Alastair

“You seek courtship?” I ask, smirking when Morgan’s hair shields his eyes in a bout of eager nodding. “Do not be ashamed, Morgan. One cannot live without proper courtship, whether it is through romantic partnership, platonic friendships, or a loving family. That is a worthy desire.”

I would know.

“To begin, I can say that minimal time has nothing to do with lacking a partner,” I state, giving Morgan a slow, deliberate, and unimpressed once over. Morgan covers his chest like an embarrassed damsel from old tales.

“Have you considered seeing daylight or changing—” I wave my hand at him. “Everything?”

“Wha-what’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Shall I start a list of your seemingly endless flaws?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t...”

“First, you resemble a corpse. Unless you wish to attract those wanting to lie with the undead, then you best seek out sunlight. In small doses at first, lest you burst into flames. Second, your posture is atrocious. Stand up straight!” I smack his back, making the boy yelp. “Hold yourself with confidence and pride. Third, you must maintain a healthier sleep schedule. The bags under your eyes are deep enough to wander for a lifetime. Fourth, procure healthier meals and start exercising. Your twig arms will never be able to defend yourself or a partner from a mere bug, let alone a ferocious ogre. Fifth—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. There’s a lot wrong with me.” Morgan covers his burning expression behind trembling hands. “You don’t actually think my desire for a boyfriend is the reason I can’t send you back, do you?”

“Do you have a better conclusion?” I counter, waiting for a response he never gives. “You sat down with every intention to end my story because you lost your love for writing. Perhaps that love had some magic of its own. When you lost it, seemingly for good, the effect brought me to you. If we renew your love for writing, maybe that can send me back.”

“Renew my love for writing,” he echoes, peeking curiously through his parted fingers. “And we’ll do that by—”

Morgan’s gut suddenly growls like a rabid beast. He throws a hand over his stomach. Another blush forms on his face for a different reason.

He does blush a lot. At least red is a flattering color on him. Generally speaking. Though, if we’re comparing, red looks much better on me.

“You need nourishment. Let us discuss further over a meal as it is clear we cannot solve this problem overnight,” I suggest, signaling to what I hope to be the kitchen, otherwise Artheno will be used tonight. I will not die at the hands of a possibly vampiric stranger in a sparkling torture chamber.

“Okay.” Morgan shuffles into the kitchen. I trail behind.

“You’re awfully calm for a prince whose homeland may be under siege,” he mutters, regarding me over his shoulder.

“I have to be calm in the face of danger. None would follow me into battle if I panicked.”

“Ah, right. I’m not a soldier, though.” He stands in the kitchen, facing me with a quiet stare. “You don’t have to pretend to be calm around me.”

“Do not take my demeanor as meaning I trust you, Morgan Myres.” I step closer until Morgan’s back meets the countertop. He grips the counter, knuckles whitening to resemble the bone beneath. Timid eyes peer up at me, fear clear as day.

“If I sense an ounce of deceit from you, I will not hesitate to do you harm. Do we understand one another?” I hiss.

He gulps loud enough to shake the earth. “Absolutely.”

“Now, make us a meal.” I gesture to the surrounding oddities. I’m incapable of cooking in my own home, let alone here. “And we shall discuss our thoughts concerning this matter.”

“Meaning our plans to get my love for writing back?” Morgan inquires, walking over to a tall, metal, rectangular box.

“More than that. Let me hear your thoughts concerning—” the words fall short on my tongue when Morgan opens the metal container. A flame flickers within, another one of those strange white lights. Cold air seeps out of the shining box, as if it is a doorway to another land. But it is not a door, rather a cold cupboard besieged by peculiar containers.

“How does this metal box create cold air? Is it enchanted?” I ask, my previous thoughts set aside to inspect the cooling contraption. It’s as if someone put winter itself into a box!

Morgan reaches inside, pulling out a bag that reads Buffalo Chicken Tenders. He curses in surprise when I shout, “Has the magic of this world found a way to morph creatures into one?! What sort of monster is a Buffalo Chicken and why are we eating its tenders?! What part of the beast is a tender?”

I raise my hand in mild disgust. “For your reference, I refuse to eat the buttox area of any animal. A tender better be some type of thigh or breast.”

“One question at a time, please,” Morgan requests, smiling sheepishly. He rips open the bag, revealing strips of frozen, breaded meat within.

“Your magic box is cold enough to keep food frozen?”

“It’s called a refrigerator… what are you doing?” he asks.

“Inspecting,” I reply, shoving my head into The Refrigerator. It is quite cold.

Pressing my hand to the back, I ensure that it is not a door. There are no locks or hinges. How disappointing. I had hoped it’d open onto an icy tundra! We could search for wild Buffalo Chickens. I am interested to see their appearance. Could they be buffalo’s with chicken legs? Or chickens with buffalo legs? Or chicken body with a buffalo head?!

“How does it stay cold? Why is there ice in this top box but not the bottom? What are those you’re grabbing?” I point at what I believe to be plates he has taken from the cupboards, but they’re so thin.

“This is as flimsy as paper!” I declare, retrieving one.

“They’re called paper plates,” he states.

“Why would you put your food on paper plates?”

“Less dishes to do.” He opens another box—why are all magical things in this world boxes??—and sets the tenders inside. A light comes on and the box buzzes. “And before you ask, this is a microwave. It heats frozen food really quickly.”

“How quick?”

“Two minutes.”

I gape. “Magic—”

“It’s really not.”

“What else could it be?”

“Science.”

“…magic.”

Red returns to Morgan’s face. He pinches the bridge of his nose while asking, “Weren’t you about to say something earlier?”

“Right, yes, I will investigate the magical contraptions of your abode at another time—”

Morgan whines, for some reason.

“I am wondering what is happening in my world at this moment. I am the main character of the story, correct?” I ask.

He nods.

“So without me in the story, in the land, the world, however we wish to think of it—would time continue or stand still?”

Morgan becomes awe-struck. His eyes search for an answer they can’t possibly find, then admits, “I… I don’t know.”

“There is also the possibility that my home isn’t falling into darkness? Perhaps they’re trapped in limbo, frozen in time as I am elsewhere?”

Visible shame passes over Morgan’s pale features. He lowers his head, whispering, “I hope so.”

Me too. Although that is a frightening thought, it may be the best-case scenario. Should my world be in limbo, they are unaware of my disappearance, and Marcius is kept at bay. Also, Morgan has made his intentions clear. He plans to give Etria the happily ever after it deserves. A mishap this may be, but a good one if it ensures the safety of my kingdom and my reputation.

Worry not, my friends, my people, my fine wine, glittering gold, silk tunics, peg-legged cat, and sentient turtles. I will return to you victorious!