I Love You, My Cursed Prince

Muriel was with Princess Arya, as usual, working on some embroidery inside a sitting room, when a faint sound came to them. After a few seconds, as Muriel put her work aside, she realized it was music, piano music.

Princess Arya didn't even look up from her stitches. "Ah, it seems that my son is feeling strong today."

"His Highness?" Muriel said as her heart quickened and her ears struggled to understand the melody. It was beautiful, really, almost haunting, but there was something wrong about the notes, something crooked, something ... Muriel didn't know how else to describe the music. Perhaps she could understand it better if she were closer?

Wait?!

Muriel looked towards the room's exit. Some of her hair drooped and loosened from her hairstyle.

"Your Highness, he couldn't be in the music room, could he? He's always in bed."

"Of course not, Muriel," the princess said with a tired voice. "He never leaves his quarters. He's likely sitting at his own piano."

Muriel turned to look back at the princess, who was still working, and then she frowned. "This song is very ... complex? Had he played the piano often before his illness?"

"Well ... hmmmm." Princess Arya's needle paused in the air as a pensive expression came over her. Then she said, "He hasn't played in a long time, but ... I have heard him play while under his condition."

Muriel walked up to the door, put her fingers around its ancient dangling handle, and pulled the door open. The music was still weak.

"Ah! I've pricked myself!"

Muriel turned back to see the princess' nettled face and bleeding finger. "I'll find the salve and bandages." She closed the door and went to see to her mistress' needs. By the time the wound was properly cared for, the music stopped. Then they returned to their embroidery.

When Muriel was finished with her work, Princess Arya leaned in to lightly grip Muriel's frame. "Oh, that's surprisingly pretty, Muriel!"

It was an image of a peacock resting beside a standing pedal harp. Why? No reason. Muriel just wanted to stitch that image into the fabric. "You're being too kind to me," Muriel said. "I don't see anything remarkable in this."

"There's no need for humility here. You've done very well." Princess Arya was dreamily smiling as she took the frame into her hands. The smooth backs of her fingernails slid down the stitches. Then her soft fingertips did the same. "I feel as though the peacock is breathing."

Muriel knew she had to be lying, absolutely had to be. She kept up her most civilized smile as she said, "If you fancy it, then you should keep it. I don't mind."

One of the princess' fingernails ... it seemed to dig a little between some threads in Muriel's work, but her face was so tender and loving. "My son loves beautiful things. Would you mind if I gave this to him? He'd love to have it framed and hung in his room."

Muriel's head and shoulders moved back a little as her mouth slightly opened. "Ah ... I ... I suppose ... if His Highness would find some pŀėȧsurė in this then he should have it."

"With your permission, of course," the princess added.

"Yes." Muriel nodded, but she didn't feel confident.

Again, speaking to herself, careful enough not to reveal any of her most distrustful feelings, but loose enough to let some minor honesty float in the air.