Author's Note: In all this world there are many truths that lead us down the path that is reality. None can see all ends of the intricate web's weave. Chapter 2 of 3. Please attenuate your hate, this is M for a reason.
Chapter 2: Through his eyes
A broken man haunts a fractured world. As with all creatures, the young, coddled in their mother's arms, grow to think themselves important. But the world sits in judgment, always to remind them of their insignificance.
She was compassionate. Caring. Daresay, kind. A beacon of light and positivity in the ocean of misery.
All the things he loathed.
Yet, as the days turned into years he felt himself worn like the riverbed by her constant stream of exuberance, until one day the protestations no longer mattered, the excuses no longer valid.
He was boastful, to be sure. A mark of pride he dutifully wore, for he was the anointed son, the wielder of a great force. Nations should tremble below his might, and yet, ever present, the doubts would creep forth. After a lifetime of rejection and demoralization no demons cry louder than those within. They would sneak into his thoughts, doubting his every action. As the years of failed attempts to claim the greatness he should assume dragged on the ever-present rays of light the princess emitted slowly drowned out the desires for rectifying the world's errors. But then, the demons grew quiet in desire's absence, and he found himself craving the peace.
The sweet, quiet solitude of a day spent in magic. Recapturing that pure joy of his youth, before pressure and expectation turned his heart into a shattered wasteland of disappointments, was something only she could bring. And so he emerged, drug headlong into the daylight from the shadows.
But it was not to last. The fantasy was never truth, the maturity of age bringing with it the faint reminders that youth is transient, and can never truly be embraced once one knows the world and all its harshness.
Cedric stands at his potions table, staring into a half-formed brew two days before Sofia is to be married. As the ribbons of green mix with drops of purple his mind wanders back to when the comfort gave way to temptation, when she became more than just an insufferable annoyance with an uncanny ability to dissect every one of his ambitions and lay waste to their false promises.
It was spring, not all that long ago, he muses. A year, perhaps two. As with any other day it was filled with the gathering of essentials and snarky banter to counteract the overzealous enthusiasm his sometimes-apprentice displayed for even the mundane. The only exception, an accidental discovery of the eldest princess mired in the throws of passion with some prince from another nation. Uneasy at the new sensation, Cedric watched as their bodies lurched together in the morning sun, an unspoken need long dormant released a wellspring from within. Lost in observation, he was discovered quickly by his attentive follower. Sofia only stood and stared at him as he gawked at the display Amber was performing on the nameless young man.
Once cognizant of watchful eyes, he shied away, embarrassed to have leered at such a sight. But Sofia only smiled, in her characteristically omnipotent way. Rather than the typical annoyance though, the surge of longing filled him. A mixed blessing to be sure, for alongside the anticipation of cherry lips and sparkling blue eyes in the thick golden rays of afternoon crept the darkness, their menacing tendrils wrapping around the edges of his subconscious, taking hold of an entirely new desire. Doubts and fears, intermingled with lust. The swirl too much to disentangle, he fled.
Days passed without mention, and so he deemed himself forgiven by the girl. But now her visits were met with conflicted fear and anticipation. Would she see his shameful longing? So disgusted she must be by an old lecher as he was. But then, she never swayed in her demeanor, the desire for magic never wavering. In the deepest recesses of his mind the chorus of hopes began to sing louder, their melody spilling into his dreams and throughout his waking thoughts.
Until the building crescendo became unbearable. Unable to silence the want of her, he summoned every ounce of courage, a feat considering the dry well from which it was sourced, and exposed his heart, conquering his fears on bended knee.
His princess only paused briefly to inquire if he was injured. The words caught in his throat ached to be spoken, but before they chimed she smiled politely and brushed past him, straight into the arms of a painted simpleton.
The memory jolts him back into the moment, and he stares down at the mixture bubbling on his workbench. Unable to bring himself to remember that day, a perfect summer afternoon with green grasses and meadows filled with flowers. That beautiful, miserable day when she accepted another as her lover, his hands fall to the table, his forehead tickled by strands of hair that dance in the potion's steam. The cauldron spits and begins to spill, as minutes turn to hours with his mind lost in nothingness to dull the pain.
"Two days till she weds him," he utters aloud. The raven perched above merely crows. Half duplicitous, half chiding, he gives a laugh to try and save face before the bird, "At least after that they'll be one less bother to worry about, ey Wormy."
The raven turns up his tail feathers, defiance on display. Cedric scoffs, "Disrespected by my own bird. Typical." With a shaking head to match.
Long thin hands with bony knobs trace over the parchment while a faint sadness at the intention of this brew comes to mind. To conjure flowers for her wedding, those flowers which will sparkle in the afternoon sunlight as she states her eternal love for someone else. Somehow he sympathizes with these flowers, not yet conjured, still brewing in his pot, the unrequited desire they'll represent lost in meaning to all but him.
"Poseidon's pumpkins. I'm out of diamond dust to make them sparkle, and we can't have, how did the king put it, 'the most magnificent purple 'sparkling' flowers ever seen' without it, now can we Wormy?" Having learned long ago never to make hasty substitutes, he heaves a heavy sigh and draws up his purse strings. The king bequeathed a hefty sum for essentials, as no expense was spared on the event, this first marriage in a generation. The same cloak he's worn for a decade, maybe more, is pulled over his painfully protruding shoulders as he catches a glance at himself in the corner of a mirror long since covered to hide the advancement of age from his own eyes.
A long, deep look into the passage of time, the years of failures and strife, now marred further still by a rejection so thorough his desire didn't even know she'd performed the act. Another deep sigh, and the cord of his robe is pulled taunt. "I'm going out Wormy. Be back soon."
He waits for the reciprocation, as if by some miracle the bird will respond with kind words of affection, desires that he travel safely or return quickly. But instead there is pecking. A tilted glance back, and the bird is preening. He stands, clears his throat and reiterates, "I said, I'll be back soon Wormy. Do try to contain your sorrow at my departure."
Finally, the bird crows. He cannot take the flying machine, as so often before. Memories of Sofia joyfully traipsing through the night sky alongside him are too much to bear, and so he walks. Indeed, these past months have been a never-ending slog of misery, with each emerging day a new facet of the impending nuptials that turn his stomach so.
The entire exit from the castle is spent imagining that crow was meant kindly. Cedric tries his best to keep his thoughts focused on the task at hand, and not their usage, but the journey takes him through Dunwidde, where the fruit tree he conjured while trying to master the Amulet of Avalor still grows. He cannot help but smile as he wanders further still, past Merlin's castle, remembering the joy Sofia brought to his life by arranging their introduction, and beyond, through memories old and new. The first time she cast a freezing spell happened in a pond he was now passing, the distant memory of the giggles she made when the falling snowflakes touched her nose cause him to chuckle inward with sad remembrance.
As the grass turns dry he realizes Kaldoun is approaching, and beyond lays his destination. His thoughts turn as the leaves, to all the firsts she's given to him. She was the first person he'd ever taught magic to, the first girl he'd ever laughed with, fought alongside, cheered for, the first girl he wished to…
He couldn't finish, the thought to painful to acknowledge on any level beyond the subconscious. Her firsts would be with someone else.
"Three Quid please." An elderly man behind the charmacy counter extends a wrinkled hand, eagerly awaiting the deposition in exchange for the dust. He fumbles with the drawstring, eliciting a snort of derision.
Rage and contempt inflame within him, that a creature such as this would think so lowly of a royal sorcerer, but the moment passes quickly, and instead of lighting the shop on fire in an ill-conceived attempt to prove his might, he produces three shinning silver pieces. The old man's eyes light up, peering over the edge into the heavily laden satchel. Cedric can see this shop keep's imaginings, what he would do if the purse were his, and tightens his grip on the satchel. Cold eyes meet his, and the man tosses the diamond dust across the counter, as if the sorcerer, and the dust, no longer exists.
Trying to shake off the coldness from someone he's purchased a hundred pounds of goods from over the years, he hesitates on the shop steps. Then, a figment before his eyes, stands Sofia across the bustling street. The fleeting thought is gone as quickly as it came, for the woman across the way, while brunette and very beautiful, was not his princess. He shakes his head in self-rapprochement, "She's at the castle getting ready for her wedding day you old fool, not trailing a footnote of her childhood." Ready to be on his way, he looks up to meet the gaze of the misidentified girl. In his admonitions she'd noticed him, somehow. Disbelieving at first, the brunette smiles gently at him.
Completely unsure of what was happening, he looks to either side, but sees no one else on the step. Again he looks back, and now the girl is beckoning him forth with a subtle gesture. His instincts clear that he should flee, instead he dodges carriages and the odd pedestrian, finding himself standing before the girl, who has taken two steps down to meet him.
A soft, silken voice comes from the woman, whose feminine attributes look conspicuously assessable. "Hi there handsome, what brings you to town?" Sheepishly he holds up the vial of diamond dust and chuckles awkwardly, not even a word and he's already sunk. But then, the girl's eyes brighten much as the old man's did. Instead of revulsion, he swallows thickly, intrigued by this woman whose every inch reminds him of Sofia, down to the crystal-blue eyes. The girl steps closer, drawing herself forward and batting her lashes slowly in one long, sultry advance. "If you're not to busy, I could spend some time with you, handsome."
Blinking back the confusion, he looks around to ensure this beautiful woman is indeed speaking with him. Finally assured he wasn't killed by a passing carriage and now in the great beyond, he looks into her eyes, so like Sofia's, and falters. The girl just laughs, "Well, come inside then." Another smile and quick wink are all it takes to set him floating in the door behind her. Once closed, the reality sets in.
The space is an entryway, a wooden hall filled with exotic flowers and decorative pastries, but with a strange scent hanging in the air. An old woman neatly dressed advances, clearly sizes him up, the beautiful girl over an arm's length away. This woman bellows deep, "One quid for an hour" in his ear. Confused, Cedric rears back, a steady hand on the dust and satchel full of coins.
"Excuse me Madam, but what are you suggest…" An older man with trousers undone staggers out from one door and into another, and the reality of what he's walked into firms in his mind. His arms flail in an attempt to establish the personal space this older woman intruded upon, and quickly the young girl is at his side, running a hand along the inside of his thigh.
"Won't you spend an hour with me? I can make you feel strong, powerful, and virile, my handsome man." It felt good. Enough so that for an instant he considered the offer, but frightened and unsure he panics.
Fleeing the girl's touch he hears the old woman call out, "Don't worry, we pride ourselves on discretion."
But it matter's not. He's back out into the street and to the outskirts of town before he stops running. Panting heavily, his infrequently exercised frame comes to rest on the stump of a great oak, and slowly he processes what happened. The chance at intimacy, but could he with a woman such as that?
The possibilities reel through his mind. He shouldn't, but why? Who exactly was he saving himself for anyway? No maiden had ever stood his company, save for Sofia. For her? She was already spoken for. Here he was, generously labeled as 'middle aged', without any prospects for a good match.
"Two days."
Silently he wrestles with base desires and higher calling to abstain as his feet begin to move. The image of Sofia dances through his head, intermingled with the girl who beckoned him closer. Her soft lips, her strong curves beckoned to him. "I'm a man, I have needs, what is so wrong with that?" he asks no one. But then, could he live with himself after succumbing to desires of the flesh? Fingers balled into a fist, he lands it hard in his hand. "No, I shan't do something so base. I'm a royal sorcerer, I've no need for the company of such a woman." He declares triumphantly.
He does so as he's standing in front of the doorway he's just fled. Kicking the doorframe to punish his feet for acting of their own accord, he curses the stars for the pain now coursing up his toes. There's a soft giggle, and the blue-eyed girl is standing there. Without a word she pulls him in, and toward a back room. The only hesitation is the abrupt cough of the older woman. Cedric covers his eyes with one hand to protest, the other betraying his resolve by fishing out a sterling pound, tossing it on the counter.
Now here and in the moment, he stares at the wall, nervous beyond measure. The room is quite small, by palace standards, and dark, with little more than a bed and nightstand, but now the strange scent of foreign incense is unmistakable. Curtains of deep hues cover the walls, providing texture to the small quarters. Cedric scoffs to himself at the 'discretion' they must also provide. Soft hands run along the back of his hair, sending chills down his spine, but he cannot look, his nose buried into one of the velvety drapes. Slowly her hands turn him away from the wall, and to his great relief she is still dressed. An audible sigh of relief echoes through the tiny space, to which she smiles kindly. "This is your hour." She decrees. "Tell me what you want, and within reason I'll try to accommodate it."
He tries to think of why he agreed to this, but comes up empty. What had seemed the very reflection of Sofia now reveals all the differences. Large hands, flattened nose, and the voice, too deep to be his princess. They stand in silence as the minutes pass by. Several times he tries to start talking, but can't make the words come. Finally she advances, hands slipping inside his robe. The tiniest, "no" involuntarily escapes him, and the girl stops.
"No refunds." She states calmly, "We can stare at each other for the last 15 minutes or get to it, it's your choice."
He looks to the clock ticking along the wall, and indeed most of his time has expired. Nervous he begins to shake, the belt of his robe held by a seeming Gordian knot. "Confound it all, insufferable fabric."
The girl giggles. Not a pleasant sort of giggle Sofia would make, it only serves to heighten his anxiety. Exasperated, he cries out, "Ten pounds if you'll stop the clock and it's infernal pressure." The girl's eyes widen, and enthusiastically she nods, rapping nine times on the heavy wooden door. He fumbles through the coin purse, setting the extra silvers on the nightstand.
She strides forward, pressing herself into him. "Wait" escapes his lips. The loathing almost too much to bare, he pulls from his sleeves the characteristic wand. Immediately the woman shies away. "Just what do you expect to do with that, handsome? I reserve the right to say 'no' if this gets too weird."
"You needn't worry. I just need you to look more like…. Well never mind 'who'." Before her eyes he conjures a crown of special magnificence. Identical in every way to the one Sofia dawns, he admires it before turning to the woman eying the object with suspicion. "Would you wear this? I will make it more, enjoyable."
Another chuckle from the girl, now seemingly bashful, "You mean, believable." The awkward clearing of his throat, and sudden loathing grips him as tightly as he grasps the false crown in his hands. This girl will never be Sofia, not with all the magic in this realm.
Hesitantly this girl steps forward, then snatches the item away.
"I'm not giving this back." With that, the replica is set upon her head. Now her hands roam free, as if she has permission, as if she somehow knows the ways his body yearns to be touched. Even through his clothing, it's more than he's felt of another human's warmth in what seems an eternity. How he hates himself, but his body tells a different tale. Slowly her figure rocks against his, as his imagination kicks in, removing the mental barriers. His hands instinctually bury themselves into her hair, reminiscing on when Sofia came home last winter, caught in a tempest and drenched to the bone. It wasn't that suitor she'd run to, but him. Eager to please, he'd dried her beautiful hair by conjuring tiny sun, much as he'd done years ago, this time by choice. But the texture of this girl's hair was different, everything about this was wrong, the truth's poignant sting driving deeper into his psyche. He reasoned that all men do mental gymnastics to get through the day, and resolved to try harder.
"Tell me you love me, how impressive my magic is, how you've always wanted me, and not that youthful cad. Tell me that it's all a horrible mistake." He can't believe the desperate words crossed his lips, but they did, and the girl obliges.
It's false.
It's wrong.
Small 'no's' try to force their way out, despite his best efforts to convince himself this if fine, he knows it isn't.
But his body betrays him, as everything does. It's over before it even began, and embarrassed at how little it took to stimulate himself, he curls away from the fleetingly confused girl. Sudden worry washes over Cedric as he takes stock of where his seed has gone. Luckily nowhere out of his reach. An unpleasant mess in his trousers, and nothing more. The girl seems to realize his failings, and chuckles.
"Don't worry, it's happens more than you'd think, especially when it's been a while."
"I'd rather not ponder why you know that tidbit."
"I understand." The weight of what he's done causes his knees to buckle, and in a final act of pathetic self-loathing he collapses, head in his hands on the floor, on the verge of tears.
Softly she strokes his hair while he dodges her touch, not wanting to remember how it felt. That this ever happened. "You must really love this princess." Horrified that he's been recognized, that somehow this incident will reach the castle and Sofia will know, the blood drains from his face. The girl just smiles before he can summon the courage to ask, "No, I don't know who you are, or who she is, but it's obvious you wanted me to be someone you can't have, and considering the crown, she must be royalty."
The girl touches the false ornament as she says it, and slowly Cedric laughs. At himself, at the absurdity of this interlude, all of it.
"Would you like a word of advice, from someone who has experience in these things?"
The offer jolts his back from the precipice of self-loathing he's dangling upon, the very nerve of her to assume she can offer counsel. But the girl smiles kindly, in no way condescending as most are. "If you get a chance with her, try closing your eyes and holding your breath, it'll increase your stamina."
He eyes the girl incredulously, and so she offers explanation, "Trust me. Men are visual, and get over stimulated by what they see. If you close your eyes you'll focus more on her." Cedric sneers, unable to process the words as more than dribble. In response the girl rolls her eyes, and delves deeper into the hearts of women. "Women are emotional, so really tune into her. Her sound, her scent, and the way she responds to your touch. That way, when you tell her you love her, she'll believe it. She might say she loves you too, even if you don't love yourself."
The very nerve of this girl. To assume she knows him on some deeper, existential level. But he's still recovering from the moment passed, unable to storm off. "How is it you know what form my self-image takes?"
A genuine smile spreads from the girl's lips. "It's my job to read people. Men who are lonely, men who are sad, those who could use my services. If you don't believe me, just look at the 9 sterling pounds on my dresser. That's three years pay of washing dishes in the local tavern, and I just made it in an hour by deducing your means and desires."
A grimace spreads across his face, still buried in his hands. "So then you marked me as rich but pathetic. Not exactly encouraging, are we?"
"Actually, I am tying to encourage you. You seem like a nice guy, an incredibly sad man, but kind and in need of a little counsel in the ways of women."
He scoffs, the truth within the statement too poignant to accept. "Well then, now that I've been lectured about my shortcomings, I believe that's enough for today."
A kindly sigh, and the harlot stands to open the door. Consumed by shame, Cedric covers his eyes and darts through the entrance, past the exotic goods and straight for the door.
"Come again soon." He hears from the symphony of those inside, the cheers of celebration for the sums he's dolled out on such a disturbing afternoon jaunt, but he cannot bear to think of the personal failings he's succumbed to. Instead he bolts toward Enchancia, and the safe harbor of his workshop.
Miles pass under his feet, and stars begin to twinkle in the night sky. His thoughts turn inward, to the fleeting pleasure his body craved that so disgusted his mind. Was the woman being truthful? If he really took a chance with Sofia, would it turn the tides of his fate?
Potion completed, the moon casts it's shadow upon the workshop floor. Hours are spent watching the pale moon light in quiet contemplation of the ramifications. What if he tried? An unambiguous rejection seemed inevitable, but the cost of living without it seemed a price heavier than all the silvers in the castle vault. Reflection on their time together was as unkind as reflections on the afternoon. Sofia was the one who initiated all of their interactions. Sofia was the one extending herself into his realm in the name of friendship. After she'd accepted that prince as her lover Cedric could no longer bare her presence. Excuses were made, appointments cancelled.
The corner of his eye catches the mirror, the tumult overwhelming he springs forth. Fabric stretches, finally giving way to his frustration it rips and drifts to the floor, his reflection consuming his thoughts.
He's old. Much too old to entertain Sofia's thoughts, and these months of wedding preparations reflect the haggardness of insomnia upon his brow.
He's much too thin, too little of a man with slim accomplishments to his name.
"You've nothing to feel guilt about. She doesn't desire you. How could she?" The words, almost real, come from beyond his mind, the demons crying louder.
"There's, still a chance." Defiantly he protests, "After all, she's not married yet."
"Do you really believe that?" the doubts whisper to the small rays of hope all but extinguished.
Does he?
As the moon sets the darkness takes him, his reflection all the doubts he wished to silence so long ago. Realizing himself a coward, the easy way was taken this afternoon. Instead of unfurling his heart to the girl he loved, he sought solace in the arms of another, and even then he failed.
"I don't, believe it." Inside his mind the demons dance in merriment, delighting that they've won.
To no one he whispers, "But I love her all the same."
The words catch him off guard. "Love". The repetition drifts from his lips, wafting through the tower and out the open window. Surely he simply lusts for her, as any man would? It can't truly be love, that deep, encompassing emotion that bonds families and souls together across the great spans of time and space.
"Oh Sofia. If only there were a sign. I'd tame the very seas and conquer realms if there were even an inkling that you cared for me. Anything over this torment." Stone walls hear his cries, but never have they answered back.
Great sighs come. One by one they shed emotions upon the stones below and a resolution is reached. He has to try. The faint rays of golden light now flickering through his window herald the dawn. His eyes never shut this night, but there is no time to doddle, for with the sun rises Baileywick, the master of protocol.
Quickly Cedric uses but a teaspoon of the shimmering dust and conjures the most beautiful bouquet of flowers ever beheld. Dashing through the halls, he comes to rest outside the princess's bedchambers.
What was an effortless sprint to her door now catches up with him. Feet grow heavy, arms deadened, heart throbbing, he cannot bring himself to knock.
"Cedric."
It's the steward, accompanied by the sinking feeling in the pit of Cedric's stomach, "Isn't it a bit early for you? You look awful."
The snide comment that was to follow never came, as Amber dashes past them both into Sofia's chambers. Shrill laughs and banter begin, as a flurry of maids swing past Cedric. Clutching the flowers to his breast, Cedric sucks in the last bits of his courage to enter Sofia's chambers.
Baileywick's hand stops him. "I'll take these to her for approval. In the meantime you're needed in the garden."
Through the throngs he catches a glimpse of Sofia. The usual radiant beauty is there, but something else. Something he hasn't stopped to notice. Another fleeting glance, and now he's sure.
The smile isn't real.
"The garden Cedric. Now please." Impatiently the steward is tapping his pocket watch.
"But, I really must speak with her, alone. It's long overdue." A subtle glance of disdain, and Baileywick straightens.
"Cedric, Sofia is getting married tomorrow. We're on a tight schedule, and she doesn't have time for this, and the flowers are as the king specified. Now go conjure a thousand more in the gardens before midday."
With that the door is closed. Thwarted, his shoulders slump and head sinks low, and the defeated march to the gardens is begun.
But what of Sofia's smile? A bevy of servants are assembling tables and ballasts for decorations to come. Observing this, his mind wanders back, over the course of months, to memories he's tried to forget. When Sofia announced her engagement to the boy. He'd shied away in a dark corner, brooding over sadness of things one cannot loose because they were never truly his.
But, Sofia wasn't beaming when she announced it. Sure, she held the prince's hand, but the smile wasn't real. Instead she'd stared out the window for much of the evening.
Another moment, one he'd all but repressed, pops up as he levitates decorations for ungrateful helpers. This time, the Wassalia ball. Sofia had been late, her fiancé made to pace anxiously. She'd eventually arrived, hair tousled and dress haphazardly assembled, but why? She'd seemed happy, but as the night dragged on the genuine smile faded, only to be replaced by the one she wore in her bedroom just now.
Memories flow along with magic from his wand, free and boundless. He hears her cries, the pounding on his tower entrance, that night he king bade her rescind the Amulet. No longer needed, another relic of her childhood gone. Unable to face her, the pounding finally stopped, the sobs drifting off into the night. Oh, the regrets he harbored.
The Amulet was something she cared for, there were so many facets of her childhood she truly cared for, but never has he seen Sofia emote for the man she is to marry.
She didn't love this prince. She doesn't love him.
Minutes pass. Servants shrug and wander by, uncaring why he's frozen stiff in the gardens, the wind slightly rustling his hair. It must be stress, he imagines. Stress, and his own desires dancing like a sheen over reality to twist its sharper edges.
The raven is back. Floating down and crowing loudly for his missed breakfast. The sudden peck to his ear brings him out of the trance. "She wouldn't possibly marry someone she doesn't love, would she Wormy?"
The bird crows angrily, and Cedric swears he was the recipient of an eye roll. But then, as if the gods above have smote him, the chosen prince comes waltzing by. Suppressing the immediate desire to wretch, he instead turns to converting potion to petals, grimacing and casting curses at the boy.
"Um, afternoon, there." The shy deliverance is met with distain. The quick thought of turning the prince into a vulture crosses his mind, but a quick glance around confirms there are too many witnesses present. He only grunts in response.
"The, um, flowers look lovely, but are a little bit lopsided. Did you add exactly three spoonfuls of magical fertilizer to the mix, because they look a bit short."
The glare that sorcerer made would unsettle the dead. The timid boy cowers back three steps. How DARE this whelp, whose stolen Cedric's true desire, comment on his magical skills. Waves of hatred waft at the boy from under his brow, and the smile the boy wears slowly fades.
Grasping at straws, the boy offers explanation. "I just want everything to be perfect, and I know how much Sofia admires you and your magic, so I want her to see the very best you can offer. I still can't believe Sofia actually agreed to marry me, and I don't want anything to deter her."
The grimace fades, replaced by confusion. Unwilling to speak to the boy, Cedric turns toward his work as the lad begins to wander off. The lilacs are listing to one side, but perhaps they reflect him, who is also barely able to stay upright.
"Wait." He can't believe it was uttered, but now that it was the boy stopped to turn. The nagging question looms. "Why were you baffled by her acceptance?" You miscreant he leaves behind.
The boy blinks, then cocks his head to the side. "Well, because she never let on that she, you know, loved me. I thought that she only considered me a friend, but I just had to try, you know?"
The words are a poignant sting, the predicator of false hope. He nods, and the boy slinks away, leaving Cedric to his thoughts. A mirror image of his own fears, the boy had conquered them and proven victorious.
All he did was try. Could Cedric do the same? Who was he kidding, this boy was a prince. A prince with assets, breeding, gifts beyond measure. But then, Sofia transcends the mundane, impressed more by the size of one's heart than one's purse. Would she devolve into a marriage of means? What was the difference then, he muses, on the woman of yesterday and a princess accepting a loveless marriage. Both sell their bodies for money, simply different sums.
The more he thought of the man, the more vivid imaginings of him tangled in Sofia's unwilling arms gripped his mind. Angrily sparks flew from his wand, and flowers of every shape and size began sprouting from surfaces near and far, until,
"Cedric. We have an early visitor."
Baileywick is there, to chide once more. But with him comes a girl, whose eyes are all too familiar, if the wrong shade.
The smile is the same. The giggle. The transparency of the lies that only Sofia fails so miserably at, and then, to set a hammer to the nail in his mind, "Mr. Cedric" crosses her cherry lips.
Is it Sofia?
Has she truly come to him?
"But why?" The demons within cry out. He tries in vain to contain the excitement, mind racing as he watches her conjure perfect petals in the afternoon sunlight. Happier times, easier times, are invoked. Her compassion, to ignore her obligation in order to alleviate his suffering all he can process. Magic and his love intermingle with the moment, and he knows. From the very instant she spoke he knows. He had to but close his eyes, and it was her.
"It would seem men are visual." He grumbles, the love of his life at his side doesn't hear as they wander through the fields toward the stream, him seeking desperate measures to keep her from the palace and fate.
A book serves a thin veil of secrecy as he watches her, knee deep in the river catching pollywogs. The great care she takes not to injure each infant frog fill the corners of his eyes with tears. She is the most caring creature to ever roam the land in his eyes. Watching her twist and turn about, the water splashing along her thighs entices her to upturn the thin skirt she's wearing, revealing what he's so desperately wanted to see. The realization of his arousal catches him off guard, and self-loathing for wanting another man's intended takes hold.
But is she truly another's? Or simply unobtainable. The hurt, the rejection, it's all simmering there below the surface, and try as he might to ignore it, the impending nuptials loom over this hallowed afternoon of secret indulgence. She says something innocent, and the lid blows off, the pain tumbling forth like mad, but he cannot bear to ask her if beyond not loving her fiancé there is more.
On some level he doesn't need to ask, just show her how much she means to him. Then the words will come, and Sofia will believe them. The woman of yesterday's advice clinging to his every move, every step, he walks farther away from responsibility, begging his princess in his way to continue onward, to give him more time and a glimmer of hope.
To his amazement, she agrees. Clinging tighter now, the demons within him shout so loud. That he'll never be enough, that he's misinterpreting her kindness toward an old wretch, that within a day she'll be gone forevermore. But she is so very kind.
Still, the woman's words of yesterday provide an all but certain false hope. Slowly, he closes his eyes, clings tighter to Sofia's arm, and dwells on not what he loves of her, but what she loves.
Adventure. Excitement. Laughter. Joy. Kindness. And then, dancing along his mind are images of her youth. Sofia poised with butterflies alight on her nose and fingers comes to mind, bringing a smirk of knowing apprehension to his lips. Before the demons can react he conjures them, the magic a surrogate of all colors imaginable to reflect the many levels of his heart she has captured.
As his love dances in the secluded field he watches, content for the first time in ages, before this desperate need to have her took hold. In appreciation she's up against him, panting slightly from the running, half-lidded eyes staring up at him. These are the eyes of a woman, not girl. He tries to find the words to ask without asking, without splaying open his heart until he's sure, but then, it was she that lifted upon her toes to let their lips meet.
She tastes of honey, cranberries and ecstasy. Afraid he'll fail as yesterday he forces his eyes shut, taking in her very essence. The softness of her hair, the smoothness of her skin as his hands trail over her exposed arms, the sound of her panting for air when briefly their lips part. As water flows through a stream, loving her seems effortless. Pulled along by the threads of fate, there is not hesitation, no fear. They could have lived a hundred years as lovers, for ease and comfort he feels conveyed.
Slight moans reach his ears as he touches her more deeply, more intimately, each mew inviting him onward. Part of him wonders why he's waited so long, the rest afraid to take him out of the moment, lest she loose the desire to continue. As if this union was blessed Sofia starts pulling up her skirt, moaning louder and more pleasantly. He thrives on her encouragement, hands busy themselves, trying desperately to please her. To respond to her needs. It's going well, as evidenced by her twitching. She's even begun to nibble on his ear. Her initiation is more than he can take, and slowly he dares to dream, that this is the moment.
Still unsure, he leaves no room for speculation, pressing the whole of his want into her. Instead of balking, her hips turn into him as a flurry of kisses are unleashed, the final encouragement.
He's too close, and sure to disappoint his beloved in this state, and so the eyes clamp shut even tighter, and a deep breath is held to stave off the moment.
Enveloped in her warmth, intertwined with the girl he loves, time stands still. The great divinity of life's continuity is within his grasp. He's forgotten about stilling the impulse to completion. Instead, the deepest instinct takes hold. He's crying out how right this is, a behavior long discouraged in polite society, as the feelings she brings him with each movement rip his heart wide open, letting all the boundless emotions rain down through him into her. He can feel every shudder, every gasp, and in this perfect state of bliss her body begins to shake once more as she whimpers his name softly in his ear.
She is his.
The release washes over him, much as it did her, and thoroughly spent he sinks deeper into her skin, taking in her scent, the subtle rise and fall of her exposed chest. It's all as he'd dreamed it a hundred times. A more perfect bliss was never known. To him, she is everything, encompassing the entire world and all it's hopes. They are two matching halves of eternal existence, through their union he is made whole.
With all his might he wishes that those words would tumble forth, but the abject deprivation of energy from months of torment take hold. Barely he can muster, "Sofia". Those words, tonal inflections filled with all the love of a lifetime, he hopes to be enough.
Suddenly the world is cold. He has forgotten the game, and in doing so his beautiful angel has pulled away, leaving him in a dust of half assembled clothing. The words of love, devotion and undying loyalty spill forth as he tries to gather himself back into his trousers, but she's already beyond his sight.
Staggering around in desperate search of her, an hour passes by. He comes to the inevitable conclusion that the magnitude of what they've just done overwhelmed her, and so she fled. He too is overcome by emotion, relying on a nearby rock to hold his weight.
The sun has nearly set when he returns to the castle. He is greeted by the relentless march of wedding, still on display. She hasn't cancelled it. Over and through all the possible scenarios his mind races, drawing to one inevitable conclusion. She loves him. He had offered her nothing, but she took him in all the same. There was no bait of money or power, only the perfect sense of belonging that being conjoined brought.
That was love, not fake smiles at a handsome young man.
What to do about it? Valiantly he marches to her room to declare his undying love, but is thwarted by the king, who decrees his princess is not to be disturbed. Guards thwart a stealthy approach. Magical intrusion? For hours he debates it, the cold sting of lying exposed on the hillside bringing the doubts creeping forth.
"She just wanted a thrill, to take the edge off the stress." They cry.
Hair is ripped from his head, in desperate attempt to silence the demon's lies. "No, NO, she would never do that with a man she didn't love. Not Sofia."
"She's alive, she has needs, and she knows you'll never tell. It wasn't love, it was lust."
"NO! It can't be, she must love me, as much as I love her." The stone walls lie still. Looking down, he can still feel her hands claw into his back, her temple drawing him in. The thought of that detestable prince drinking from the wellspring of her life steels his resolve to prove his devotion.
Still, the demons are there, swaying his mind. As the night drags on his mind wanders to old temptations. So distraught was she at the loss of the Amulet of Avalor, the ill-formed idea writes itself. In the castle jewel room it lingers, ownerless, and therefore not stolen, he reasons. It would make a fitting bridal purse, one Sofia would fully appreciate. That is, after he uses it to thwart this wedding and save his beautiful lover from a marriage of society.
"My lover." Lingers on his lips. Indeed, the label suits.
As the dawn slowly breaks beyond the wooded hills he descends the tower steps. Sleep has eluded him for months, the past two days not a drop to be had. But in his heart he knows this must be done. A poorly maintained lock and heavy door is all that now stands between him and the Amulet, this inevitable destiny, now easily opened. Sofia consumes his thoughts as each flick of the wand knocks a griffin guard aside.
She is compassionate. Caring. Kind. His beacon of light and positivity.
All the things he loved.
The jewel room now stands open. In his haze he hears the faint call of the bugle, the castle is on alert, but before his eyes lays the Amulet of Avalor. It should be hers forevermore, not wait in ruinous solitude for another owner as in generation's past. Halted steps toward it are taken, a certain derangement of purpose mixed with the last ounces of strength he possesses forms their gait, beckoned forward by the jewel glistening in the morning light. Slowly long, pale fingers wrap around this, the answer to his suffering. Slowly lifting it from the naked bust, a deluge of guards knocks him to the ground. The struggle is useless, as the jewel rolls out of his hands, knocking against the kings study boot.
Stern, unyielding eyes reign down as the king shakes in rage. "How COULD you Cedric, after all these years. You're a thief?!"
Incoherent, he babbles words of devotion, longing, enviable triumph, as he is slowly drug backward down the hall. A last, valiant effort to alert his lover to his impending doom is all he has.
"SOFIA!"
He is whole once more, but can the fleeting throws of passion stand the test of time?