After the tantrum, and the matter of his hand getting healed until there was not more trace of the outrage, Alyn thought the king would retreat, like he had as a boy. Forming a shell and bury himself in a book. He did not expect for him to get back on his feet. He had underestimated Maven deeply.
"How do you do it?"
There was the slightest trace of dried silver blood on Maven's knuckle as he flexed his slender fingers.
"Pardon me, your grace?"
"The patience, Alyn Velx. Where does it come from?"
"Waiting is my second nature." Alyn had said without thinking and he could feel Elara' s amusement. "It's like a skin I wear. I am best at being calm and look for my opportunity while others stride forward. Sometimes exploring is worth the wait."
"One could say waiting is an art the way our tattered lord talks." The queen smiled thin." He is not wrong though."
It irked Alyn deeply she was agreeing with him only minutes after their fight over a human mind.
"Worth the wait." Maven had repeated silent. Alyn felt the rapture as an idea formed in his mind, sharp and wicked smart , edges cutting deep through the still not completely calm demeanor. "Waiting does seem like a fruitless effort with people hidden. But sometimes that's all we have to do."
Alyn felt like someone had thrown him down a building only to recognize the ground feathered him back up, like a trampoline.
"Your majesty?" Alyn's heart fluttered at the sight of the gleaming smile on Maven's face. It was a fever , living along the brimming mind of the king.
"Why let the scouts search," he had said. "When there is a better opportunity to seize?" The moment of weakness was gone as he distanced himself from Alyn, going back to something that looked at this distance, like a list. His mother seemed rather satisfied he had snapped out of it.
Alyn had sunk on a chair as far away as he could, trying to fathom what had happened.
Alyn remembered the day the prince noticed his wonder for lightning strikes. In retrospect Alyn could see the irony in him , watching the galvanic symphony from the safety of the window.
Always watching, never acting.
The rainstorm had been heavy. Water pounded against the glass, and the sky was so dark, it seemed the sun had been swallowed whole. Twirling darkness, freckled with grey heavy clouds.
When the first thunder roared , like a wounded lion, Alyn Velx had been sitting on his usual spot on the windowsill in the room.
Maven was quiet, on his table, still upset about something that seemed to connect with a bruise well hidden under a sleeve. Alyn had learned not to ask questions. If the prince wanted to talk, he did. He wouldn't pressure a friend.
Alyn remembered his bruises just the same, every time his father dragged him out or inside his chamber. He dared to nudge the upset bubble of Maven's feelings with determination before he returned to watch and wait, raindrops hammering a staccato against the window.
The first lightning bolt struck , illuminating everything in bright white light. And Alyn had let out the tiniest of sounds, an excited 'ahh'.
"It's just a storm." Maven said, leaning his head on his hand, seemingly unfazed.
"Shh." Alyn made.
" Using an interjection on a member of the royal family has seven different punishments."
"Why seven?" Alyn asked, confused, turning away from the spectacle.
Maven smiled a little through his fingers. "Depends on the noise you make."
Alyn blinked. Then he laughed. "That's so silly it can't be true!"
"Maybe it's not."
"Lying is not a proof of character."
The smile was eradicated from Maven's face and the way anger slithered through the surface of his mind, Alyn knew he had gone too far.
Thunder rolled over them, drowning everything he might have tried to say.
The next bolt of light flashed over the sky, faster this time, followed closer by more thunder. It wasn't entirely white this time, throwing a slightly blue glimmer over the room.
The rain now was not a storm. Only light drops splattering against the window of the kings study. He was in a better mood this day. He was positively gleaming in joy over something Alyn had no clue about. And some part of Alyn was very much reminded of the days in the room as he watched the king that once had been his friend. Now he was not sure. A promise not to bite, a friendly gesture, a bloody hand. He pitied the king as much as he flinched every time anger and hatred formed the everlasting puddle that suffocated everything that had once been good and fair. The amount of loathing curling up in one chest, making it burst.
"You may find it of interest," the king said. "I offered a bargain."
Taking pity? Alyn blinked at him. A bargain was not something Alyn had thought possible after the talk that defied the anger and the need to solve it all , smothering it.
"You did?"
Maven's mouth twitched slightly. "Weren't you all for compassion, Lord Velx?"
Alyn lowered his gaze. "What is the bargain?"
" My brother for a slight adjustment of conscription age."
"That is..." It was something, right? But the way Maven evaded Alyn's gaze , slippery in his mental grip was not making him believe. " That would be a gracious deal. If it was true."
"What makes you think I am lying?"
The way you and your mother are scheming, and the way you lean over the papers. You know how to cling to me, if you want to. But you also know how to trick me, you did it before when you told me things didn't go as planned. You were asked not to lie, so you resorted to not saying the truth.
"Please prove me wrong."
It was an offer, an outstretched hand like the night after the chaos at the ball. It seemed like an eternity and had been what, Alyn thought, little more than a week?
Maven scoffed softly before turning away.
"What about Mare Barrow?"
"What about," Maven repeated, ever so slowly, padding over the carpet. "Mare Barrow."
There was unhealthy longing blooming through the puddle, stretching feelers, like ink forming strings in water, a longing that made Alyn feel insufficient. It was not the bonfire Thomas had been, and the more the longing lingered, the more it became something very uncomfortable.
Not unlike the loathing Maven held for his brother. It was rejection and neglect, overshadowed fear and need, coeducational.
And it reminded Alyn very much of his own bitter feelings the day he had found out that Maven was not at all what he hoped to find.
It was the need to possess and the fear never being able to.
It ached in Alyns hollow chest.
"I will be gone, for a while." The king said, without answering Alyn's question.
"Should I pack my things, your majesty?"
" As much as I enjoy your company," Maven said, finally looking at him again. "You aren't fit to leave the palace."
True enough, Alyn couldn't disagree. It did still sting.
"Safe travels then," the words felt stiff on his lips. It was the disappointment, though he didn't know why he was so disappointed.
"I'll be back soon." He felt Maven's amusement, and to Alyns own surprise he bristled, brooding, as the king stepped closer.
"It's not in my business to tell the king where to go. You have your tasks, I am sure." He felt like a soldier, back straight, head up, eyes trying to evade the kings gaze.
"Look at me."
Alyn sighed deeply but did not comply.
"Look at me, Alyn Velx." Maven said, more firm and less gentle.
Alyn felt a hand brush over his shoulder, and as he turned his gaze, he saw blue eyes that had followed him in his dreams in the darkness of a cell.
"You taught me a lot about waiting, Alyn Velx." The hand brushed over his arm a second time. Despite his own disappointment and worry, Alyn's heart fluttered. "About patience. You endure. You are a true friend. And when I am back, I will show you."
"I'll take my own lessons to heart and wait a bit longer." He is going to hurt people, a part of Alyn was too aware of that.
The other part was just aching because of the king's departure. Alyn hated himself, not for the first time in his life.
When the king returned, he did not send for Alyn. Instead he treated him like he did not exist.
They did not cross ways. There was no trace of acknowledgement. Alyn wondered if he had forgotten him already. When I am back, I will show you.
No words, no longer. Empty promises. Alyn should have been used to it. He could not swallow this pill too big.
Alyn sat on his bed for hours.
Three days, not a sign. Alyn had stopped asking. He had resorted to not even get up, burying himself in memories of thunderstorms, of sunshine, of a little girl named Zella he whirled around, and he stared at the picture of her face, trying to imagine how he whirled a teenage girl around . He imagined her to smell like the sunshine he remembered, of the dust in his old home. In the end, the image crumbled to ashes.
Like a kicked puppy, Al. When is it ever not complicated?
Stay with me. I'm here, alright?
You are not, Alyn thought. And you'll never be again.
He missed a friendly face. A shoulder to lean on. It had made life more bearable.
Who even cared?
He was a tool,and now he was not sharp enough to be used anymore.
It took five days until someone came. And it was no servant, nor Elara, to mock him. It was Maven himself, and the moment he entered the door, Alyn felt the chaos in his head all too well.
Alyn had a déjà vu. He remembered the day he had been lying in the very same bed, and the prince had slammed the door.
But this time there was no grief. There was the same angry energy, the same twisted mind. Pain limped to Alyn like an old acquaintance, followed by desperation and a need.
"You should not be here," Alyn whispered.
"Is that all you have to say?" Maven sounded very bitter and deeply hurt. Hurt in his pride Alyn recognized.
Whatever that wicked mind had planned, it had failed. Alyn was torn between feeling pity and feeling glad.
"What should I say?" Alyn asked scrambling to his bare feet.
" You do your wise old eyes and tell me something idealistic about the world."
Wise old eyes? Despite the severity of the situation and the strained air, running thick tension, Alyn smiled a little. He felt a little overconfident, even, with the king himself standing in his bedroom. "I am afraid I don't have a cookie cutter wisdom ready now. You should have told me in advance you'd stop ignoring me."
"I didn't ignore you, Alyn Velx. And even if I did, you can be sure it would have suitable reasons. "
"So you did or didn't ignore me? You lost me, your majesty."
The kings jaw was clenched tight, and as Alyn moved closer, he saw the muscles on his neck move. He regretted not taking this serious.
"I am glad to see you." Alyn Velx said, as it was the only truth he had to offer that was not a firework of blame or sorrow.
" As am I." Maven muttered.
"I hope you had safe travels. I haven't been on the road for a while but I hear the new king has started construction sites on some parts of the country, making the streets and parts of some towns unbearable."
"You are horrible at small talk." Maven let out a stifled laugh.
"Am I? Must be the time I spend in dark chambers waiting."
He hadn't finished shrugging his shoulders when a head brushed his neck, a nose burying on the brim of his shirt. The king's skin was too hot, almost feverish. And he gripped Alyn so tight in a soul crushing hug that he wasn't able to breathe for a moment.
"I was so close."
Ink spilled in water, dark strings like a network of roots, or ivy overgrowing windows.
The need to possess, the obsession rinsing out every other emotion, and the deep frustration and anger.
"I was so-" Maven's hand gripped Alyn even harder."I wanted- I needed-"
It hurts, Alyn thought, doesn't it? Being close to someone who won't ever love you like you want to be loved?
He didn't say it. Instead he put his arms around Maven, leaning up as the king was leaning down to him. "You are hurting me." He whispered.
The face on his skin started shaking, as did the hands that gripped him so tight he felt bruises already blooming.
"Gentle, your grace. " Alyn whispered, feeling hot tears seeping into the collar of his shirt. "Gentleness wins more than force. You can force people all you want, they'll fear you. Not love you. But you know that."
The hands gripped him less tight with every stroke of Alyn's fingers , combing through hair, caressing a strained back. His mind was the epitome of his words, giving a weeping boy the embrace of everything that was warm, and everything other people had ever given him.
A talk between books, a hand nudging his in worry and support, a girl laughing in sunshine. A prince joking about a court rule. Even a king, handing him a crimson blanket not to shiver.
Giving a mind peace, making someone relax, it was the first thing his uncle had taught him. He had practiced on animals first, then , sometimes, his uncle allowed him to try it on him. But he never did it without consent up until the day his father had tossed him in the pit of venomous snakes that was the palace. He had managed to master the craft , his foremost defence and most effective weapon, trapped behind stone walls filled with people of all forms and characters, stomping , screaming, begging, until they were broken.
No one wanted peace more than the trapped.
But he had learned, filling minds with peace and blessings, love and gentle light, was becoming harder the older he got. He saw more dread , felt more fear, inflicted more pain.
After all the pain, he felt like every time he gave someone a good feeling, a part of him was missing.
The gift was a part of his soul, one could say.
Maven held the most fractured pieces , and held them tight, as tight as his hand had gripped Alyn.
Alyn sat in front of the kings bedroom, leaning on the door, listening closely to deep breaths of a person falling into a slumber. His mind watched just as closely, working gentle, like a kitten rolling in the kings lap. He was too tired to do much. But he gave him the last bit of peace he could muster. Though his head was throbbing, he kept his posture on the door frame.
He had refused to leave again, but of course, nothing could stop his mother from coming and going as she pleased.
When she stepped out of the bedroom, her eyes lingered on his face. With her, he never wondered what she saw.
She saw a tool. She saw an exotic parrot she had purchased long ago.
He knew she didn't like it the slightest how the tides had turned. You are not as important as you think you are, she had said the night he had been brought to prison. The truth was, Alyn didn't know if he was important. But he felt stronger since their return to the capital.
"I know all the mock and venom," he told her. " You took my everything. Nothing you can say will hurt me."
Big words, the demons whispered in his head. Big words from a weakling. From a coward. You can't stand the pain. You crawl to Maven like he does to you. His hatred gives you reason. Else you would be nothing but tears and sadness.
Alyns heart was beating so fast his chest was about to explode, and little flecks of grey danced before his eyes. He'd have a very bad migraine soon. Her presence didn't make it easier.
"You really believe my son loves you."
"You used the word infatuation." He reminded her, still gripping tightly to Maven's mind, lulling him into gentle sleep. The obsessive feeling, the longing and the anger faded into calm and relaxed waves.
He was more tired than ever, but he wouldn't stop , and especially not with her so close.
"He loves the pity. And he is very fond of your attempt to control his feelings. You are like a pain killer, Alyn Velx. Not unlike the drug you crave to make the voices stop. "
He couldn't disagree. It made it even worse. At the mentioning of the potion an itch crept up his arm.
"I wonder," she said, brows drawn together in the imitation of sympathy. "How long can you feed him? "
He was quiet for the longest time, concentration all on the king.
"Will you cage me again?"
She was genuinely amused. A small laugh escaped her lips. "He will toss you aside soon enough. He always comes back to me. And if not-" Her hand reached out in an almost gentle gesture, and Alyn thought she wanted to cup his cheek. Instead she touched his face on the spot under his nose, just a fingertip over his lips, holding a piece of richly embroidered cloth between her index and middle finger. He watched her confused as she retreated. There was silver blood on her blue handkerchief. His hand following her trace, he touched his nose. It was bleeding, small traces of blood streaming down. He pressed both hands over his nose, warm tingling sensation. Curious, he didn't feel pain. Not his own.
She studied the blood with mild interest and amusement, turning the handkerchief ever so careful. "You'll soon destroy yourself, little monster."
Her slender fingers swatted the dirty handkerchief away, like it was a bug she had to get rid off. The blue cloth sailed to the ground. Then she turned away from him, swaying along with grace and confidence. He was dirt under her feet.
Alyn was still staring at the silver blood on the handkerchief, then back at his own hands. They had started shaking.