Four: Message Delivered 

Everett is quiet for a long while after the thoughtless claim leaves Floryn’s daring mouth. How could he say something so brash? The prince knew of his father’s feelings towards him, yes. It was truly obvious, even to the chefs in the kitchens, even to the gardeners by the fountains, even by the guards wearing silver in the throne room. The King did not like nor wish to leave anything to Everett.  

But even then, he would not order his only heirs' death. He was not that stupid. 

Adelaide promises her unborn child will be borne a boy. A healthy, strong heir for the King to mold in the ways he failed to with Everett. A soldier who will bend to his every wish and want with no back talk. No disagreements. A slave to his father, to the kingdom, and to his blood.  

Everything Everett would not be and would never be.  

However, there was no definite way to say the unborn child would be a boy. So, until the baby was born, Everett was still the King’s only option. He knew this to be something the King would not jeopardize.  

“Your claim is bold, but I also know it to be false.” Everett says finally. “I am my father’s only heir. It would be a mistake to have me killed before the new child is born.”  

“You don’t believe me.” Floryn mutters, voice low but not unsurprised.  

Everett snickers in disbelief, throwing his arms up.  

“Of course I don’t!” He sneers in the face of the tanned assailant. “You want to know why? You risked my life twice now, and what, to make a point? To warn me? I’ve lived with my father my entire life. If he wished to kill me, I would know of it!” He huffs, taking only a breath before continuing, “And then, you break into my chambers and watch me sleep! How long did you do that for, by the way? I have yet to learn, so enlighten me, dear assassin!”  

Floryn stays silent and instead looks towards the abundance of ferns and flowering potted plants about the room. He stares particularly at a white flowering bush kept neatly trimmed down into little plumed circular shapes. It’s shoved at the very edge of Everett’s dark-oak dresser, covered nearly in fresh cobweb and touched by light seeping in through the cracks of the boarded-up window.  

“What are you looking at?” Everett demands after the long silence, arms crossed and pressed against his chest.  

“Nothing.” Floryn snaps back to reality and marches to the window. His voice sounds different now, more, less stern and more polite. He sounds genuine, unlike before. “I apologize for wasting your time and breaking into your room. I’ll be taking my leave.”  

“Wha-? That’s it? You’re leaving? You cannot leave! You’ve answered none of my questions, and I have about a hundred more.” Everett rushes across the room to the man, who fiddles gently with the wooden planks until one is parted just enough so that he may sneak one of his fingers out.  

Floryn gives him a longing look over his shoulder. One that starts something odd in the prince’s chest. A fluttering of feeling, something that has him clutching at his heart in case it broke free from his ribs then and there. It shocks him so much, in fact, that his body reacts physically to it. He flinches backward, eyes wide with shock and adrenaline. Just who was this man, and what was he doing to him? 

“I have completed my purpose here. I have delivered the message I felt I needed to. If you turn your head, close your ears, and choose to ignore it, then it will not be at the fault of me. You have been warned, and if you wish to learn the full truth, you will have to do so on your own. Goodbye, my prince.”  

“Wait! W-wait!” Everett reaches for him, but he disintegrates into little thousands of twinkling, blinking bugs that slip through the crack of the wood, one by one until they are gone and all that is left is the stubborn ray of sunshine peeking through the oak. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ 

The Seleian castle holds many royal dinners and balls throughout the long Spring season, in fact, it was the season that women from nobility came dressed their best to impress the young heir. It happened each year, and each year, Everett declined every single offer. It was, by far, his least favorite part of the season.  

This particular event was running late into the night, and Everett was sat across from a beautiful young girl born of Sir Ives. She was dressed in a silk green dress with puffy shoulders and sleeves lined with thin white thread. It swirled up and down the sleeves in a twisted pattern, and sometimes the thread crossed over in a complex web of patterns. Her hair was braided from her forehead to the wavy ends by her waist, tied up neat in a white ribbon. By the way she spoke and held herself, Everett found her to be great company.  

But, as she kept talking, Everett’s mind drifted away to more curious places. A place where he had believed the strange man in his room a few days ago. Where he had gotten the answers to his dying questions. Where he had stepped into the Elfwoods, guided by his brave and willing elven assassin. Where the fairy lights above his head never faded, only urged him onward. 

He had done none of it, though. And now he must face the consequences of his actions. That being his regularly assigned courting dinners that practically bore him to death.  

“Prince?” The kind voice gathers his attention.  

“Oh, sorry. My mind wandered.” Everett fished for her name. She had just told him, and for the life of him, he could not recall it. He was being a terrible host. “Could you repeat that, dear Lady?”  

“Just call me Matilda.” She says, and Everett leans forward, elbow on the table. Success. 

“Of course, Matilda. Now tell me again, won’t you?” 

An intimate chuckle leaves her mouth, one Everett could tell meant that she had, in fact, noticed his displaced attention. But she made no attempt to draw it into conversation or mention it further. Everett thanked her in his head quietly for this. He was not sure if he ever wanted to admit out loud what had transpired a few days prior.  

For instance, how does one melt into a thousand small bugs? How does a breathing, walking, speaking human being fit between the smallest of gaps of two wood pieces so simply? 

And, most embarrassingly, how does a single look from him nearly send the prince to his knees? 

These questions stay prominent in his head the whole dinner, and when Matilda finishes her plate, taking observant glances at Everett’s own one untouched, she stands and grips her wine glass in her fingers. Her smile is bright and seemingly genuine, but Everett can tell by the dark blue of her eyes that she feels disappointed in him. He had not been truly listening to her at all, not once this evening.  

She still offers her hand, to which Everett presses a cordial kiss to the back of it. She draws it away, furrowing her brows and replacing her elegant gloves back on.  

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Prince.” She chews on her words. “I hope that someday we can chat when you are a little less... distracted.”  

The prince knows there is no room for excuses, so he merely apologizes and watches her leave the foyer with a sunken heart. It had happened again. He had failed to create a connection with someone who seemed to care, to want one badly. Everett sunk his fingers into his hair, ruffling it and giving a sigh at the feeling of his nails harsh on his scalp.  

Would he ever get out of his own head, for once, or would he be doomed forever?