2.II :

I buttoned my vest and did my tie. Walter stood behind me, his reflection cast in the vanity mirror. He hung his head low and balled his hands into fists. 

“Forgive me, your Majesty, for my short-sightedness. I made a hasty decision and. . .” 

Walter’s voice faltered, and I skimmed my fingers across the bandage. 

“I’m also to blame—but what is done is done. There is no need to dwell on it.” 

His voice returned, conviction laced beneath his words. “I understand. I’ve already spoken to Diethelm and, tonight, will begin drafting preparations for the near future. For now, as Ingrid said, you must rest and recover—the chefs are preparing your meal as we speak.” 

My stomach growled—not a meal made of any old food, but food fit for a King. Albert must not have eaten in two months. How could he? Tonight I could feast, binge to rival hearty Thanksgiving dinners. Would tonight’s meal include dessert: sweets, pastries, cake—fluffy, delectable yellow cake, filled with cream and topped with fruits and drizzle? . . . Thank goodness, my mouth wasn’t watering—yet. 

“Sounds good. Will I be dining with my son—what’s his name?”

Walter knitted his brow. Was it weird I asked?—if I was to be Albert, I should know my son’s name—but Walter locked his lips in a frown. I turned towards him. “Tristan. He is in the Library with his tutor. Their session doesn’t end till two hours from now.” 

“Dismiss the tutor for tonight. I wish to meet Tristan.” 

✿

I waited to eat. The food glared at me, outspread across the cylindrical table: steak, poultry, sausage, cucumbers, carrots, potatoes, peaches, pomegranates, berries, bread, countless variations of bread!—and was that a cooked swan!? Though the steaming food allured me, parading its rich, oily aroma, I kept my hands glued to my lap—I had manners, but, seriously, how long does it take to fetch one boy? If I knew it would take this long, I should’ve done it myself! I’d nearly conquered the art of rounding up my brothers. I was the shepherd; they were the uncooperative sheep. 

The wooden door opened, and the boy who I’d seen earlier lingered in the doorway. In a silent struggle, the maid forced him inside the room. Click!—the door latched shut. 

Tristan peered back at the now-closed door before he froze. I looked at his eyes, nearly on the verge of tears—blue, unlike Walter’s, but like mine in my previous life. They were too familiar, so similar my chest panged with sorrow. I despised those eyes; it was like gazing into a deep, murky abyss. Blue eyes were supposed to be breathtaking, lustrous gems, but malice had clouded my eyes, sucked the vibrancy from them till two pitiful dreams remained. Amid my gaze, Tristan hardened his eyes—the teardrops that refused to fall were no more. 

“How was your tutoring session?” 

The crackling of candles pervaded the prolonged silence before Tristan answered. “Fine.” 

“Aren’t you hungry? Why don’t you come, sit, and eat dinner?” 

“Is that why you asked for me? The only reason you asked for me?” 

“Why else?” 

Tristan shook his head. “Nevermind.”

He walked towards a chair and, without a word, seated himself. It was brief, no longer than a second, the slightest wince—most wouldn’t bat an eye. An expressionless visage reformed the pained grimace. Something wasn’t adding up. If only I had Albert’s memories. . . 

“Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He unwrapped a set of utensils, his head lowered, and cut into his meat. Juice gushed from the flesh as the knife clanked against the porcelain plate. “Someone who is fine does not wince when they sit.”

Tristan lifted his head, butter knife in hand—blue eyes clashed against mine as he stood his ground in defiance, scowling. I faced him head-on. The dull glow of candles intensified the sinister face. I couldn’t back down now—I may not have been a parent in my other life, but I sure as hell knew how to raise kids. I would not be my mother or father.

“I was outside, playing in the courtyard, and a maid called for me. I was startled—rarely does someone look for me—and fell on my butt. It’s nothing. Anyway, worry about yourself. I heard you have amnesia. Is it true?”