This May Destroy Us

My reflection stares back at me. The only imperfection is my dark hair, which has the stubborn habit of sticking up, but I manage. I always must appear to the public as the well-groomed prince they know, clean-shaven with round, amber eyes and a strong jaw. My father, King Montgomery of Yiyiroth, made a point of telling me that rather excessively when I was a young boy. Now, at age seventeen, I am expected to appear at the side of my parents on all formal occasions, training for the day I inherit the throne. The obligations that come with being royalty are not typically discussed, which I find infuriating on occasion, especially considering that I am the eldest son of my parents. Tonight, there is yet another dinner and festival that I must attend, thus the reason for my formal attire. Tonight, Yiyiroth celebrates its decade-long three-way alliance between Cidermere and Stairenyth, so it was decided that nobles and royals from those nations would arrive at Castle Yiyiroth to honor the alliance in celebration.

A servant knocks on my door, asking for permission to come in. I am in my personal quarters, but the servant is one of my valets, and he has likely come to make sure I have everything I require.

“Good evening, Prince Alistair,” says the valet with a slight bow. “I’ve been sent to inform you that guests will be arriving soon, and your mother wants you to be there before they arrive.”

I adjust my hair for what seems to be the hundredth time as I answer the servant. “Inform her I shall be downstairs post-haste.”

“Yes, my lord. Do you need any assistance?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

The valet closes the door as he leaves, and I am left in my own solitude yet again. I am prepared already, all I need to do is walk downstairs and my mother will be content, but I do not wish to just yet. Sitting on my mattress, I count the minutes before my time spent in my chambers is deemed too long. Gatherings such as the one I am about to attend always seem to last an eternity, and this time, the Duke of Cidermere will be there, and he is indeed a man renowned for his ability to talk about nothing yet take up the time of hours. If I am to survive through tonight, I require a moment of rest before.

My shoes echo in the mighty halls of Castle Yiyiroth, the sound filling the corridors of stone in the clipped noise. I make my way through the halls, eventually arriving in the room where my mother stands. There is a long table in this room, and the walls and sides of the room are adorned with paintings, sculptures, and gifts from other rulers, such as the Jewel of Iakkimond.

Queen Eleanora currently resides in front of the table, wearing a magnificent dress of the deepest shade of blue. Her face shows lines of age and worry, but the woman she once was is still visible.

“Will my brothers and sisters be attending the events of tonight?” I ask my mother.

“Only Valeria,” Mother says, referencing her second-born, two years my junior. “The Duke of CIdermere is bringing his son, and they are in the same age range. We had hoped that they would become betrothed.”

I say nothing.

“You must start thinking of a bride, Alistair.” Mother prods.

I still remain silent. The topic of finding a bride has always made me uneasy. I am a mere seventeen years old, why must I be thinking of who I am to marry? The decision is going to be made irregardless of my opinions on the matter. I would much rather marry for love, however, I am royalty, and that just seems to be one of the small infuriating things that plague my existence.

There are many people here now, and it has been approximately an hour since the conversation I had with my mother. We–my parents, my sister, the Duke of Cidermere, his son and wife, and a menagerie of other people–sit, lined up along the table. The table is only one, perhaps slightly longer than average, with not much reason for a high table. To my right, at the head of the table, is my father, the King of Yiyiroth.

Suddenly, synchronized servants come in, gracefully laying out the meal in silence. They wear grey dresses and suits, made to blend with the surroundings of the room. The smell of meat circulates through the room, wafting to my nose as I smell the excellent cooking. Then my glass is filled with wine and I take a small sip and admire the food before me.

Then, noises of anger and disgust erupt from the other end of the table. My gaze jerks toward where the sound emanates from, and I see the servant girl holding the pitcher of wine. My eyes also wander to the area on the white tablecloth where a glass of wine lies overturned. Nobles turn their gaze and lift their noses in distaste as the pitiable girl, around my own age, stares in trepidation at the spilled drink. The first thing I notice about her is her scarlet hair, the same color as the wine she spilled, that falls down to her elbows in gentle curls. Her pale face is freckled, and I admire her jade-colored eyes. The Maker has gifted her incredible beauty. She remains unmoving, staring in disbelieving dubiety, as other servants quickly dab the spot, willing the stain out.

“Who is that?” I question, even though I have not been spoken to.

On my left, one of the nobles of my country acknowledges my inquiry.

“I believe she is but a servant girl. New, of course, for someone with experience would never have been so clumsy.” he says, nose tilted upwards in his arrogance. “Such a pity, too. This tablecloth was woven from the finest silks, and it is now rendered useless.”

I do not reply to the noble. The words that escape his lips disregard the girl as a human being, and the noble sits there as if he is superior to her in more than rank. This bothers me, although I am unsure as to why. I have seen servants be punished in the past, and I have never felt more than slightly sorry on their behalf, if I felt apologetic at all.

“Son, your hair’s stickin’ up again!” bellows my father after his fourth alcoholic beverage. Normally, Father remains sober, but I suppose tonight is an exception.

Normally, I would be offended by such a remark, bellowed by my father, but I suppose tonight is an exception. I am unable to stop my thoughts from wandering to that girl. Perhaps I am starting to develop an infatuation with her. But what do I do now?

As I smooth my hair that stubbornly sticks up, I realize I do not even know what she is called.

Later, at the dance portion of the festival, I lean against the wall. No one asked me to dance, but that does not bother me. While I am the price, or perhaps because I am the prince, the approval of love has never affected me in the past. I am unsure as to if it affects me now, but I do not wish to ponder such things at this moment. I suppose my introverted actions that appear when dealing with other nobles do tend to deter any princesses from wishing to dance with me.

Once I grow bored and uninterested in watching people twirl around each other, I decide to go outside. While I am the prince and heir to the throne, I doubt that someone will take note of my absence if I return in a reasonable amount of time. I often find myself wandering around the castle gardens, which is where I end up. Beautiful flora lines the edges of the stone walkway, flourishing in the midsummer air. Stars shine down upon me, draping my clothes in bright and brilliant silver. All is silent, except for the quiet croaking of frogs and chirping crickets, and my steps make the only atypical sound filling the garden.

Until I hear a muffled sniffle.

A perplexed expression crosses my face, and as I draw nearer I see a girl sitting against the brick wall, knees drawn up to her chest, crying. Her cerise hair covers her face, spilling over her shoulders and covering her grey dress.

It is then I realize that this is not just a girl. This is the girl.

What do I do now?

I stand there for some time. I could leave, and perhaps I should, but that does not feel particularly right.

“A-are you alright?” I ask, once I build up enough courage but before I am able to convince myself to do anything else; my voice is laced with a nervous stutter.

The girl looks up at me, face red from embarrassment and crying.

“Do I look alright to you?” she says in a monotone voice. “I’m gonna get fired, and then the realm’s gonna explode.” she continues. “So yes, I’m perfectly alright.”

“I-I apologize for my misunderstanding, b-but what do you mean? Surely the realm is not on a path to destruction just because you spilled wine on one of the royal tablecloths.”

“I’m exaggerating, stupid. Who even are you? How do you even know what I did?” she responds.

“I…” I begin, take a deep breath, and continue. “My name is Alistair.”

The girl gasps, covering her mouth with a hand. After a moment of shocked silence, she swiftly stands, curtseying in embarrassment.

“Forgive me, m’lord. I didn’t mean to insult you, or anyone else. I didn’t recognize you in the darkness.”

I do not know what to say. I do not know what to do.

“My lord?” asks the girl after a moment of awkward silence, lifting her head to look at me.

I have to say something.

“W-what is your name?” I ask. Idiotic inquiry.

“Alex,” she replies, confused. “Short for Alexandria.”

I am quite aware that I am merely repeating things that have already been stated, but I do not know what to do. The night is silent. It feels so incredibly strained. How do I talk to this girl?

“I, um, have to go,” I say, even though I would much rather not.

“Bye?” Alex says, still confused, as I swiftly walk away.

That could not have gone any worse. This infatuation is very vexatious.

For the next month, my thoughts tend to land on Alex. She’s just so… breathtaking. I have fallen so hard and I know hardly anything about her. She still works at the castle; I have seen her in the hallways.

I stand outside in the backyard of the castle, a seemingly endless expanse of trees and grassy fields. I stand watch over three of my siblings who run and play in the viridescent grasses. Beside me stands Valeria, silently swooning and recalling the events of the past festival.

“Are you able to ever stop thinking about the dense son of that duke? It was just one dance.” I question.

Val opens her eyes and glares her icy blue at me. “Are you ever going to find a bride?”

I shrug. “What if I have already found one?”

“Prithee, Alistair, no soul is idiotic enough to fall for you.”

“Well, as it turns out, being betrothed to me also grants a kingdom. That is a perquisite.”

“You do not understand women.”

“You do not understand what it is like to be heir to the throne.”

“And I am glad that is the case.”

Our persiflage is interrupted when heeled footsteps echo. Both Val and I turn, and my breath catches. It’s Alex, ruby hair gently cascading down her shoulders and back, simple earrings hanging from her ears, wearing a dress colored the lightest shade of pink. While her attire may be simple, it does not make her less breathtaking.

“Prince Alistair, Princess Valeria,” she says, curtseying to both my sister and me. She then turns to Val.

“Sir Basil wants to see you,” says Alex, referring to the son of the Duke of Cidermere.

“Thank you, Alex,” Val responds and leaves.

Alex is about to follow her, but I say: “I was not aware you were one of the maids working for my sister.”

“Yeah, I got moved after everybody decided I wasn’t ‘fit’ for the kitchen.” she shrugs. “Thankfully she doesn’t absolutely hate me so that’s a plus I guess. What’s the deal with what happened at the festival, though?”

I was not expecting her to ask me any questions regarding the night in the garden, however, I suppose that seems to be part of her personality. Her charming personality, or what her personality seems to be. I only had one short conversation with her….

“I, uh, well, you see, I believe t-that my presence was needed at the festivities.” I choke out.

“Uh-huh,” nods Alex, unconvinced. “Well, I can’t talk now, but if it’s not asking too much, can we have a word later?”

My heart flutters in my chest in the most cliché way possible.

“Yes,” I manage to say, not bothering to correct her grammar.

“Right. I’ll be in the garden later, since your sister asked me to plant some orchids. I think that’s so she and Sir Basil can walk by them and she can comment on how they’re her favorite flower. I’m not really sure though, and I should probably go.”

It takes me a moment to realize that Alex stopped speaking, even though I was so captivated by her stunning voice.

“Yes,” is all I managed to say before Alex turns and leaves, red hair streaming behind her.

I do not think I could have messed that up any more badly. How does one go about expressing one’s feelings to others? I read far too many works of literature, and the protagonist always ends up expressing his feelings to his beloved without difficulty, and she always returns his affection and they get married and live happily ever after. The protagonist never had the amount of nervousness I do, boiling in my stomach. I do wish to meet Alex in the gardens, though. I just hope I am not as unprepared as I just was. Maybe I will even be able to say a full sentence.

The sun shines down upon me as I turn back to watch my siblings, and I ensure that they stay out of trouble. As they laugh and play, chasing each other around, I am unable to keep my thoughts from peregrinating from subject to subject, but they all eventually land on her.

I wear a suit the color of the night sky with shoes to match. The sun has begun to set, but there are lanterns outside so I will be able to recognize the face of Alex. I do hope it is merely her and I.

As the sun casts tall shadows, leaving the areas of shade in darkness, I step onto the stone pathway of the garden. Passing by the flowers, I consider what I should say. As if that will truly do me any good. My thoughts are interrupted, however, when I see her, kneeling, planting an orchid. The sleeves on her black dress are rolled up, her hands are covered in gardening gloves, and her hair is tied back. She looks up.

“Hi,” she greets, standing.

“Hello,” I respond. My heart rate increases and my face turns pink from blushing. “Y-you wished to see me?”

“Yep. I was just wondering why you’ve been acting so weird around me.”

“Pardon?”

“Well, for one, during the festival you just left.”

“As I explained, I, uh, I was needed elsewhere.”

“You sure that’s it?” she asks.

I sigh. “I never was good at communicating what I felt, turning it into words. Or actions. I am nothing short of a mess when push comes to shove, and I become an unorganized disarray, thoughts and words jumbled. Perhaps I read excessively, especially fictional works, and perhaps my mind wishes my existence was such as those in storybooks. But, no fictional character has these simple and mundane inconveniences that I encounter. There is no manual or guide I am able to refer to in order to know what to do with how I feel, how to translate those feelings and thoughts into actions. And I am stumbling in the dark, staggering in a sunless land of confusion. How does one go about saying something that will make things ever so different than how they were? How must I go about telling you a truth that may destroy us both?”

“And what is that, Alistair?”

Silence. Alex stares at me with her beautiful eyes. I can still turn back, I suppose, but to do such a thing seems wrong. The worst she can do is to spit at my feet and curse my name, but I believe she would sooner reject me calmly than risk an execution. That being so, the worst thing she can say is no. I look to the constellations and notice the warrior Tragelaphus. He charges into battle with a valorous face, and I think of the stories that have been woven about him. He was brave. That much is obvious. Maybe I can be brave.

Looking down from the cosmic abyss that is the night sky, my eyes find those of Alex. Always introverted and preferring my own solitude to unfamiliar people, I never was good at expressing myself. But that has already been stated. I see the eyes of this beautiful girl before me. She waits for me to answer her question. She is a mere servant girl, and I am a prince. She wants to know what may destroy us both.

“Alex, I think I love you.”