her being screamed to get away.
One glance to this side showed Lord Treveon weaving through the throng of bodies, dancing gracefully.
This was a disaster. A frustrated breath blew out from her involuntarily.
Not only was she caught in the middle of a dance floor, but everyone was staring at the silently warring princes, and the one person she was meant to avoid was creeping ever nearer.
Desperate, she looked to Prince Ira, hoping he would understand, but found his eyes on Lord Treveon before turning to her, a calmness to him that felt manufactured.
“Come,” he said, less an order and more of a suggestion.
Honestly, it was the one time it could have been an order, and she would have gladly scurried after him because he was now gently leading her away from his brother and Lord Treveon all at once.
However, even as relief filled her with each step, she was acutely aware of every stare, every whisper, every bowed head, and was too eager, “Your Highness" as they worked their way through guests.
Not only was she used to being around a maximum of four people at a time, but she was also never under as much scrutiny as she was now.
It was unsettling. The massive gilded double doors that rose from floor to ceiling opened as they approached by two servants in Vencia livery.
When they passed the threshold and the doors began to close, sealing them from unwanted encounters, Luci blew out a long breath.
The beat of her heart was still too fast, but at least her lungs worked again.
When she finally opened her eyes, she found Prince Ira watching her with a curiosity that crinkled at the sides of his eyes.
“I have that same reaction when Gladys tries to force me to play croquet,” he said. Solemnly.
Luci stared at him, unsure whether to tell him he was out of touch or if he was joking.
He leaned forward, “The long sticks and fresh air disagree with me.”
There was a glint in his eyes that eased the agitation that had been prepared to tell him exactly what she thought. The truth was, he was trying to make her feel better, and that was a kindness that she hadn’t expected of him. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased.
“Thank you,” she said, with a long sigh.
Prince Ira watched her, thoughts bouncing loudly in his mind.
It wasn’t the same kind of unease and stripping that Lucien’s glare had been, but rather a seeing.
As if he were peeling back the layers of her to see what truly lay beneath.
Perhaps there was more to this prince than she initially gave him credit for.
More thought behind the charm that radiated from him with every breath.
“Do you like books?” he asked.
There was a simple fact about Lucinda Blackthorn that would have been all anyone needed to know about her. She only loved two things. Brielle and books. Of all the questions he could have asked her, this was the one thing that was likely to sweep her off her feet. Prince charming indeed.
“Yes,” she said with a small smile that had no business existing.
Clapping his hands, he smiled. “Excellent, if you don’t mind.”
He held out his hand to her, and she shouldn’t have taken it.
Should have asked where the back door was and hid in the carriage till Lady Margaret caught on and found her, but instead she threaded her arm through Prince Ira’s.
His body pressed against her side as they walked, and she found it was oddly distracting, though it could have been a symptom of limited human contact minus Brielle.
The palace was as beautiful as she remembered it.
Marble and gold with red accents adorning every wall and staircase.
It all felt too large. It had swallowed them whole, and now they were trapped in the belly of a beast. Maybe it was true enough.
Portraits lined the walls of Vencia’s in their most romantic poses, storybooks painted on canvas.
About four feet from the ground, a golden vine of leaves trailed along the walls, but every now and then, there were breaks in them, showing something else.
Drawn by the minor imperfections, Luci freed herself from Prince Ira and walked over, aware of the watchful eye of guards stationed every ten feet or so.
Eyes on her as if she were hiding a dagger beneath the silk of her dress and would threaten their prince at any moment.
Yet no one said anything as she made her way to the wall and ran her finger over the gold trimming.
This was new, or else she had somehow overlooked it the last time she was there. Her finger traced a small golden tower littered with flowers at its base.
“Rapunzel,” Prince Ira said as he came up beside her.
“The detail is-.” She tried to find the words, but there were none for the craft carved into the marble.
“My father had it done last year for Yule. A reminder of our heritage.” Prince Ira said, though there was a heaviness to the words.
Luci followed the vines until she came across a mermaid sitting on a rock.
The Little Mermaid. A few feet down was a flurry of snowflakes over a mountain.
The Snow Queen. Every fairytale they had ever been taught was carved into the wall like history instead of myth.
She came to that of a red rose and carefully ran her finger over every layer of the bud, and down the stem, and for just a moment, she could have sworn she believed.
Believed in the myths and legends as a strange feeling settled over her body. Something more.
“This one is Bri- my friend’s favorite,” she said, her heart speeding up at the near miss.
His eyes on her were warm, burning into her bare skin over her neck, but she refused to turn to him, to see the damnation of knowing that would be there.
“It’s my mother’s as well. My sister, too,” he said.
Luci snorted, relieved at the lack of treason and imposter being yelled to the nearby guards.
“Of course it is. It is your family’s legacy after all, right?” she said with a smirk.
“You don’t believe in fairytales, Cinderella?” he asked.
That name again. Luci twisted her body to face him and found him so close that if she breathed too deeply, their bodies would touch. His eyes watched her, a hunger in them that should have made her nervous, but instead inspired sensations that were much repressed and foreign to her.
Swallowing hard, she ignored the shot of whatever it was that ran through her stomach. Nerves. Probably just nerves.
“Why do you call me that?” she asked, mouth dry.
“I asked my question first,” he said.
His eyes were the green of the strawberry fields she had grown up with. How did one get their eyes to be that green? It was unsettling, but she would be lying if she said they weren’t mesmerizing. Designed to ensnare innocent maidens and lock them away in faraway towers.
“Technically, I asked about the legacy thing.” Her voice was a whisper, sucked away into the tunnel vision filling her gaze.
“Yes, it’s my family’s legacy,” he said, with a quirk of his lips. “Your turn.”
Brielle’s words, just a few hours ago, flooded her mind.
If magic were real, then maybe it did bring her to Blythe, to Brielle.
Even if it did exist, she couldn’t thank it the way Brielle did because it should have given Brielle everything.
Not just some orphan who somehow wormed her way into her heart.
No, if magic were real, if fairytales were real, they weren’t enough.
Luci opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought and then shut it abruptly.
Perhaps telling the prince of fairy tales that she believed his family’s claim was nothing more than propaganda to keep them in power in the middle of his palace was a bad idea.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that it might be on par with committing treason by impersonating nobility.
The left dimple appeared, and why was that so charming? Why did it make her legs fill with warmth? When he breathed out, he was close enough that she felt the whisper of it on her lips, tingling where it touched. Oh, light above. Luci licked her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement, lingering.