The prince sank down to his knees. Except for his mobility, the advisors around him stood eerily rigid, hardly pardoning a glance. The court was silent now; the messenger that had brought the news shifted from side to side, unsure whether to go or to stay. He unfurled and curled the parchment in uncomfortable awkwardness at the prince's horror. Finally deciding to withdraw from his position, the messenger left hastily, nodding at the guards who opened the French doors. The court remained in solemn, audible, only in the heavy breathing of the prince, whose hands were clasped about his face, half-crumpled on carpet.
No one dared to do anything. Even the high-ranking officers positioned around the doors. Or the many nobles present. No one had the courage to help the prince, even. He was made of ice, cold, unmoving, stern, Summer itself never reached the land where he ruled. It was always so cold, heavy white blankets of snow, collected over the years piled on like mountains beside the thin, painstakingly shoveled roads, zigzagging across the frozen land. Icicles hung like totems on thick branches and gutters. Farming was harsh, and the work was grueling. The prince saw this, but his heart was as solid as the earth below him. The land seemed like an old photograph, faded blacks and greys blending into the infinite white. His kingdom was truly hidden in winter…until she came.
Every whisper of her movement, every feminine sort of flutter mimicking spring, every involuntary innocent laugh began to melt the cold. Blades of thin, green grass poked through the semi-melted snow, buds of furled leaves shot out of the decaying trees. The land before the prince became alive again. For the days she was there, the subjects made merry, and their crops flourished like they did before the old king died. Everyone, in their fortune, forgot about the prince. Unbeknownst to much, the girl, always clothed in humble light approached the prince every night, to talk with him. She discovered the frail, afraid, and tragic child hidden behind the cruel turquoise orbs. She unearthed his frozen heart, and wrapped him in her arms. Her status of only a maid made it uneasy for her to become accepted by the powerful lords and nobles beside the prince. But despite ridicule and taunts, she still carried his dinner and her goodwill up to him every night.
One summer, as the two were grazing in the gardens, under the setting sun, the prince came to realization. Inspecting the girl, who was leaned down, talking to the flowers, he realized he had fallen in love. He had held her small, pale hands in his as he told her so, embarrassed at the kiss she interrupted him with, laughing as she cried. In the dark, moonless night, the night hid the first smile to ever graze his stern visage.
She told him, the next week, after his confession, strangely hoarse in haste that she had to go back to her homeland for a few days. Just for her sick grandmother, she assured. When he asked her if she was alright, she gave him a weak smile in reply. The dark purple bags under her eyes bid otherwise.
He had kept in his doubts for her sake.
He saw her leave in the horse-drawn carriage he prepared for her, right until the carriage became no more than a speckle, disappearing into the distant sun . The girl's feeble attempts to laugh like she did left him in shudders of involuntary gloom. He should have heeded the feelings of terrible premonition that clouded him that day.
That evening, he went out to the garden again. He paused at the flowers she had planted. Lush bushes of lilacs and stalks of roses bloomed around the path. They danced as gusts of warm wind blew rippled the leaves of pruned trees. His heart was with them, combined through the beauty she brought, with hers.
Their language, a mere vague of misted feelings, slowly vanishing into the night.
Little did he know, until now, so would she. Vanish, seemingly as quick as she floated into his life.
And be uncovered dead, under the same soil she embraced to life.
He felt his fist clench, digging into the fine embroidery of the silk carpet, a heirloom from his ancestors. Feelings of remorse, fury and sadness made a torrent in his mind.
He let out a nasally growl, his complexion etched in a horrible scowl, so full of hate.
The advisors and guards around him shifted about. They felt as if the cold of a thousand winters had just needled into their skin, digging into the center of their bones.
They glanced at each other and their looks held one expression. An expression that they had left long ago, an expression heart-plummeting for even brave warriors they were. The expression that they now conveyed was no other than fear.
With a swipe of his hand, the prince drew in a breath, croaky from sorrow.
"Find him."
Was all he said, before he marched shakily out of the room, as if one has had too much wine. The prince managed to slump in front of the rosebushes, caressing them as if they were her face. Even as his vision was leaden with tears, he could see a small aphid beside a brown-rimmed hole that was plastered on the rose. He slowly picked up the bug, and set it between his index finger and thumb, before crushing it into paste.
I will avenge you…Hinamori.
A/N: New story…just an idea. Please review.