I will never, ever say that I will update faster again. Not when I keep failing. Enjoy the chapter, and please Review!
IX
It took skills, Clarisse realized, to keep a place in the courts. It wasn't that she might get kicked out or anything, unless her identity was discovered, but if you wanted to fit in, it wasn't easy. Chris had left her at the entrance of the courts, leaving her a little unsure of what to do. So she took a deep breath, and simply strolled in.
The courts were filled with young, delicate laughter, falsely energetic voices, and so much velvet and dresses that she almost couldn't find a place to step. She settled herself down on the couch closest to the door and farthest from the gaggle of ladies. She also happened to be quite close to the food table, and she helped herself to the little vanilla cupcakes and sickeningly sweet coffee.
When she returned to her perch, a cookie in her hand, she noticed a few girls glancing at her curiously. After a few moments of whispering, two of them separated from the gossiping crowd to approach Clarisse.
"Are you new?" one of them asked timidly.
Clarisse blinked, a little surprised. They didn't sound as stuck-up as she expected them to be. "Um, yes," she answered, trying not to lick her painted lips out of nervousness.
They sat down daintily on the couch near hers.
"What is your name?" the second girl offered her a kindly smile. She had silky dark hair pinned up in an elaborate hairdo, and was very pretty.
"Clar-" she started, then paused and said, "Clara. Clara Darrin."
The dark haired woman gave a little bob of her head in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Clara. I'm Silena, and this is Sophie."
Sophie, a young, petite blonde with milky skin and light eyes, waved at Clarisse a little nervously.
There was a lapse of awkward silence.
"Erm…" Clarisse cleared her voice. "So… what do you usually do here?"
Silena shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing much but talk. When there are visitors or guests though, we go greet them. Lords from distant lands, princes," and then she rolled her eyes, "Servant boys, even. We're all just a bunch of girls sent over by their fathers so we can find a husband of power. Not many of us actually care about that, though."
"That's… nice." Clarisse wasn't sure how to reply.
"Not really. It gets mighty lonely, and there's nothing to do around here other than talk and gossip." It was Sophie who spoke this time, her sweet voice weary and distressed.
"People don't come over often either." Silena's voice was filled with regret. "This is a declining empire."
Clarisse hummed a small agreement, before she remembered something. "But what about the Prince?"
"Crown Prince Chris?" Sophie furrowed her brows, and Clarisse had to prevent herself from laughing. She nodded as a confirmation, and both Sophie and Silena shook their heads.
"If he's ever getting married, it'd be a distant princess that would help this nation rise from the dust. But we are too forgotten, too broken for foreign princesses to even consider us anymore."
Now that was just sad, and not encouraging at all. But for some reason, tension released from her shoulders, and Clarisse relaxed, strangely relieved.
"But speaking of the Prince…" Sophie began thoughtfully, and in less than a minute, she and Silena had sunken into a deep conversation about the royals of the castle. Clarisse sat mutely by the side and absentmindedly listened to them gossip. There was nothing that set warning bells ringing in her head: nothing about screams at night, and nothing about insanity. There was nothing they knew that she didn't.
Until they mentioned execution.
"What?" Clarisse's head shot up, bewildered.
"There is an execution tomorrow," Silena elaborated. "The death of a well-known thief."
Just because of theft? Clarisse wondered. So she asked, "Who is he?"
"I don't know his name," was the answer, "but rumor says he fell in love with a princess, eloped with her, and was captured in the devastation of her death."
Sophie added, "It was a former princess. Her father was thrown from the throne, and she barely escaped with her life. A wanted thief and a wanted princess." She gave a small, tinkling laugh as if it was something humourous. "The family was called Gardner."
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What horrified her most was not the fact that the boy was being executed for theft, nor was it his tragic story; it was the realization that she knew him.
The boy had been chained in the cell next to her, and she should've known, because a guard had told her he was going to die soon. She had spoken to him, and he had answered, and it was horrible because he was going to die and there were nothing she could do about it. Not without throwing away her disguise – and life – in the process.
She spotted Chris on the dais, sitting beside his father, and she heard the crowds cheering and chanting for the death of a boy. And she wondered if the audience would cheer just as loud if it was her down in that platform.
What sickened her most was that they were entertained by this. In their minds, sinners were no longer human, and animals donning human skins should be slaughtered.
But there were nothing she could do from her position among the court ladies in the audience other than watch, and the ropes tightened around his neck, and the stool was kicked away from his feet, and he didn't even struggle as his windpipe was cut off and his face turned blue and-
Clarisse was not a coward, but she had never fled so quickly.
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Time passed faster than she would have liked, and Clarisse was beginning to be at loss. What was she doing in this castle? She still could not make herself talk and laugh like the other ladies in the courts, but she knew how to smile like them now, how to act and pretend to be like them. She pretended she liked them, and almost fooled herself.
One night, she laid down in her bed, sinking into the deep mattress and pulling the thick blankets over her head. Before, such luxury would have brought her comfort beyond imagine, but now that she was used to it, it was nothing but wood, feathers, and cloth.
Her head was a whirlpool of confusing thoughts, so distracting that she almost didn't hear her chamber door swing open quietly. But she did, and she froze, and she heard footsteps that rounded towards the bed. There was someone in her room.
She discreetly peeked out over the covers, but all she could see was shadows… until a figure fell right on top of her.
The wind was knocked right out of her lungs, and Clarisse wheezed, trying to draw enough breath to scream, to swear, to fight – anything. But before air returned to fill her chest, the person that had fallen atop of her struggled, and twisted, and then her mouth was blocked by another, and Clarisse was frozen in shock.
It took her a long time to realize that the person was kissing her, and one hand was in her hair and another pressing down on her arm, and it was Chris.
The moment her brain started functioning again, Clarisse began to struggle, but the blanket made it difficult, and Chris was too heavy. She was suffocating, until Chris broke the kiss for one second to breathe as well, and she took the chance to draw air into her constricted lungs; and then they were kissing again, except this time, his hands were moving, and they were running down her shoulder, arm, side… his touch on her exposed thigh was freezing against her burning skin. A shudder ran up her spine, and she wanted to gasp, but Chris's mouth was still around hers, and in one small burst of energy, she drove her knee up between his legs. Even with a thick blanket between them, that was bound to hurt.
Chris groaned, rolling away from Clarisse, and she jumped up from the bed, breathing heavy, skin burning. The Crown Prince wore nothing but a pair of thin cotton pants and the pendant falling from its chain onto his bare chest. The substance inside it swirled colourfully, as luring as the last time she had seen it, and for a long time, all she could do was stare at it, watching it drift, and prance, and dance like little fire fairies.
But then something tightened around her wrist, and pulled her onto the bed and under the blankets.
Chris was tearing at her clothes now, his mouth catching hers and pressing down hungrily. From the side of her vision, she could see the pendant glowing, swirling… He was hard against her, and his touch sent butterflies scattering in her stomach and fluttering over her spine. But she was a fighter, and she was stubborn, and Clarisse reached for that beautiful thing around the Prince's neck, and pulled.
The chain snapped silently, and silence was what fell in the room.
Chris was unconscious, barely breathing, but Clarisse noticed none of that. Not with the war that erupted inside her head.
There were two voices in addition to her own. Two new voices, and both of them belonged to Chris. They were screaming, and shouting, and one was sinful, while the other resisted.
She felt lust. It was something hotter than fire, and it ran like lava through her veins, but it was not painful. But something was filtering the lava, dripping water onto the flame, and the other voice was screaming STOP! Stop with the nonsense! Stop with the thoughts!
And the first voice, filled with emotion that was love, yet not quite as beautiful as love – but how was anything inside her beautiful – replied with weeping, and begging, then screaming, and laughing.
It was driving her crazy; she was going absolutely nuts.
But no – it wasn't her.
The only person truly insane in this entire castle was Chris.