I Love You, My Cursed Prince

Princess Arya had to be at the Royal Court again. The women had to gather up their biggest, loudest, most glittering clothing. Dressing down was not proper etiquette when visiting the Royal Court. It was essentially a dress code. Thankfully, only the elites were required to go.

Muriel was almost silent, and her eyes were often down, as she followed her mistress around. But one morning, during a private tea party with the king, something unanticipated happened. The king, the high and mighty Thorvaldo, he turned towards Muriel. Then he said with a tired, almost thoughtless voice, "This is almost a tragedy."

Muriel lowered her head and kept her mouth shut. She didn't know if the king was speaking to her or not.

Princess Arya asked, "What's the meaning of that statement, Your Majesty?"

The king said, "This woman's far too beautiful. I wish she'd been around when I was young."

Princess Arya laughed and told Muriel to refill the king's cup. As Muriel obeyed, she heard the princess say, "She's my new favorite in this world, aside from dear Vidar, that is."

"But I've seen this gown of hers before," the king said. "She had it last year."

"Muriel didn't purchase a new wardrobe this year," said the princess. Then she gave the same tale to King Thorvaldo that she had given to the duchess.

Abruptly, there was a new man's voice. "What a nonsensical story!"

The voice was almost melodic, but there was something gruff hidden in there, something that had a taste and a tangible feeling to it ... like when one puts their fingers against their front teeth. It was a thick and tingling feeling, an irritating thing that made one cringe. But Muriel was able to hold onto a cool visage. She slightly turned her head to see the man that had interrupted their tea party.

Peach colored breeches, matching coat and waistcoat, embroidered blue flowers and gold buŧŧons, lace ruffles that fell from behind the coat's cuffs and grazed a set of tanned knuckles, this was a tall man with a mildly lean figure. He didn't seem physically weak, but he wasn't a thick beast.

"Oh, Dear Girl!" the princess suddenly said, putting her folding fan before Muriel's face and leaning into her. "You have a crumb of food on your cheek! Poor thing! Let me help you!" As the princess turned Muriel's head back, sweeping a nonexistent piece of food away with her thumb, she quickly whispered into Muriel's ear, "Don't look at that man's eyes, no matter what."

"Hm? Mother?" the man said. "What are you whispering to your companion?"

"What are you blathering about, you silly child?" Princess Arya asked with the strictest tone Muriel had ever heard from her, moving away from her companion. "I have nothing for you."

"Nothing for me?" said the man as he stepped closer, and Muriel knew he was stepping closer. She heard his shoes on the veranda's floor. "Not even a familial embrace?"

King Thorvaldo directed his suddenly grim voice to the man. "Don't embarrass me again, Boy."

"I'm hurt, so hurt, to be accused of something by my father, honestly." He didn't sound hurt at all. His footsteps halted right behind Princess Arya and Muriel. He could have moved between them if their skirts hadn't been in the way. Muriel was looking at her recently emptied teacup.

"This is meant to be a private meeting," Princess Arya said with a tone that was like the point of a pin, sharp and precise. "You weren't invited."

"But shouldn't I be included in these sorts of meetings? When I inherit the throne, how am I to keep it if I'm not current with the most important things?"

Crown Prince Emil Petran, the eldest son. Muriel was afraid to look at his face. She reached for the teapot and poured some tea into her cup. Then she placed the teapot back into its place. Before her fingers could unwind from the pot, she felt nearly glass-like flesh on her chin and jaw, and her face was turned to her right and upwards.

Her throat convulsed.