DRINK

A prompt set in the Unwanted universe, showing a possible future in which Mewtwo considers going along with Queen Mew's plan.

Sabrina knew it was the prince at her door, because only the prince would bother to knock. The hour was late for one of his visits, but she didn't allow herself to worry about that. Instead, she set her book aside, folded her hands in her lap, and called for him to come in.

Not that he needed her permission. Even if he wasn't who he was, she didn't have the right to close that door. She would have been reprimanded for it in the past, but the prince had wanted her to have her own space. He'd insisted on it, in fact. It had taken her a while to accept his offer, but eventually her desire to be alone, even if just for an hour or two, had won out over her training. It was unlikely that anyone else would find out about it. The only people who came this far into his rooms were the housekeepers, and they never came at night.

The queen didn't want anyone to interrupt Sabrina and the prince, after all.

For that reason, Sabrina never locked the door. No matter what else the prince might insist, she knew why she was here. She knew what she was and what she was supposed to be to him. Someday, he might change his mind about their arrangement, and when that happened she could not deny him access to her. That wasn't her right. No amount of politeness from him would change that.

And so the door opened. He leaned against the frame of it. The candlelight made shadows flicker across his face. She felt tension coil in her shoulders as she looked at him. Something was wrong. She might not have access to her powers, but she could still feel that something was wrong. His eyes were bloodshot and there were blotches of color in his cheeks. His robes were rumpled and there was a stain across his breast. Then the smell hit her and she felt her stomach twist.

He's been drinking, she realized. She clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking. The prince rarely drank and when he did it was never to the point of getting drunk. He clearly was now, though. She reminded herself that the alcohol might not change him too much. Maybe he'd just be more melancholy than usual. This didn't have to lead to any sort of violence. Just because it did with some patrons didn't mean it would with him.

The thought that it could chilled her. He was psychically stronger than any of her other partners. His thoughts alone could tear her apart. With her powers bound, she wouldn't be able to defend herself. Shivering, she said, "My prince, is there something you need from me?"

He watched her for a moment, then stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He went over to the table and made a gesture with his hand. There was a ripple in the air, then a bottle of wine and two glasses appeared. He poured generously into both and pushed one towards her. She didn't take it, though she was tempted to as she watched him take a long swallow from his. This was shaping up to be a difficult night.

When he spoke, his voice was thick from the wine. "So polite. Always so polite. How do manage that?" Then he made a dismissive hand gesture, so she knew not to answer. "Your training. They trained you well. And hard. I'm sure it was hard, too."

There was nothing she could say to that.

He took another sip of his wine. "If I gave you up, you'd go back there. Did you know that?"

"Yes." Where else would she go if he dismissed her from his service?

"Do you want to?" he asked.

How could he suggest that? She hadn't missed that place once in all of the days she'd been here. She couldn't say that, though. "If you're tired of me, then perhaps it would be for the best," she said instead.

He shook his head. "Stop that," he slurred. "I know you don't mean that. Just tell me what you want."

"Just to please you—"

He laughed. "No. You don't want me. I know. I know. My mother told me about your deal."

Sabrina felt herself go cold. She stood up. "I—"

He took a step back from her. "No. If you are going to apologize, don't. You won't mean it. Just like you didn't mean all of the rest of it." He put his hand over his face. It trembled over his eyes. "I don't blame you. I'm not angry. I—I should have known that you couldn't—I am not someone who inspires love. I know that. I've always—" He swallowed, then whispered, "I understand. She was offering you your freedom. That is more than I could give you. I was a fool to think..."

He was breathing hard now. She reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched back. She froze, uncertain. He took a deep breath and reached for his wine again. He drank half of it, then said, "Why don't we get this over with?"

Sabrina's heart pounded in her chest. She felt sweat prickling in her palms and on the back of her neck. "You want to—"

The prince smiled. It looked like doing so hurt him. "Why not? It would be the proper time for it. Just once is all it would take." His eyes looked worse now—not just bloodshot, but dark and hollow, too. "It wouldn't even take long. You're beautiful and I—I am not experienced. It won't take much to make me—" His fingers dug into the edge of the table. "Though I am afraid you will have to endure some fumbling. And my face. I know it's not pleasant to look at." He looked at her bed and his mouth twisted. "Ah! I know. We can put a pillowcase over it. Then you won't have to—"

"Stop it. Stop talking like that." He was being absurd. It was true that he wasn't handsome—his nose was too flat, his brow was too large, and his eyes were too narrow. But she had been with ugly men before, men whose stomachs spilled over their guts, men with boils on their backs, men who'd drooled over her breasts as they'd taken their pleasure. But for all that they'd been ugly, they hadn't always been heartless. Some had even been gentle. So it wasn't ugliness that she minded. It was cruelty that she hated, and some of her most handsome patrons had also been the most monstrous. And no matter what Mewtwo might think of himself, he wasn't that.

He didn't seem to understand what she'd said, though. He shook his head. "No, it is alright. The rest of me—it is a little out of proportion in places, but it isn't as unsightly. All of those training sessions were good for something. But it would be kinder if—"

"How? How could sleeping with someone with a sack for a face be better?" she finally burst out.

He blinked at her, startled. Then he sighed. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps…." Then he reached over and touched her cheek. His expression crumpled. "Could you—do you think you could pretend for a while? That you do care for me? That will make this easier and I…I would like to have something to hold onto after you are gone. There will be the child, of course, and I will love them and take care of them as best as I can. But my mother will try to keep me away from it. She wouldn't want me to ruin it. She…." He closed his eyes, pain etched into his face.

There were many kinds of cages. This was his. His mother had set it and used Sabrina as the bait. And Sabrina, if she did this with him, would be the one to trap him, while she would be released afterwards. It was a simple bargain, really, and Sabrina didn't owe him anything. She should just smile and say yes. She should take his hands, lead him back to the bed, and undress him and let him do the same to her. She knew how to fake love and feign lust. And this was where their time together had always been leading. Nothing would be easier than to agree to it.

It might not even be that hard. A part of her did care for him. He had tried so hard to treat her like a person, while everyone else had scoffed at him for it. She was a slave, so why should he care about what she thought or felt? Why should he care about her desires or her freedom? But he did and that endeared him to her. For that, she could give him a night to look back on fondly. She knew she was capable of it.

And it wasn't as if she could say no to him. A slave didn't have any rights. Not to a closed door. Not to her own body. Not to say no to a prince. She knew that. She knew that.

But when she took his hands, she still whispered, "No."

His eyes flew open. He stared at her in shock. "What did you say?"

"I said no." She knew she was asking to be punished. Slaves didn't tell anyone no, much less royalty. But she didn't think she could live with herself if she did this to him. It would torture him and she knew what torture felt like. She didn't want to be someone who did that to another person. "I don't want you. Not like this."

He bowed his head. "I wasn't presuming that you did."

"You mistake my meaning. I'm not saying that I never could," she corrected him gently. "I'm saying that I could, if things were different between us."

His hands squeezed hers. "Different how?"

"If you and I were both free. That would be a start."

"I don't see how we could be."

She reached up and touched his cheek. "If you find a way, then we'll see what happens." Then she let go of his hands. "Now go to bed—your own bed. Sleep off the wine. And when you wake up, think about what I've said."

"What if I think this was a dream?" he asked.

"You won't." She doubted she'd ever said no to him in his dreams.

He studied her face, then nodded. With a flicker of power, he vanished, leaving her alone in her room. She looked back to her bed, but couldn't imagine reading anymore. Instead, she picked up her glass of wine and drained it. She wasn't sure how this conversation would change things between her and Mewtwo. She might even have to pay for it later if the queen found out. But at least she wouldn't become a monster this way. She could take comfort in that thought, whatever happened next.