I own nothing.
would you like some cheese with that whine?
It's in the way she looks at him.
Or rather, the way she looks right through him.
And he knows that he is at fault for her jaundiced impression of him, because he is a blasted fool; a prince who falls short of princely mannerisms.
A prince who clings to his mother's arm like a kindergartener reluctant to part on the first day.
Pathetic.
And he wants to please her—why? Shouldn't she be the one kneeling before him, begging for his adulation? A wretched role-reversal has made a fool of him.
Something is very wrong with this, he thinks.
Then again, Claudia wouldn't be Claudia without the challenging aspect.
He wants to earn his empty entitlement of 'prince'. And with every contemptuous glare, he's wounded further.
Sucked into some sort of endless vortex of truth- a truth he wishes he could rewrite.
His gloved fingers reach for the red wine; and he swirls it around a bit. The wine glass rests with delicate posture in his hands.
He's still not quite sure why people swirl their wine so.
His mother had once responded with, "It's a lax gesture of sophistication, and refreshes the taste. Don't overthink it, dear."
He sets the glass back down with a frown, because it feels too fake. This dinner. His crisply ironed suit. The blinding chandelier hanging precariously above. The wine glass meets the surface of the table with a light clink, and the untouched wine gradually settles. The atmosphere hangs limply about, and Claudia's bored expression sends him sinking lower into his chair.
When her cool gaze draws to his, he stiffens automatically.
"Such fun we're having, aren't we?" she drawls, glancing about the ceiling as if the horridly drab white paint held much more interest than the boy sitting across from her.
"Mother should be back any minute," he says, glancing at his plate and clearing his throat awkwardly.
The princess sighs, and Caspar is once again struck by how different they are. A prince and princess... screw fairy tales. They're all a bunch of rubbish, anyway.
Not that he cared. Claudia was certainly very pretty, but there were plenty of prettier fish in the sea.
But that was just an excuse.
The boy didn't know what he wanted from her—and what could he expect, really? He had forged a spoiled identity of shallow court life.
He never gave people reasons to consider him otherwise. But there was more to him; more to his façade of spoilt selfishness.
His mother didn't care to ask, but he had been vigorously tutored in maths and science by an old Sapient; sort of like the one Claudia carried on a leash everywhere.
And he knew a thing or two.
But why reveal your skills when you're not in a position to make decisions, anyway? It wasn't wise. He didn't want to fall subject to his mother's manipulation. He grit his teeth. Enough of what mother wants. The statement echoes through his mind, and the draft in the room send shivers up his spine. Mother still isn't here.
"Have you seen the maze gardens?" He's not sure where the question came from, really, but what's spoken is done, and he swallows thickly.
"I'm sorry?" Claudia squints at him.
"The... the maze gardens. You uh, seemed busy lately, so I was wondering if you'd maybe—perhaps—had the time to explore the new gardens in the courtyard."
Claudia considers the boy stumbling over his words with a wary glance, and clenches her ruffled dress in balled fists below the table. This is such a bore… Where is Queen Sia? Jared said she wanted to talk about the Portal over dinner. She swallows dryly, and forces all thoughts of the Warden out of her mind.
She didn't know what to call him anymore. He was her father, biological or not, but the name just felt… wrong, rolling off the tip of her tongue. I'll bet he's enjoying a nice cup of tea in prison right about now, she humors mirthlessly. Caspar fidgets, and her attention refocuses on the situation at hand.
"I have been rather busy as of late," she says slowly, choosing her words carefully.
Not that she had to worry about Caspar; he was likely too thick-minded to know anything about Incarceron.
But there's something about his uncharacteristic silence tonight that seriously unnerves her.
She supposes she should appreciate his taciturnity, but the tense quiet is unsettling. Claudia stands, and he glances at her, his eyes flickering with something unidentifiable. He looks guarded and vulnerable, and how he manages both is beyond her. "Since your mother has yet to arrive, why don't we take a look at the gardens?"
And he's back to his usual self as he smirks and replies, "Of-course."
As they exit the room in a click of heels and rustle of silk, he throws her a teasing glance that never fails to get under her skin.
"Stay close—we wouldn't want you getting lost, now would we?"
They walk in silence for a while, but he doesn't mind. He's too busy sneaking glances at the girl by his side. The casual evening gown has a stunning effect on the princess. Her hair, usually so tightly pinned and netted, flows loosely down her back in waves. The light blue bodice hugs her lithe stature nicely, lacing across her front. Her navy skirt flaps slightly in the evening breeze, and it takes immense effort to bring his attention back to her face.
If Claudia notices Caspar eyeing her, she doesn't say anything. She pauses at a lamppost, appraising the maze of trimmed bushes that tower just a few inches over her head.
"Wow," she says, a little breathlessly.
He can tell she's just being polite, but even so, his smile is genuine. "I would come here often when I was little. Mother would scold me for getting lost, but I never did. After my first encounter with the maze, I memorized the paths, and made it out every time."
Claudia returns his smile; and this time, it's not as forced. The low lamplight accentuates the glow in her eyes. "How do you do it?" she rasps, her voice a raw whisper.
Startled, his gaze snaps back to her. "Pardon?"
"Honestly, how do you go about life so contentedly? Is there nothing of importance to you, nothing that affects you in one way or another?"
Her tone has a harsh lilt to it, and Caspar fights the urge to rebuke the girl for her bluntness. The question caches him off-guard, but he inhales slowly, letting his smug mask crumble just a bit. It's something he likes about her, he decides. She isn't a simpleton who only fancies materialistic glory. She makes him think—makes him wonder.
It's scary; what the women in his life do to him.
His mother, ever the tyrannical parent and ruler, yaps at him and sucks his power out of his hands.
And his past fiancée, the girl who—he's positive—hates him, has an unfathomable effect on him and his turbulent mood changes.
"I don't know." He licks his lips, and continues, "And I'm not all that content, either. I believe you've heard a handful of my complaints—nonsense, really. But when you have everything, even the faintest lacking becomes a thorn in the side."
Claudia purses her lips and stares at him with cold calculating eyes, noting his dejected body-language; slouched shoulders, hands in pockets, eyes cast downwards.
What he says makes some degree of sense. Caspar's thoughts roamed in the pompously spoiled spectrum. But that was how he was raised, wasn't it? Like mother, like son? Except Sia's cutting edge glares were nothing like the mocking leer of her juvenile son. Sia was feared. Caspar was just... well, Caspar.
She had asked; he had answered, in a brutally honest fashion.
Her eyes flickered to the distant hills. "You're the prince. When do you plan on utilizing that power? You may find your life an insufferable existence, but what about others?"
From his peripheral vision, Caspar glances at her sharply. "I wasn't hosting a pity-party or anything. And you know how Mother is. Should I become a threat to her power, I would be exiled or worse, just like everyone else. It's selfish and stupid, but I do so to survive."
His eyes meet hers fleetingly, and the unspoken message is conveyed. What would you have done in my place?
Caspar is pretty sure that whatever little respect Claudia may have had for him has vanished by now. Her ideal prince surely wasn't so subjective.
Finn was passionate, resolved, and had an air of natural authority.
And all he had was his attitude.
To his relief, Claudia doesn't turn on him and lose her temper. She remains hushed, thinking.
After a while, he almost wishes she had yelled at him; it would've been a reaction, at least.
"I think," she pauses, turning to face him, "that you live too much for your Mother, and too little for yourself."
As their shadows elongate with the setting sun, Claudia wonders what insanity spurred her to accompany the prince into the gardens in the first place.
Queen Sia is likely fuming by now, but that doesn't particularly bother Claudia. Though, she would like to know what information the queen held about the Portal.
Caspar's lips press together firmly, and he bites back a retort. "I..." he disdainfully swallows his pride, then says, "I agree."
Before Claudia can muster a response, he starts to head back inside.
At the doorway, he pauses, his back to her.
"But I can't do a damn thing about it; and that's what gets me the most."
"Caspar, darling, I've been waiting for an hour. Where have you been?"
Claudia craned her neck upwards. The stars winked at her, but it felt like a broken promise; a mocking taunt. You may be able to see the stars, but Incarceron never will.
She looked in the direction of where Caspar had stood a moment before, and smiled wryly.
The prince was quite an interesting fellow, when he wasn't so bothersome.
.
end