There was tension in the air as Fakir tied the cape about his sister's shoulders. She looked about anxiously, her hands touching this and that – a painting, an antique plate – trying to remember every inch of her home. "Are you certain, brother? Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"Yes." Fakir finished knotting the ribbon. "There. I'm sorry that you can't take much."
"It doesn't matter to me. All the possessions, the things... They mean nothing compared to the people I'm leaving behind."
Fakir didn't reply, just smiled as he straightened her hood. "You're all set."
Autor entered. "We have a message from the rebel and White Army forces, Your Majesty, sir."
"What is it?" Rue asked, looking at him.
"They're giving us until sunrise tomorrow to surrender. After that, they'll invade by force."
"That doesn't leave us much time…" Rue fretted.
"It'll be enough." Fakir nudged her towards Autor. "Are they ready, Autor?"
"Yes. We have guards waiting to smuggle the Princess past the city walls. After that, she'll take a carriage to the north-west woods. There are several safe spots out there, and it's secluded. She won't be found easily."
"Good." Fakir ruffled his sister's hair. "Get going, then."
Rue looked back uncertainly as Autor put his arm around her waist and began to lead her away. The only home, the only family, she'd ever known was about to be far behind her. Fakir smiled reassuringly at her. "I'll see you soon."
"I'll see you soon." It had been a lie, and yet Fakir couldn't help but feel that there was some truth to it.
Hands shoved Fakir roughly into the carriage. He allowed them to drag and push him around – there was no longer any reason to fight. He wasn't present; his eyes were hazy and his expression strangely calm and content. Rue would be safe by now; she would be far away, unable to witness the coming horror the mob surely had planned.
The carriage jerked and bumped over the cobblestone road through the town. At either side of him sat a guard who clutched his arms tight, ensuring he wouldn't get away. He could hear the rages and rants of the people outside as they saw him.
"Look at that bastard go to his death! Not so grand now, are you?!" A drunken rioter screamed.
They're ignorant… And yet, how can I blame them for wanting revenge?
"It was all my doing," he had declared before a court of rebel and White Kingdom leaders. "I influenced her and told her what to do. The Princess was my puppet – she carried out what I told her to do. She's worthless, nothing. Weak and spineless. It was my kingdom; not hers!"
And then they'd taken him and drug him back to the castle. Ransacked as it was, the soldiers jeered and laughed at him.
"A little lipstick, eh?! You wanted to be the Princess, right?! Now, lucky you…"
"… you'll go to your death as one!"
They had forced him into his sister's finest dress – red wine, trimmed with black feathers – and threw makeup haphazardly on his face, laughing the whole time.
"How mighty you were; how far you've fallen!"
"I'll enjoy watching the guillotine slice through your neck!"
The guillotine… They already have the guillotine set up? Fakir pondered. So they did come here looking for blood.
I'm sorry it came to this, Prince. The White Prince's brilliant smile came to mind; then the Pink Maiden's; then Lady Edel's stoic, calm eyes. My Maiden; Edel… I'll see you soon.
The Prince… The roaring of the crowd along the street didn't hinder the memories that flooded his mind.
He'd met the Prince not long ago. Rue had caught sight of the Prince during a summit attended by various leaders of faraway lands – and the Prince had been one of them. She'd been smitten at first sight, and asked her brother to go undercover to the White Kingdom and gather information on the Prince for her.
"I must know more about him," she had said. And with that, she'd asked Fakir to go to the White Kingdom and seek him out. "I want to know what he's like. Do that for me, won't you brother?"
So Fakir had gone, spending a few days on figuring out where the Prince liked to go – the restaurants he ate it, the inns he frequented… Each spot was a no-show. Finally, one evening at a tavern when he was about to get up, a young man in a long cloak and hood sat next to him. Fakir had looked up from his ale in surprise.
"It's quite cold out," the man had laughed, brushing his bangs back under his hood. "I'm surprised my horse made it this far without stopping."
Fakir had nodded and turned back to his bottle.
"I mean, after all, this has been quite the harsh winter. Not as bad as last year's, though. The palace lost thirty head that year when the cattle's breath froze over their own noses. Unpleasant way to go."
Fakir had begun to lose his patience. "May I ask who's speaking to me?"
"Call me Mytho." The young man grinned easily at him. Fakir had started then – the young man had white hair and lovely brown eyes. He radiated good will, and Fakir slowly relaxed.
"Fakir."
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." I guess.
They'd gotten to talking, and Fakir soon found himself completely at ease with Mytho. The hours passed, but they took no notice. They discussed everything – the economy, the year's crops, life itself. The topic of family soon came up, and Mytho asked, "What about you, Fakir? Got any siblings?"
Fakir had grinned then. If only Mytho knew. "…Yeah, I've got a little sister. She can be the sweetest thing, but she has a pretty bad temper."
"Tell me about it. I had an older sister myself." Mytho took a sip of his wine.
"Had?" Fakir's eyebrows rose.
"She died of pneumonia when I was nine."
"Oh." Fakir's gaze drifted. "I'm… sorry to hear that."
"It's not your fault."
In a weak attempt to change the subject, Fakir asked, "What about your parents?"
"I was a surprise, so by the time I was born, they weren't very young anymore. My dad died two years ago, and my mom's mind isn't what it used to be. I've been running the… family business for a while now."
We're on a similar boat, then. At least, when it comes to that. "My parents are gone, too. I can't say I miss them much, though. They weren't very close to me or my sister."
Mytho's eyes flashed to his. "You didn't love them?"
Fakir set down his bottle. "Love… wasn't part of the equation." He stared at the torchlight that danced off the glass bottle. "We were treated more like basic heirs rather than family."
"That's too bad. I can't imagine growing up without my parents like that." Mytho waved the bartender over and set some coins on counter. "For me and him."
Fakir was surprised once more. "You don't need to pay for me."
"I want to. It's been a long time since… I've been able to speak to another guy like this. It's refreshing." Mytho tucked his hood more securely about him and draped his cape back over his body.
Fakir watched him, mystified. His sixth sense was tingling, and he couldn't figure out why. "It's been refreshing for me as well… Though I get the feeling I'm speaking to someone more than merely 'Mytho.'"
Mytho smiled – a grin full of good humor. "Funny – I got the same feeling speaking to you, 'Fakir.'" He got off his seat. "But you're a good-hearted guy, Fakir – even if you're a bit crusty for a young man." He paused. "It's Prince Mytho. I usually go by the White Prince."
Fakir's wrist twitched. He'd been speaking to the White Prince the whole time?!
"Farewell, friend." Mytho smiled and held his hand out to Fakir. Still in shock, the Knight stared at it blankly before remembering what he was supposed to do. He took it, and they shook hands.
As the White Prince turned away, Fakir couldn't help but say – "I'm Knight Fakir. Brother to Princess Rue of the Red Kingdom."
The Prince turned back to him and smiled. "I hope we can be friends for a long time to come… Prince Fakir."
The Prince left, and on impulse, Fakir had gotten up and went after him, watching discreetly from the doorway. The Prince hitched up a horse, and just as Fakir thought he was about to leave…
…A girl came from a nearby cabin, wearing a long, white hooded cloak that matched the Prince's. Fakir froze. Who was this?
The Prince helped her onto the horse before climbing on himself. The Prince took up the reins, and called for the horse to start. Fakir watched, perplexed, as they rode away.
And then, at the last minute, the girl looked back at the village. Her eyes met Fakir's – the way they sparkled, blue and lively, among the falling snowflakes – and she smiled warmly.
Fakir's heart had skipped a beat.
When he returned to the kingdom to report his findings to Rue, she had seemed oddly displeased. Fakir couldn't understand why as the Prince was, in his opinion, everything a young man ought to be. But then Rue revealed what was on her mind – "While you were at the White Kingdom, did you ever see the Prince in the company of a maiden with pink hair, dressed in white?"
Fakir was taken back by this. "Why would you ask?"
"Yes or no?" Rue's long fingers pulled and twisted a laced handkerchief. Her expression had been coldly vacant.
"Yes… Well, I'm not certain. When I met him at the tavern, he departed with a young woman about our age… She had blue eyes, and wore a white cloak. I didn't see her hair. Why are you asking?"
"I have heard rumors that the Prince has been seen escorting such a young lady to several balls and formal affairs." Rue's voice had been icy. "That's not good. Not good at all." Her eyes rose to meet Fakir's. "I heard that there will be another grand ball held at an estate near the border between our kingdoms. There is an inn nearby that the Prince will be staying at, not ten miles outside the border."
Fakir's heart began to pound. His hands began to tingle and grew damp. He clenched them into fists, trying to squeeze away his unease.
"Of course, we can assume that this… 'maiden' will be joining him at some point."
No. No, don't ask me to…
"Fakir?"
I won't! How can you ask me to – even think to ask this of me – to…
Rue's eyes rose to his. "Fakir?"
"Yes?" His heartbeat was a roar in his ears.
"I'd like you to go to this inn. I want you to wait until you're sure that the maiden is there. And when you are certain she's alone…"
His eyes had begun to sting.
"…I want you to get rid of her."
Fakir didn't let the memories go any further then. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, the taste and pain distracting him and breaking the rush in his head.
Even when the train of the thought had been broken, though, the memory of the Prince's vivid smile remained. "I hope we can be friends for a long time to come… Prince Fakir."
I hoped so too, Mytho, Fakir thought numbly. And yet, I've done nothing but bring you pain. You showed me good will, and I fueled my sister's obsession with you. You trusted me, and I murdered the girl you loved.
But… you also said you understood why I did it. Even after all that… you still found the kindness in yourself to say that. I don't understand.
I'm sorry, Mytho.
"We're here." The carriage halted, and the guards kicked open the doors and yanked Fakir out. His eyes adjusted to the brightening morning…
The guillotine was just a block away.
"Here!" Autor ushered Rue down another alley. At the other end were royal guards waiting for them, disguised as White Army officers. "Just a few more blocks to go," he murmured to her.
"I'm not afraid," she muttered back. "This wasn't my idea."
Autor halted, and so did Rue. "You don't know what you mean to him."
"I'm his sister, but I'm also… not nice." She didn't meet Autor's eyes. "I ought to be the one going to the guillotine."
"He's not the only person who cares about you."
Rue blanched.
"Come on, we don't have much time!" Autor took her hand and pulled her along once more.
There was a distant roar of a crowd, and Rue halted once more. "What's that?!"
Autor didn't look at her. "The crowd that's gathered to watch the execution, I'd guess."
Rue's hands grew clammy. "They really believed his pathetic excuse?!" She yanked out of Autor's grasp.
"Where are you going?!"
Rue sprinted to the tallest building nearby and bashed open the wood door with her arms.
"Rue, stop!"
"No! I must…" I must see this to believe it for myself.
"What do you mean to do?!"
Rue didn't answer, just dashed up the staircase to the highest level. She halted inches from the window facing the city's plaza –
She threw open the shutters.
Early morning sunlight poured in in shades of light orange and gold. The birds were chirping, but the rest of the city was eerily quiet… Save for the distant clamor coming from the plaza.
The first thing Rue noticed was the wooden platform in the middle of the square. There was a tall, slim contraption on top of it… The guillotine.
The guillotine. She grabbed the windowpane to keep herself upright.
"Your Majesty, perhaps this isn't such a good idea –"
"No. I have… to see this."
"But why?"
Why? So I can understand what's happening. So I can know for sure that I will soon be truly alone. And… Because I can't let him leave without anyone who cares around. I… I have to watch.
"Your Majesty." The lieutenant knelt before the Prince. "A message has arrived from our forces in the Red Kingdom."
The White Prince looked up from pulling on his overcoat. "Yes, lieutenant? What is it?"
"The invasion has gone as planned. The revolutionary forces from the Red Kingdom are cooperating fully, and are proving to be excellent allies."
"Good."
"And you'll be pleased to hear…" The lieutenant looked up. "That the ruler of the Red Kingdom is in custody."
The White Prince paused. "So soon?!"
"They surrendered."
"Surrendered?!" The Prince thought of Princess Rue. "I didn't take her for the type to surrender… But it will make things easier."
"Her, sir?" The lieutenant's brow furrowed. "The ruler is male."
The Prince halted. "Pardon?"
"Prince Fakir revealed that he had been pulling the strings all along. The Princess is nowhere to be found, and with the Prince's confession, they have decided to execute him in her place."
The Prince's face drained of all color. He quickly regained himself. "Stop the execution at once!" He hurried to buckle his boots. "The Knight is innocent."
The lieutenant hesitated. "There is no way to get a message to the city in time, your Majesty."
Silence fell over the room.
The Prince's fist slammed into the wall. "NO!"
The people screamed and jeered at Fakir as he made his way to the platform. The skirt's train was long and ruffled, but he never once tripped or faltered. This, however, just gave the taunting more fuel.
"Look at how he walks! Wear dresses a lot, Knight?!"
"Cross-dressing fool!"
"Die!"
They screamed and screamed, raged and raged, but Fakir kept his head high. This won't last much longer.
Then he was standing before a row of the White Army leaders.
"Prince Fakir, you stand today at sunrise to be executed under order of the White Army. The execution is your payment for the following crimes…"
They read a short piece of parchment that listed his crimes. "… Dishonest representation, unfair taxation, terrorization of the general public, numerous unwarranted deaths, and abundant abuses of executive powers."
Fakir said nothing.
"Let the execution commence."
The crowd roared its loudest then, their voices raising up about the buildings and houses and making the very ground tremor.
"Those are all my crimes. MY crimes!" Rue whispered hoarsely, her grip on the windowpane tightening.
A guard led Fakir to the steps of the platform and pushed him forward. Alone, Fakir ascended the stairs. The faces of the crowd became increasingly crazed with excitement and bloodlust.
The executioner waited for him at the guillotine. Fakir knelt and the executioner pushed his head through the guillotine's opening. Dazed, he stared out at the crowd. The longer he watched them, the quieter they seemed to grow…
A basket was placed in front of the guillotine, just below his chin. He paid it no heed.
The executioner went to him and undid his ponytail. His dark hair fell in musky waves about his neck. Seeing the obstacle, the executioner parted it from his neck and pushed it to the front of his shoulders. Then the executioner stood back and took the rope of the guillotine.
Once upon a time, there was a princess and a knight.
He seems so calm.
I apologize that we must part like this.
I'm sorry that it's you and not me.
You don't need to worry for me.
I'll always worry for you. I'm your older brother – that's my job. And it's what I want to do. To always take care of you… But this time, to save you, I must give up my ability to protect you in the future. Please stay safe.
Rue's face grew increasingly pale. She began to sway, and Autor started forward to catch her – she raised a hand to tell him to stay back.
Remember that song from the old fairy tale?
I believe it went something like this…
"Does the Knight have anything to declare?" A White Army officer asked him.
Fakir swallowed. Tears began to pour down his face…
"The bastard cries! Bloody coward!" One man shrieked, and those around him laughed in agreement.
But he didn't respond, didn't even look at them. Rue… do you remember that song? He drew in a wavering breath. Will you hear me?
Then, to the quieting mob, he began to speak.
"You are the princess, and I am the knight. Siblings torn and bonded by duty. In order to protect you, I will do anything – even become tainted."
The crowd fell silent. Their faces grew solemn, as the shift in Fakir's tone registered.
Rue was stunned. He – he's singing that song! That song… A gasp escaped from her. From the fairy tale we read when we were small. She buried her face in her hands.
"You are the princess, and I am the knight. As your older brother, I'll always guide and protect you. You are the only connection I've left to the earth."
The expressions went from giddy to sorrowful and shocked as his words relayed to them the true dilemma of the kingdom's royalty.
"So now I can only hope… that on the day we are reborn, we might play again." He rose his face to the sun, now high in the sky. The white light lit the tears that framed his cheekbones, and added to the sense of calm in his expression.
I'll see you soon, Rue.
I love you.
The officer motioned to the executioner, and the executioner released the rope.
Blocks away, there was a blood-curdling scream. Rue screamed and screamed, over and over again, as Autor pulled her away from the window.