Evangeline
"Perfect," Mare mutters, the heartbreak on her face evident as the sky is blue. "Perfect," is repeated, as she rises on quivering legs, and creates a beeline exit. But before Mare can step through the threshold of the entryway, the white-haired electricon lunges forward and wraps his fingers around her wrist, in futile attempt to restrain.
She starts, as though a bullet flew past her head. No guns exist in this room, at least, as far as I'm aware. His grip reminds her of my manacles, is the only reason for her shock I can invent.
The continuation of the subject interests me, yet not nearly as much as Tiberias' reaction to a second man laying hands on the girl. So quickly, I whip my head to the seat beside mine, to witness the prince's fury.
Rather, what I'm met with is a form of sickness etched on his features, his lip twitching unnaturally and his throat moving; nervous. I note, that it isn't the interaction of Mare and Tyton, but the aftermath of perceiving Maven's video.
If it were Elane, I'd feel sick as well.
Not until Tyton pleads, "Mare, please," that Tiberias' scrutiny is earned.
And what a priceless demeanor his expression morphs into. Unearned betrayal overwhelms the remainder of emotions, and for once, he doesn't hide it, not caring or else not given enough time to do so.
Though sooner than he can commit an idiotic action, Mare fractures the duo's bond jerkily, and races from the rest of us swifter than a proper girl should. But that would be to say that lightning can be tamed. "Give her distance, Tyton. I'm sorry, but you can't relate to what she went through," Commander Farley yanks him back by the shirt arm, and though Tyton spreads his mouth open, she elaborates, "Let her do what she needs to, to alleviate some of the pain."
"She shouldn't be alone right now," Tyton quips back, prying Farley's grip off his arm. "Who knows if she'll harm herself?"
"Mare won't; Mare won't, for the sake of protecting her loved ones. Especially after she learns of my plan."
The general comes out of his silence and advances towards Farley. Davidson hikes a brow and ties his arms together. "If you keep my soldiers out of it, I may be game."
"Unless you'd like to agitate her further, I suggest you bring your feet right back to where they were, Tyton," Farley growls lowly, pointing a tad violently at a spot on the tiles. Only coming to my attention now, Tyton managed halfway to the exit.
"Actually, I'd be exceptionally pleased, if you all were to leave," Anabel proposes, surging up; though the hasty motion has her smoothing the day gown she wears. Realizing the air of rudeness she employs, "My grandson and Evangeline have a critical broadcast to film," Anabel amends.
"Ah, yes," Davidson acknowledges. "It completely slipped my mind. Very sorry, for the intrusion, Your Majesty."
"Accepted," she daintily responds.
They're scared of us, or maybe simply eager to strategize their way out of this mess, but the reds cram themselves out of the meeting room in less than fifteen seconds.
"Now, where were we?" Anabel questions.
Tiberias smacks an open palm down on the transparent tabletop, forceful enough to cause waters and wines to slosh over their rims slightly, but not so much that the glasses fall entirely. "We're not going to take a single moment to recognize what's happened?"
"The girl, nor her sister are concerned, Tiberias. If it comforts you, surely the Guard will concoct some scheme or another," Father says with not a trace of sympathy. "This conversation does not accord to the schedule."
"Cal," I intervene, utilizing his preferred name; a rare incident for both of us. "We understand that a soft spot remains for the little lightning girl. But this is ridiculous. You and I will be in matrimony not long from now." I have to resist a smirk, to preserve its authenticity. But as Tiberias' eyes collide with my own, I allow a twinkling of venom to be released from within.
"Of course," he blinks, ending the gaze quicker than it began. "Mare Barrow is in fine hands." I can but envision how dire articulating those words is. Tyton seems to be like a vulture, snatching up its prey the moment it is up for grabs.
"Evangeline. Tiberias. I assume you've been practicing your script?" Mother grills, with such a tone, that even if I didn't know word by word, I would lie and say that I did. I admit, maybe I should've taken Mother's wrath if it purchased one more week of peace, before it became nationally known that Tiberias and I are engaged.
Remembering the bulky, golden band that encircles my ring finger, I grip the metal with my mind, and pull the material, inward, outward, and repeat. Traditionally, the circuit is crafted by the groom, with nothing but the burner's fire and blocks of silver, gold, platinum, and et cetera. In ordinary cases, the gesture could be considered romantic, but I opted to make my own, and let Tiberias take the credit. He couldn't make jewelry as beautiful as mine in a hundred years.
"Evangeline?" Father says, with expectancy. I must've blanked, and missed the first time he used my name. "Have you collected your mind?"
"Yes, Father," I nod my head downward obediently, and unconsciously take the prince's hand in mine, as I've practiced again and again.
"Cameras rolling in thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..." I hear called behind me.
Deciding its now or never, I whisper in Tiberias' ear, "When you kiss me, pretend it's Mare. It'll make speaking easier, I promise." Perchance my advice contains actual, useful knowledge, yet my extreme sarcasm breaches any inkling of positivity it held.
At his ear, I can make out the sound of a heart dashing triple the pace it's supposed to. But as every second is counted down my heart mirrors his more so than the last. They don't ever beat in sync, though.
He contains himself well; but poorly compared to Maven, who I saw right through. "If we're going to spend the rest of our lives reigning side by side, you'd bother me less, don't you admit?" Deviating from the talks I intend for us to have, just like always, I see.
No. Tiberias ruined my life, and if I will be chained to his throne for my remaining days, I owe him no less than to cause living Hell. He can have a crown, or a girl, but never both. And I will be sure to remind him, spending every moment at his side tormenting him. In a sense, he should be honored that I've elected to become his worst nightmare.
"Eleven, ten, nine..."
"Not a chance," is all I say, clutching his hand more brutally on the table and watch it turn white.
"Two, one, begin."
I'd flinch if I were permitted, but instead offer a superficial-yet realistic- smile to the lens of the camera, and release the excess compression on Tiberias' hand.
"Citizens of Norta, Lakelands, and other surrounding regions," he projects his voice loudly, as though speaking to a real-life audience. "For months, Nortans have been living in a tangled bed of lies, all of which have been delicately orchestrated by your supposed King Maven."
Five minutes drag on, Tiberias at one point releasing his grasp on my hand to aim an angry pointer finger, probably accusing his brother of something or other. I wouldn't know; until my cue, I deceit myself into deafness, all the while maintaining a serene smile. My part of the dialogue isn't until the latter half, but yet Mother suggested I learn its entirety.
Tiberias is the rightful leader of Norta... it reads; Tiberias was wrongfully framed for the murder of his father, manipulated by the evil queen... it reads.
"And now, once my brother has resigned from rulership, whether forced or compliant, I will wed Evangeline Samos, as we were once engaged."
Ah, my delightful cue. "Recently, as Tiberias and I were reunited, our connection deepened, caused by not solely our common goals, but a true liking. It's an anomaly for those of royal blood to find prosperity with one another." Father explained that the guarantee of a wedding, with the wine, dancing, and such, would excite the masses. Silly, but not untrue. "We deeply look forward to seeing you all attend."
The silvers' reaction to the courtship intrigues me nearly as much as the questions that will arise on the little lightning girl and the traitor prince's relationship. Father, Mother, and Anabel wish that it would simply go away, yet such an intricate affair will not be forgotten, erased by the mere announcement of an engagement between two High Houses, not differing from the last one whatsoever.
Then, my slender fingers stiffen on his knuckles recurrently and opposing my own will, I begrudgingly turn my neck, so that he is five inches away.
The script didn't designate any time at all to prepare, so I lean in.
And I discover that his lips are colder than ice. Unnatural, disturbing; House Gliacon must have a warmer touch than this. Certainly not stiff, I was told it must be, so I move my lips against his, making it dangerously close to passionate.
At long last, we break apart, and I break out a giddy smile like a schoolgirl would if she'd lip-locked with her boyfriend.
"Thank you, dearest peoples," Tiberias and I conclude together.
"Well done," Father hums, satisfied with my work.
So far as I'm aware, Mare hasn't made good on her promise to be Tiberias' bane, though it hasn't been long. I will make his life miserable, at all costs.
I find him at a sitting area, that overlooks the vast grounds of the backside of the palace leading to the woodland. A couple documents rest on the lamp table that touches the sofa, scattered and abandoned. The wax in the candelabra is not aflame, encompassing the elongated room in darkness, a significant ratio of moonlight obscured by clouds, aiding only a little.
"Do you not consider yourself creepy in the slightest, waiting for her return?"
The clicks on my heels, the drag of my skirt, and the sound of my voice didn't turn his head, but he does hear me, my presence sadly here. I take up residence in the lounger, crossing one leg over the other, and slouch.
"Today of all days," he sighs, still looking out that glass partition. Night has fallen, I wonder what he hopes to see.
"What's today?" I play dumb, cocking my head. "Or did my kiss really get under your skin?"
"What did I do to you, that motivates you to hate me so much?" He shifts his fiery eyes toward me, though quickly returns to the pane.
"Nothing consciously, to say. I want no part in politics of royals, nor a marriage with one. But you took that choice away from me." He will persist in asking otherwise. Though Tiberias knowing won't make my task nearly as fun. "I couldn't get out of it if I tried, I bet you're pondering. My parents won't allow me."
"Of course they wouldn't."
"Thousands of women yearn to tie the knot with a great king like yourself. Shame you get the one that doesn't."
"Shame indeed. Will you leave, please?" His tone is annoyed but also holds true; a beg.
"Hopefully she won't stay out there all night," I taunt. Figuring additional harassment would be futile, I almost push myself out of the over-cushioned chair; but between that moment of silence and the next, I'm convinced a shriek is emitted from the woods beyond. And something tells me Tiberias takes it in too, even in defiance of the darkness.
Brushing off the twinge of discomfort that rattles through the quietness, an odd, yet cruel idea enters my head, and I desert my plan to leave; it accomplishes nothing compared to this new one.
"Don't worry, I've decided to wait with you. But I promise to keep silent."
In time, Mare retires from the outer grounds, as a blurry figure, surprisingly unequipped with her cherished lightning. I wouldn't have been starstruck if she had spawned another of those electrical blasts, if I were her, I would've without a second glance.
If someone abducted Tolly from me, I would kill them, mercilessly. Until death would be a blessing. To even place myself in her shoes, I can hardly imagine what's its like to have peril over a sibling's neck, a defenseless neck at that. Ptolemus would've stood a chance when faced with a kidnapping.
"Go get your darling girl, Tiberias," I tell him with all the cynicism in the world. "Perhaps weighing yourself and Maven on the scales of bastardry, you'd win by such an alarming amount, you'd be considered a hero in her eyes. Which one does she hate more?"
"Go to... bed, Evangeline," he says, replacing one phrase for another. It's unwise to cuss at your engaged. "You must need the sleep, in order to concoct the things you say to me."
"My retorts are natural," I call after him as he tramps in the general direction of Mare's room, feigning disinterest for the next destination tonight. Such a desperate, little boy, is all I see when he's in my presence. Kings haven't time for distractions, and he's providing a testimony on why he should be dethroned before the crown is even given.
Though I should grant credit as well- he's pulled himself together nearly as quick as Mare did. A warzone doesn't give leniency to heartbreak, and the two of them know that here, there isn't a second to dwell on past choices.
Minutes fall away, and I religiously tap my fingernail on a sleek section of my gown, where no rough edges exist. The hits against the metal represent each passing second, measured more accurately than a clock.
The sound faulters, not entirely at my will, as I see a second outlined human emerge from the woods, reminding me of the cryptic figure that I laid eyes upon a couple nights ago; the evening of Mare's energy blast.
Regardless of how much I strain my eyes, the only precise details I can make out are the person's robes swaying astray from their legs, and long hair flowing in the slight breeze. A male, I think.
It must be the same person. Where are they going and what do they want?
I jot a mental note down, but I push concerns involving the man to the bottom of my ever-growing tally of matters needing to be dealt with. This instance, I'm not stopped when I rise from my seat, and I saunter down the hallway.
The estate may not be a carbon of our home in Archeon-which has plausibly been torn apart by now, courtesy of the King- it is still large, adequately so that locating a specific person can be troublesome.
But if it comes to it, I can always go to the security monitors. Though, with my connections here in the palace, I doubt that it will. Nevertheless, I traipse widely, in order to travel faster.
"Father. General." I bow my neck in what they consider to be an act of respect when I meet the duo conversing to the edge of the hall.
Father doesn't so much as batt an eye at me and Davidson subtly nods, not terribly engrossed with my presence either.
Yet reckoning it's my best course of action, "By any chance, have you seen Tyton or any of the other electricons recently?" I ask. "I had a question for them." The last part is a complete fib, made up on the spot. Time is running short and I have to stop myself from clicking my heels together-an old nervous habit from years gone.
"Hmm," he purrs, face ever-stoic, though the purring isn't common in officials like him. "Five minutes ago, he passed me, with the intention of going to see Mare. I don't know why you'd be keen on interacting with him, but whatever needs doing."
"Oh," my tone is disappointed, though I'm not under any condition. "Later, then."
"Later," Father echoes without meaning to go on. Puzzled and leary, as to why I'd want to speak to those red mutants.
My steps aren't deliberate now, and I play out scenarios to the endgame of my master plan, and all had better conclude with the future king more miserable than he already is. I can't decide whether or not I'd like to see blood spilled.
I whip about corners, not with much grace, the tassels of my dress causing a dent or two at the corners of intersections; if I wasn't in such a hurry, I might take a moment to correct the blemishes in the wall.
Only once does it cross my mind that this shouldn't thrill me, still it does, though. Despite Father's ceaseless agenda of events to coordinate, life otherwise, is mundane. Boring. Days elapse with business identical to yesterday's, the lone entertainment around here being Mare Barrow. It is about time I inflict some damage myself.
"Is something wrong, Mare?" I hear a voice ask at the last bend in my path. It must be Tyton. It has to be. Sneaking a quick glance, I determine that the three of them are right where I want them to be. Tiberias stands with Mare on the other side of the entry in relation to Tyton, doning unearned composture, with crossed arms. The lightning girl, on the other hand, looks about ready to spew her intestines.
"Nothing. I was just showing Tiberias out," she mutters through strife, quiet and somehow certain.
But it is the similarity between Tyton's and Tiberias' expressions that I snag on. An unidentified aura links them, even when they are nothing alike. An irrelevant red boy and another, destined to rule. Yet they emulate the other one's bottled-up rage, staging indifference. And how their gazes catch; I'm am only sure that understanding isn't exchanged.
And now, the sad truth is revealed, like a magician ripping a curtain away. Tyton is but a replacement, the closest person she will ever own that could be enough. But he will never suffice, but the naive lightning girl doesn't realize such things, not even that he is a substitute, filling the bleeding hole within her heart.
Fortunately, on Tyton's part, Tiberias' preparation for a hit is slow, the anger muffling the impact's potential. And he scantily makes it out the door before collapsing, with tiny strands of electricity emerging on his skin.
I suppose I didn't care to notice that electricons' powers can vary.
"Tyton," Mare exclaims worryingly. "That's enough." Besides fear of helping in the prince's death, I doubt she wants him to die, for selfish purposes. "Tyton," is said louder.
For just a moment, I can actually visualize Tyton killing the boy, who was caught off-guard-blinded by stupidity. A rare happening for the fighter.
"Boy," is growled from behind me, and I twirl to find a good number of reds and silvers alike. "Stop it this instant," Davidson speaks, taking the lead by creating forcefields to separate the three, blocking ability transmission as well.
"Who started it?"
"I did," Tiberias rightfully takes the blame, though remains hunched on his knees and elbows, palms obscuring his emotions. "What he did was just."
The blueish tinted dome that hovered over Mare vanishes first, though she remains frozen, stunned. Farley comes to her assistance, and takes her hand, before guiding her away.
"Was it wise, young man, to assault the prince, even if he did lead you on?" Father questions, coming forward while stroking his beard.
The conflict is a struggle, I can tell. Yes, it was.
"No," he says bluntly, and the second dome on Tiberias diminishes, and the third falls soon after.
Davidson practically rips Tyton from his place, and he hardly stays upright as he's towed away by the General. How frustrating to be punished for an act of self-defense. Or was it more than that, maybe a revenge of sorts?
"Everybody enticed by a method of which gets nobody killed in saving Barrow's sister, follow us," Davidson calls, tightening-if anything-his grip on Tyton.
"Not a child, General," Tyton rips away from Davidson, though if the general wished to, he could've kept the grasp.
"Yet you're acting like one," an old voice carries through the building, a voice that I've heard plenty from, but not adequately to know it by heart.
Mother's viper unwraps itself from her shoulders and Father's steel backplate tightens, as do mine. An intruder roams the halls, the metal in my bloodstream senses. A dangerous one, too. Both Father and I unfasten bars of titanium from the window decor and sharpen their tips until the slightest tap would break skin. Every piece of this manor serves firstly as a weapon, and secondly as an embellishment.
"I'm too valuable of a resource to slaughter," the man almost sing-songs. No. It couldn't be. How would he have... Foolish. If it's him then he could walk into this damned palace with his closed eyes and still not get shot at. "And anyway, red blood is such a toil to clean."
"Jon," Mare breathes out; apparently she and Farley didn't get too far. "Jon!" she roars, viciously this time.
My hypothesis has been backed. So that explains the anonymous shadow lurking around the grounds a few nights ago and tonight again. But what has he been doing out in those woods for the past four or more days? Hiding wouldn't check out, as he would have no trouble avoiding everyone, every foot movement planned.
"Questions will be answered," he appears around the corner. I'm starting to wonder if constructing such an estate with so many twists and turns was a well though-out plan. "But first, I do believe that an apology is in order, to the little lightning girl."