I hate the color red.

Red like blood spilled.

Red like the sun rising for yet another day.

Red like that flower that is seen on battlefields and execution grounds.

Red like the hair of that knight.

Tria, as I call her even though she should be referred to as either The Third Princess or Trianna, told me she likes the color red.

It shouldn’t be a surprise. She likes those flowers, and she likes the knight with the red hair.

I leaned back in my chair, waiting for death, thinking back to one of the many times we had discussed him.

“He could be useful, maybe he could come to our side?” she had asked one evening, after Sir Mallis, the knight with the red hair, had tracked down and killed one of my spies that I had planted into the service of the cold bastard, our brother The Fourth Prince.

“I am sure you know this as well as I, dear sister, but he is as brainwashed and loyal as can be. If he were to suddenly come to our side, we should accept our deaths, as that is the only reason he would ever come see us.”

“Maybe I can help him? I’m sure there is a potion or a remedy to—”

“Tria… We both know what lengths he goes to ensure absolute loyalty. There will never be a world where we will stand with Sir Mallis by our side.”

“But Cyril… It hurts,” Tria said. Her bleeding heart was what people tended to misunderstand. A lot of rumors often spread about her. About how she was the reason our father, the king, had died, even though she had done everything she could to save him. And when she finally realized he couldn’t be saved… She had eased his way into oblivion, sitting by him day and night, helping him drink medicines that would numb his pain, and let him go in a dignified manner.

So of course, she worried for this knight that our brother favored, when she realized how far gone he was.

I was hurting too.

It had not been a new conversation. We had both seen his merits, how he moved in the shadows, how he never killed unless he had to, how he left his victims with no marks and no blood.

Like they were simply sleeping.

Despite how far gone he clearly was, he seemed to have a certain respect for the lives he took, which was more than what I could say about The Fourth Prince.

We knew Sir Mallis was something else, something more. Our brother would never keep anyone around on that tight of a leash if he wasn’t special, but more importantly, he was a person who was not treated as such.

He was being held down.

His potential was being forcibly kept down.

Why?

Did he have something my brother was afraid of? Could not handle? Did not trust himself to let loose?

It was the only thing that made sense… But what would it be?

If he came to my side I would let him fly.

Spread his wings and see what he could do if he was let free.

But alas, that would not happen.

He was but a caged bird like me.

He would never be able to fly freely.

I would never escape this cage.

“Cyril? What are you thinking?” Tria’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“I was thinking about how pretty I was.” I answered.

It wasn’t a lie.

A beautiful caged bird could do but one thing.

Look beautiful, sing, become the center of attention, and then die.

That was simply my lot in life.

And while I walked around in all my glory, taking advantage of everyone’s eyes on me, my people were free to move in the shadows.

I was the best distraction.

“You can thank mother for that,” Tria said, laughing. It was a common joke between us. We did not share the same mother by blood, but Tria had been raised by my mother since she was little, and at some point she had simply become 'our' mother. Amongst the nine… eight of us, Tria was the only person who truly felt like my sibling.

While I had indeed inherited mother's beauty, Tria had chosen to inherit the path of poisons, of hiding away, and left me to gather all the eyes in one spot, while she put poison in their tea.

I shook my head, getting back to the now.

The Fourth Prince had made his move, and the day I knew was coming had finally arrived.

Today was the day I would die.

It was a comforting thought that things would soon be over.

That I maybe could finally fly free.

I had dressed up to make a last riveting picture.

A beautiful bird to the end.

I only hoped the blood wouldn’t stain my clothes…

It wouldn’t suit me.

How I hated the color red.

Well…

Maybe one singular shade of red could evade my hate.

The shade of red that would end my suffering without ruining my clothes.

So when the end came, I had to close my eyes. I could not look at him as I put a smile on my face.

Because, Tria, you were right.

He is hurting,

His eyes were nothing but a dull burned out fire. A red so sad and somber that I would not be able to die smiling if I kept looking into those soulless pits.

How I hated the color red.