~ Leonhard ~
It hurts to wake up.
My eyes open to stacks of books and a darkened space that opens up, and it snaps me back into the land of the living. 'The national… library?'
A shudder pulses through me. Ropes cut into my arms, my chest, lashing me to a chair. My breath clouds, melts in the forsaken hall, disappears among the bookshelves.
My heart won't stop hammering. All I can remember are the hands. Lunging from the dark, snatching me. And the screaming. Then I woke up here.
The library sleeps, empty. 'H-Hello?'
Heine didn't tell me how to untie myself from a chair.
Then the door swings open. He lopes down the aisle, stepping past rows of desks.
My heart skips a beat and stutters to a halt. My blood pools. Then my heart kicks back to life, pouring out so much adrenaline.
'What — Wh— H-How?' The words nearly shatter and spill everywhere.
Because it's Herr Graaz.
And he's nearly on me before I realise I'm in trouble.
I snap my shoulders back and the chair rocks, but I can't topple it, can't free my arms. The ropes burn into my chest, cutting thick and cruel. My breath rasps, hurts my lungs, and he keeps getting closer and closer — no — no —
He drops a hand on my shoulder. The fear skyrockets. No — NO — !
'You're not hurt, are you?'
The wind goes out of my sails. Tears freeze on my cheeks. '…Huh?'
He drops to one knee at my side, and I flinch, shoulders raised and tensed. His eyes roam my body. I can't stop shaking. 'I'm sorry for the abrupt method of transportation,' he says. He stops. His brow creases. He brushes a finger over my cheekbone, over he half-healed nick that was cut by his whip. His touch makes me want to throw up.
I've had it. So I bite his finger, taste blood and slam a kick into his shins. He buckles, andgasps. I jerk my head away. 'Get your mitts off, commoner.'
He looks at me, stunned, yet… he doesn't argue. 'I'm sorry,' he says. His voice drops a note. 'I'm sorry, my prince.'
'I'm not your prince — and if I have to get my father to expatriate you to make it so then so be it.'
Despite everything, I have to allow myself a brief smirk. Heh, Heine, look at me now. Five-syllable vocabulary words, in a sentence and everything! But only because he's not touching me, not pressuring me, do I have this slim, temporary confidence.
'As you wish,' he says. Neither of us say anything for a minute.
'I'm sorry. Your Highness.'
My chest hurts. I stare at him. Shaking, infuriated. 'You're sorry? You attacked me and you're sorry? You whipped me, you were going to — ' The words tangle into a sob, and I can't help it, can't bring myself under control again. Can't find the steel that I wielded for that one minute.
Pain writes itself deeply into Herr Graaz's features. 'It seems I played my part too well.'
I sniff, and rub away tears on my shoulder. 'What do you mean?'
'I never wanted to hurt you, Prince.'
My jaw drops, and I spit an argument, but he moves to where I can see him. He places the revolver that I didn't realise he had on the table and raises his hands, rendering himself unarmed.
'And given what I've done, that comes off as complete rot. I'm aware.' He traces a circle on his palm, looking for words. '…I was pathetic. I went after you with a riding crop in a fit of anger, when I was your tutor. It was horrific. I never knew how poor my grip on my temper was until I saw you crying at my hand that day. I hated myself every single day afterwards.'
'I… When you apologised…' I look away. 'I thought it was only because my father made you, because you got caught.' That's what I thought. Because no tutor would ever apologise for beating me, regardless of whether I deserved it or not. I've been through it enough times to know.
'Believe me, please. I regret it deeply and I still do. But that doesn't atone for the fact that that is what happened.' He runs a hand through his hair. 'I never went back to teaching after that. I couldn't trust myself. Then recently someone came to me, said they would give me the opportunity to get back at you.'
What?
Herr Graaz laughs humourlessly. 'I spat in their face.'
I blink. '…?'
'I refused. The only reason I would ever place myself in your path would be to apologise, and how can you apologise for something like that? So I said no. Then things got uncomfortable and I ended up taking them up on it.'
'But why then — '
'They told me they could send someone else after you instead.' Someone else. My chest tightens. Someone even worse. 'I thought at least I would be able to keep you safe.'
Someone even worse.
It feels as though the floor is crumbling under my feet. 'B-but, you tried to…'
'I wasn't trying to whip you. On the contrary, I did everything in my power to not touch you.' My expression says enough. 'I know. I know. So I tried to protect you as much as I could. You cut yourself on the knife I had because you moved.'
'But you slapped me.'
His shoulders cave in. 'I'm sorry. I had to follow the script.'
'Script?'
'I was told what to say.' Those well-rehearsed lines. 'What to do. Where to go. Even how to act — unhinged, bent on revenge — which would be logical behaviour, given… Everything. I was even forced to pretend to whip you, and could barely control the cursed tool. Then it started going south, as I knew it would, when someone showed up for you and I had to hold you hostage. It was all scripted.' His fingers curl, and loosen. 'At the end, I realised that I'd been written into a role that would sentence me to death. So that I couldn't talk.'
'Well, whoever told you to — they would have tried to — '
'Crimes of such a high order are punishable in this kingdom by law, and by death.' He looks at me. 'Your father had my execution ordered. Even if he hadn't, I would have taken myself to the guillotine for what I've done'
I swallow. Executed? And he… I feel ill, the tension increasing notch by notch. 'T-Then why are you here now?'
He gives me something like a smile, a sad one. 'Someone opened the prison doors. It seems my work's not finished.' I tense, but he shakes his head. 'Don't worry. You weren't the target last time, nor this time either.'
'But I was kidnapped — '
'But you weren't in danger.' He chooses his words. 'You're not… the objective, so to speak. Just a distraction. Yet I don't know what the real objective is.'
If that nightmare was a merely distraction… then how much worse would whatever… the real deal be?
He gets up and crosses over to me. 'I've been instructed to hold you here until someone from the palace comes to claim you. That's all. And if anything changes, I'll do what I can to ensure your safety — '
'…Can you…' I whisper the words. 'Can you stay away from me?'
He stops. Takes a step back. 'As you wish.'
I lower my gaze. The ropes press against my arms.
I didn't really know what was going on, and there's still more that I don't know. And he seems… But I can't…
'You're right. You do play your part too well.'
The silence hangs heavy.
Then I break it. 'Can you… Untie me?'
His eyebrows lift, then he shakes his head. 'I would. But I can't guarantee your safety if you leave.'
It's not guns or knives that win the important fights, it's using vulnerability, your age — whatever you have to hand. And sometimes that's all you're going to have. So use it. And make it count.
I pause. My lips tremble. Tears prick my eyes, streak my jaw. 'Please let me go.' Herr Graaz sees my tears and flinches. 'Please. You could make it up to me if you did. And the ropes are tight — they hurt. I can't feel my hands.'
Herr Graaz comes over with a worried expression, yet cautiously, for my sake. 'I thought I tied them loosely. If you really wish it, but please don't leave the library. It's not safe. And that's speaking in comparison to… myself.'
He fingers the ropes, and starts unknotting the bonds.
The tears vanish. I smirk.
I scuff my toe over the floorboards, gaining freedom inch by inch.
Until I can stand. And run.
And if I can run, no one else is going to stand a chance.
To be continued…
