CH. 44 The Prince and The Problematic Face
The Resanarum empties slowly after the Trial of Integrity, the echoes of illusionary heartbreak still clinging to the air like stubborn ghosts.
Gavin storms off first, muttering curses that would make a sailor blush.
Farro follows, loudly complaining that the trial “personally offended” him.
Hegar disappears with a dramatic swoosh of his cloak because of course he does.
Which leaves…
Me.
And Prince Sorien.
I’m gathering loose scrolls and pretending to look busy when a shadow falls over me.
I look up.
He’s standing there — tall, tired, thoughtful — looking at me with those unreadable green eyes.
“Drew,” he says softly.
Uh-oh.
Soft is dangerous.
“Yes, Your Emptiness?” I reply, because panic makes me insulting.
His lips twitch. Just barely. “It’s Highness.”
“Is it? Titles are exhausting.”
A beat of silence.
Then — to my horror — he sits beside me on the stone steps. Actually sits. On purpose.
I freeze like a frog under a carriage wheel.
“…Why are you here?” I ask suspiciously.
“To talk,” he says simply.
“Why?”
“Because you’re… different.”
“Is that a polite way of saying hideous?”
“No.”
He turns to me.
“No, it isn’t.”
Well.
Now I’m the one malfunctioning.
---
We sit in silence for a moment. Not uncomfortable — just… strange. Quiet. New.
Sorien leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“You helped us in the last trial,” he says. “You didn’t have to. You didn’t owe us anything.”
I shrug. “Well, I didn’t want you to die. If you die, I’ll have to deal with Gavin becoming King. You think I hate my life now?”
He actually laughs — soft, surprised, genuine.
“Sometimes,” he says, “you remind me of no one I’ve ever met.”
“That sounds like an insult.”
“It isn’t.”
“Huh.”
I stare at my feet, oddly warm inside. “Well. You remind me of someone too.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. A depressed tree.”
He chokes. “A tree?”
“Tall, quiet, brooding. Looks like it hasn’t been watered emotionally in years.”
“…I can’t tell if I should be offended.”
“It’s a compliment,” I insist. “Trees are dependable. Solid. They don’t bend just because someone tells them to.”
Something in his expression shifts — almost shy.
Almost grateful.
“Is that how you see me?” he asks quietly.
I blink.
Oh.
Oh no. He’s being sincere.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re not like your brothers. You’re not pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re just… you.”
He looks away — but not in annoyance.
More like he’s hiding whatever emotion just punched him in the chest.
---
“Drew,” he says after a long pause, “you’re… easy to talk to.”
I almost drop dead on the spot.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“You know I’m—” I gesture vaguely at my entire unfortunate face, “—this, right?”
“I can see,” he says. “But that doesn’t matter.”
“It should!”
“It doesn’t.”
I blink again.
He sounds… resolute.
Like he means it.
“Besides,” he adds, softer, “there are worse things than an unusual face.”
“You mean like Gavin’s personality?”
He snorts. “Exactly.”
I grin — big, toothy, unapologetic.
---
Sorien tilts his head, studying me — not in disgust, not in pity.
Just… observing. Learning.
As if I’m an interesting book he didn’t expect to enjoy.
“You’re braver than you think,” he says.
“No, I’m reckless.”
“Reckless isn’t always bad.”
“It is when you nearly die every week.”
“True,” he allows. “But you still showed up. And you helped us. That matters.”
My chest does a weird warm-squishy-twisty thing. I ignore it.
“Well,” I say, “you’re not a complete nightmare yourself.”
“Thank you,” he says gravely. “That means more than you think.”
We sit together a while longer — no trials, no illusions, no masks.
Just a prince who’s tired of being perfect.
And a witch who’s tired of being ugly.
Talking like two real people for the first time.
---
“Drew,” he says as he stands, “stay close tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“…I’d like to have you near.”
I stare at him. Hard.
“You’re weird.”
“So are you.”
“Well,” I mutter, “that’s fair.”
He smiles — a real one — before walking off.
And for some stupid, inexplicable reason…
I smile too.