"Jude! Jude! JUDE! Don't take my brother, please! I'm your prisoner!"
Prince Connor threw the begging woman into the old carriage, which stood up on its own. He slammed the door shut.
"Take her to the village," he ordered, and the carriage was off, keeping the woman sealed inside.
He stood in the courtyard on his own for a moment, looking up at the dark night sky. He turned his head to stare at the tower, where he knew that the boy was standing in the window. Jude, Connor thought. The woman had called him Jude. He couldn't stand the thought of the boy catching sight of him, so Connor scrambled back inside of the palace, where a few of his servants were waiting for him. Lena was eyeing him; if she were a human and not a book, Connor was sure that she would have had her arms crossed over her chest. He knew that she would not approve of what he had just done.
"You didn't have to be so cruel," she said. "They're only young."
"I know," Connor growled.
"They're siblings," Jesus pointed out, waving his candle sticks around; Lena leapt out of the way. After all of these years, he had still not learnt to be careful and she did not want to be set ablaze.
"So?"
"So, they're siblings," Jesus repeated. "Perhaps the boy could break the …" his voice faltered as Connor pinned him with a glare, but Jesus still whimpered, "spell."
"There's no hope," Connor said. He wished that the servants didn't know that about him; he wished that their hopes had vanished the moment he sent the girl away. They could spend eternity being angry with him, but it was better than coming close and losing it, or having the chance and giving it away. For however long the boy was here, Connor would be wondering, and he thought it would drive him completely over the edge of madness.
"There's always hope," Lena said.
Connor didn't believe her.
"It couldn't hurt to play nice," Brandon added.
Connor grunted at the conductor's stick, and Brandon hopped closer to Jesus.
"At least not leave him in the tower," Lena urged. "A room couldn't hurt."
Connor stared toward the stairs that would take him to the tower. With his acute hearing, he could faintly hear the boy weeping for his sister. He refused to allow himself to hope that the spell could somehow be broken; no one could love him. The boy was, after all, his prisoner. But, perhaps, Lena was right. He scowled. Lena was often right. The boy was his prisoner forever. Connor could gift him a bed. He had many unused rooms now. He snatched Jesus into his paw to use for a light and ascended the steps. Brandon and Lena did not follow.
Jude's crying became louder with every step that Connor took. When Connor stood in the mouth of the cell, he came across a truly pathetic picture. Jude was draped at the window, staring off in the distance, with tears rolling down his cheeks. It took Connor a moment to place the expression on Jude's face: agony. Jude had loved his sister, Connor realized. Jude was capable of love.
He cleared his throat, announcing his presence.
Jude whipped around. "I didn't even get to say goodbye!"
Jude was also capable of a temper.
Connor had nothing to say to the boy's outburst. He refused to say that he had never considered the fact that Jude would want to say goodbye or that Jude had taken his sister's place out of love, instead of some misguided sense of loyalty or some kind of debt.
"I, uh." Connor glanced at Jesus, who waved his lit wicks in Connor's face. "I'll show you to your room now."
Jude's rigid muscles softened in confusion. "My room?"
"Unless you want to stay here!"
"Oh, um, no," Jude said. "I wouldn't."
"Come along then."
Connor led Jude down the steps, and into the inner parts of the palace. He kept a few steps ahead of Jude, keeping one of his ears flicked backward to catch every step and every movement of Jude's. His other ear was pointed toward Jesus, who was whispering at him.
"Say something!"
Connor didn't know what to say. He'd never spoken to someone like Jude before. In his former life, where he had been a prince and his father had been king, Connor had spoken to either nobles, for which there was practically a script, or tutor and servant playmates, and he hadn't needed to make a good impression on them, for at the end of the day, he was still a prince and they were but servants. Jude was a real person, and he was a person that he wanted to be good for. If not because he was hopeful, but because his servants clearly were hopeful. After so long, Lena couldn't have hidden her earlier expressions from him if she had tried. And he owed them effort. He was, after all, the reason that they were trapped the way that they were and the reason that they would remain that way forever.
Connor turned his head slightly, so that he could catch a glance at Jude. The boy, who really wasn't a boy – he looked to be about Connor's age – was staring around him, taking in the grand tapestries, artwork, and suits of armour that lined the palace. He was likely a boy from the village, if his work clothes and calloused hands were to judge from, and had probably never seen such finery. He was a handsome boy, with light hair and dark eyes. His skin was tanned, likely from outside work, and his mouth was curled into an 'O' as his head swivelled to look at a statue.
"Say something," Jesus repeated.
It was easy for Jesus to say. In his former life, when he had been a carefree teen with free range of the palace, he had been a charmer. He'd had good looks and an easy-going smile. He'd sent many a maid or kitchen servant into a swoon. Connor had never done so. Even if he had the opportunity to flirt with someone that he had been genuinely attracted to (not that it would have ever happened under his father's rule), it wouldn't have been allowed. He was a prince. If his life hadn't been interrupted the night of his birthday, by a beggar with a rose, he would have married for two reasons: a political alliance and an heir. It would have been a woman. It would have been a princess. And Connor would have had to make it work. His stomach began to churn. His life had been interrupted and he was no longer under his father's rule. At the very least, he was free to admit to himself that Jude was handsome.
"I, um, hope you're happy here."
Jude didn't say anything, but his footsteps seemed to falter.
Jesus waved his candles about again, but Connor had trouble thinking of something further to say.
"The castle is your home now." Yes, that sounded good. Jude was a prisoner, but he was also a long term resident. If Lena was going to insist on letting him be comfortable, Connor might as well let him be comfortable. "Feel free to look around. Just stay out of the West Wing."
"What's in the –"
"Nothing," Connor snapped. He paused in front of a door; one of the most lavish spare rooms, that his father would have reserved for only the most important of guests. As Jude was the only guest the palace was ever likely to see again, Connor supposed that it was rightfully his. "Here's your room."
Jude rested his hand on one of the ornate door handles. "Thank you."
"Are you hungry?"
"No."
"I'll see you for breakfast," Connor said. Jude's denial of hunger felt strangely like a rejection, and he was determined to ignore that.
"Fine." Jude entered his room, and the door shut loudly behind him.
Connor stared at the closed door for a moment, feeling the strangest urge to knock on it again and tell Jude that he was being rude. Connor was not someone to be ignored! He was lifting his large paw upward when Jesus hit him on the head with one of his metal pseudo-limbs.
"Mom will murder you," Jesus hissed.
It was only the mention of Lena that made Connor drop his hand. He slunk away from the door, eager to get away from Jude. He heard the boy begin to cry again, and Connor couldn't stand that. He bounded down the stairs, and down into the main foyer. Brandon and Lena were there, as was Stef. Appropriately, she had been transformed into a suit of armour. She was the only one lucky enough to retain a humanoid form, and Connor often found himself jealous of her metal body. She didn't look like a nightmare.
"There was a horse left outside," she said to Connor. "I tended to it and put it in the stables."
Connor nodded. He didn't care about the horse.
"The poor boy," Lena fussed. "He must feel so alone."
Connor put Jesus down and looked up the stairs. He knew what alone felt like. Even though his servants, as they were the only thing he had left now, tried to be there for him, he always felt lonely. No one could truly understand him or how he felt, and it kept him trapped inside of himself.
"He'll be joining us for breakfast," Connor said to the group. "Make sure that it's one of Chef's best!"
"Yes, Master," Stef said. "We'll make sure of it."
Connor left them, though Lena called out his name. He retired to his lonely room, going out onto the balcony and then climbing up onto the roof. The roof was where he went to be alone. None of the servants could reach him here in their new forms, and he liked being outside. It calmed the beast inside of him. Connor tilted his head back to look up at the night sky. The world was so vast and endless, and, still, it could not take Connor's mind off his new prisoner. The possibilities of having a guest, a male guest, after so long of nothingness … No. He could not allow himself to do this.
When Connor looked toward the moon again, all he saw was a rose.
(-.-)
Jude sank to his knees just inside the grandiose doors. He couldn't begin to hold in his tears, and he didn't even try. Callie, the one constant in his life, the only thing that he could count on, was gone. He knew that it was the right thing to do, as Callie's life meant more than his own. His sister couldn't survive in a cage, whereas Jude knew that he could suffer through without going mad. It didn't make it easy. He hadn't gotten to tell her goodbye; he hadn't gotten to tell her everything that he should have. There were all kinds of thoughts that he had kept to himself, since it was the type of thing that he had just assumed that Callie would know. He loved her, he appreciated everything that she had done for him, and he hoped that she would someday be truly happy.
But now she was gone, and he would never see her again. He was stuck in this palace, with a beast, forever.
"Oh, don't cry."
Jude rocked backward, flat onto his butt, his back against the door. He looked into the dark room in fear. Could there be more than one beast?
"I'm sure that it's not as terrible as you think it is."
In the moonlight, Jude spotted a candelabra on the wall. He made his way over to it and lit the wicks with shaking hands.
"W-who's there?" he asked. He'd meant to demand, but his voice came out weak. Callie was gone and so was his bravery.
"It's just me."
Jude stared. The wardrobe was talking to him. It was a brown wardrobe; nicely decorated with floral carvings. And, there, right above the wardrobe doors, was a face. That was moving. And talking. He had been here an hour, and he was already losing his mind. Jude sank back down into the thick rug on the floor. Perhaps he had overestimated his ability to cope with this place. Even that didn't make him doubt his decision, though he began to rock back and forth.
"I'm Mariana," the wardrobe told him brightly. "What's your name?"
She sounded so friendly and so sweet that Jude couldn't help but answer her question.
"I haven't seen you before."
"I – I – I," Jude stuttered. Through his tears, the story came out, Mariana a sympathetic voice the whole way through. She wasn't Callie, but she was nicer than the Beast.
"It might not be as bad as you think," Mariana soothed him. "I know that Master can seem a little rough around the edges, but …"
"He's keeping prisoners," Jude pointed out. "He's a beast."
Mariana's wooden face was sympathetic, but he could tell that she had nothing to reply to that. She settled on, "It's late. You should try to sleep. You don't know how things will look in the morning."
"I don't know …"
There was a knock on the door. Jude's breath caught, but he went to answer it anyway. On the other side of the doorway was a kitchen cart, topped with a teapot, its accessories, and some biscuits. There was also a book, sitting on the opposite end of the cart. Jude stuck his head out into the hallway, but he saw no trace of anyone else. Could the Beast have been nice enough to do this for him?
Jude wheeled the cart inside.
"Hello!"
Jude was proud of himself for not jumping quite as much this time, although the fact that the book now had a face made him want to collapse back on the floor.
"H-hi."
"I'm Lena," the book replied. "I thought you might like a little snack before bed."
"That was very nice of you, thank you."
Jude wheeled the cart closer to the bed and then he sat down on the edge of it. He sank into the mattress and he nearly groaned. He'd never been near a mattress so comfortable. He pulled his legs up on the bed too, and poured himself a cup of tea.
"How are you feeling?" Lena asked, sympathetically.
Jude sipped at the tea, unsure of how to answer it anymore. After pouring his heart out to Mariana, the wardrobe, he just felt empty.
"We'll see what the morning looks like," he finally murmured, feeling as if it would be rude not to answer.
He was talking to books and wardrobes and was worried about offending them. But they weren't inanimate objects. Jude wondered just what they were.
"You've been talking to my daughter," Lena said.
"What?"
"Mariana," Lena said.
"You give good advice," Mariana said. "I thought that he could use it too."
"Thank you," Jude said. "You've been … kind."
"Did you think we wouldn't be?" Mariana asked.
Jude set the teacup down, thinking of the Beast. He had no ideas of what to expect of this place. He hadn't been thinking of his future when he had sworn himself over to the dingy palace; he hadn't even been thinking about a future with the beast, let alone any other inhabitants of this strange place.
"Are you thinking of the Master?" Lena guessed.
"He's a beast," Jude blurted.
"On the outside," Lena agreed. "On the inside, there's a lot more."
Jude closed his eyes. He didn't want to be rude, but that didn't matter to him. The beast didn't have his sympathy. The Beast had torn everything away from him. If he weren't so cruel, Callie would never have been a prisoner in the first place.
"Perhaps I should let you sleep," Lena murmured.
"Thank you," Jude said.
The cart wheeled away on its own. Jude watched it go, and the door slammed shut in its wake. He sat there in the dim light, thinking about what kind of a place this was. Beasts ruled the castle, his wardrobe was a confidant, and a book brought him tea. Whatever it was, it was his home now, just as the Beast had told him.
Jude stood and began to undress for bed. Unexpectedly, Mariana hurled sleeping clothes at him. Jude let the garments rest in his hands. He didn't want to get caught up in the finery of the beast's palace, but the fabric felt too elegant for his work-roughened hands to hold. Still, Jude dressed in the sleeping clothes, snuffed the candles, and put himself to bed. He pulled the curtains around the ornate bed, as it was awkward to think of Mariana just a few steps away from him. Jude settled in against the pillows, and found himself missing the uncomfortable mattress of the little cottage.
He just missed his sister.
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~TLL~