Zorian awoke in the stables, laying in a pile of barley, he groaned, his head heavy and dazed with the weight of sleep. He gazed up at pirate, who snorted a greeting to the tired boy, as he made an effort to rise up from the paddock floor. He patted the horse. “Hey there boy,” he croaked, in a small smile, the horse huffed, “yep,” Zorian chuckled, “i’m tired too.” he looked down at himself seeing his clothes from the previous night, staring at every detail as if it were to disappear at any given moment. The stitch work, embroidery and the blue dye that struck his eyes, reminding Zorian of childhood days of blue petals that fell from the branches of his mother's tree like flakes of snow. He smiled faintly, his mind wandering off, fixating on the festival, amazed he had gotten all the steps right in the dances. Zorian began to hear voices and sounds in the stables, looking over to the dim light of the sky noticing the sun beginning to rise.
He rushed out the paddock his head switching back and forth making sure no one saw him, he ran out the stables and across the bailey and into one of the many servant entrances into the stone keep, scurrying along the empty corridors, avoiding the places in which voices could be heard, he finally made it to his chambers, a small like hovel of a room, the size of a crapped pantry, barely enough room for a bed, which was only made of sheep hides and woven blankets laid on the floor, with but a bit of hay to soften the ground for Zorians back.
He had but a single wooden crate to place his belongings which was of a few things. He was thankful in that moment that he had thought to make an extra pair of trousers and a tunic shirt that prior winter, for the cold almost had him near death during the long nights, curled tightly in a ball on his makeshift bed. He pulled the two items of clothing out from the crate, his arms reaching down for them. He hurriedly took off his clothes and placed his others on, they were plain and bit dusted, his white tunic looking grey in the darkened room. He folded the clothes his mother gifted him, neatly placing them in his crate.
After a moment he left his room, heading to the kitchens where a busy crowd of servants chatted, their voices bursting above all of the kitchen's clatter and noise. Zorians brows furrowed in confusion as he saw the crowd, near all the stuff of the keep were gathered saving a few who must have been working in that moment,
“it can’t be true,” a voice said,
“I ‘eard what i ‘eard,” a man shouted back,
“She can’t, ‘e’s our lord, she can’t send ‘im away.” another spoke,
“She's sellin’ ‘im i tell ya,” the man yells for all to hear, “it was clear as day.” Zorian gulped, “you girl, tell ‘em,” the man ordered Zorian from where he stood saw a chambermaid timidly looking over to crowd of people who surrounded her, “i-i ‘ad ‘eard this mornin’, her ladyship talkin’ to lady Gwyneth, she said she was goin’ into town to talk to a man about the sellin’ of our lord, and to finalize the payments.” she quivered,
“Tell ‘em,” the man grunted to the girl,
“Five coppers, she said, that is what ‘e is worth.”
A growth of whispers started, as they filled with rage. Zorian had forgotten what his stepmother had said and it fell onto him all too suddenly that he felt that he was choking on the retaliation that she was serious of these plans, and in no way were to divert away from them. Zorian sighed, calming himself, he cleared his throat, gathering the attention of all. “Milord,” a woman squeaked, looking down to Zorian who smiled faintly,
“Good morning,” he said to all nodding his head in acknowledgement,
“Morning,” he heard a few mumble to him politely.
Zorian moved through the crowd as they parted making a path for him, he made it to Mertel, “are they awake?” he asked,
“Er-yes-but Milord is it true, is milady to-”
“Is there food ready to serve?” he asked ignoring her words,
“Yes,” she answered, “but milord-” she tried again harder, but the boy carried on as if not a word was spoken looking about the kitchen for the finished meal, he saw the boiled eggs, and cooked fish, quickly leaning over the table to reach the two sliver plated trays, hurrying out of the kitchen and to his step mothers quarters. He huffed in breath as he climbed the stairs, tired out by his aching back from the riding he had done during the night, he arrived at his stepmother's chambers, knocking three times, before entering.
They sat by the fireplace, around a wooden oak made table, Zorian dropped their food clumsily, “careful,” Gwyn snapped at Zorian,
“Sorry,” he murmured absently as he looked at his Stepmother, who was gazing at him strangely, as if trying to work something out, her eyes narrowed on his, another servant walked in with a jug of water and three glasses, they placed them down and quickly left, Zorian was about to follow but was stopped by his stepmother's voice,
“Zorian,” she said tenderly “aren’t you going to pour our water for us, you can’t expect us to do your job for you, can you?”
“No,” Zorian said stiff within a breath, he moved back to the table, picking up the jug, pouring water into each of their glasses,
“Well,” Gwyn began to Zorian, “are you not to ask how the festival was?”
“I have no need,” the boy grumbled,
Gwyn scoffed, “come now, you must be curious,”
“Of what?” Rob sniggered, “to hear how the prince paid no attention to you all evening.”
Gwyn frowned, “the king had liked me, that is enough.” she said, taking a sip of her water, “for now,” she said quietly. Zorian took his place by the wall waiting to be called upon again, holding the jug to his chest.
Her brother chuckled while taking a bite of fish, “That merchant had not left your side near all evening, he was quite attentive.” Rob commented with an amused grin.
“That dirty desert wanderer,” his mother spat with displeasure, “dare you not to say such things Rob, such a man should be left to paddle by the roadsides with the rest of his kind.”
Rob's grin fell, “of course mother,” he quietly spoke, going back to his food.
“The prince had spent all evening with,” she stopped making a face of disgust, “this boy, ghastly thing he was,” she told Zorian, “the boy not only showed up late, but was wearing the most queerist attire i had ever seen-” her words ceased as the sound of shattered glass filled the room, their heads snapped to Zorian who had not noticed he had dropped the jug of water onto the floor, his mind tuned to Gwyns voice. The girl smirked, a small giggle escaping her lips at Zorians mistake but their mother did not berate or yell at him, not even to hit the poor boy as she would have, “it is alright,” she said steady and control, in a soft tone, “i will call someone to clean it up in a moment.”
Zorian didn’t say anything, not trusting himself to speak,
Gwyn carried on, “he had danced with the prince, but it was clear from his clumsy steps how unnatural he was at the dances. I had talked to lady Catherine for a while as they danced,” she began, “and she told me,” Gwyn gossiped in a smile, “that no one knew who the boy was, but you would never believe what everyone at the festival was saying about the boy.” Zorian stepped a little closer, curious to her next words,
“What?” he asked,
“That he is a foreign prince,” she smiled, giggling childishly, “it would explain why he was not accustomed to the court dances.”
“A prince?” Rob sniggered, “you are an idiot if you believe that,”
“Rob is right,” their mother agreed in an uptight voice, “he was no prince,” she spoke certain, her eyes for a moment drifted to Zorian, but pulled away back to her children before anyone took notice. “a son of a low lord i am sure, those clothes were far too old fashioned to be new, do not fret dear the prince will be yours.” their mother smiled at Gwyn.
Gwyn looked worryingly to her mother, “what do you mean? Had he seemed taken with the boy already?”
“Had you not seen the way the prince was looking at him, i am sure he is very enamored with the boy.” Rob said.
“Enamored!” Gwyn shrieks, “he can not be, he is not, you horrid liar Rob, you liar!” she screamed at her brother,
“It is the truth,” he spoke back,
“no it is not!” she yelled,
“It is!” he shouted, “and he’d never look upon your ugly revolting face!”
Gwyn screamed at the top of her lungs, as she drew forward towards her brother, her hands and nails aiming for his face, but Rob stopped her, holding an iron grip around her wrists. The two began to fight, hitting one another whenever they could,
“Gywn! Rob!” Zorians stepmother yelled, but the two ignored her commanding voice, all the while Zorian stood still, his mind immersed in his step sister's words, not wanting to believe them. He had danced with a prince that night, and not only that but some believed himself to be of royalty. He was horrified, far removed from everything around himself, he had a deep dread growing within the pit of his stomach, and he feared he’d be sick. A prince, his mind repeated, a prince….
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