Eleven: A Nightmare 

That night, Everett is allowed to sleep in Floryn’s bed, tucked underneath the linen blanket and warmed by the furnace in other room. It did not take much to heat the home, as it was not too big. He struggled to fall asleep at first, flinching at every livestock cry and village common noise coming through the windows. He opened his eyes once to slow, orange flickering light from the furnace. He focused on the movement, on the shadows it cast and the way it changed every second or so. He focused on the quiet between the noise, the crackle of the fire, and the faint breathing of Floryn on the couch.  

He was able to fall asleep then.  

Everett awoke on soft feathers, on a mattress made of cotton. He looked above himself, seeing the draped cloth from his canopy. He was back in his room at the castle. How could that be? Had he not just escaped the day before? Was he truly back at square one?  

Horrified that this may be his reality, Everett stands up quickly, searching his room which now seemed bigger than it ever had been. The walls stretched for miles on end, dark and vast and haunting. Everett desperately calls for Eda; he searches for the plants he so carefully nursed into flourishing flowers. None of it was there, and when he turned back to go back to bed, to hope it was all a nightmare, his canopy bed was gone, too.  

At the very end of a long, dark dingy hallway, sat the oval window he loved so much. He started a swift sprint, much faster than he thought himself able to manage, straight for the oval. But the more he ran, the further he got from the window, and the smaller it became. How would he ever reach it at this rate? 

“You will not.” A voice tells him, and Everett snaps his head up. High in the rafters, Floryn sits swinging his boots back and forth. “You will never escape. I will make sure of it.”  

“What...?” Everett’s breathing picks up, and he hugs himself with his arms. “But... you helped me escape! What are you talking about?”  

Suddenly, Floryn melts into bugs like he did when he left through the window, and the memory becomes clear in Everett’s mind. How had he forgotten that? How had he not mentioned it to Floryn yet? How had he not asked him about it? He guessed that in the thrill of escaping, of running away, of seeing new things he’d never seen, of almost dying, he had forgot that it ever even happened.  

The bugs begin to swarm Everett’s face, biting and stinging him until his face puffed up red and large.  

“Stop!” He cries, swiping his palms over his cheeks in hope that the bugs die beneath the weight of his hands. “It hurts, stop!”  

The swarm of bugs morph into odd shapes now, swirling faster around the prince until the shapes become solid. Everett recognizes a few; eyes, nose, lips, eyebrows, a thin mouth that bares its teeth in a wicked smile. 

“Father?” Everett croaks, and the face laughs at him.  

“You belong to me, Everett!” He screams, and Everett covers his eyes, but the image burns into his brain. His father was right; he could not escape. He never would. “Maybe Floryn failed to end your life, but I will succeed.” 

The king grows closer to Everett, who screams in hopes that it will drown out his father’s voice, but to no avail. His voice is heard through the screaming, somehow louder than it, forever persistent in Everett’s mind; he always had been, no matter what the prince did to try and stop him. 

Wake up! 

Everett wakes up in a sweat, heart pounding and body shivering. Floryn is already at his side; a concerned expression settled on his face. He was not wearing his hood, but Everett could not focus on that right now. That dream had shaken him to his core.  

“I was about to wake you.” Floryn tells him, voice calm and quiet. “That one did not seem pleasant.”  

“No, it wasn’t.” Everett admits.  

“What was it about?”  

Everett shakes his head. He would not tell Floryn any part of it; he would even hold his tongue on the whole bug-thing because he just wanted to calm down for the rest of the night. And if he thought of the dream, even just a little, it may send him into a panic again.  

“I’ll make you some chamomile tea. It always helps ease my nerves.” Floryn pops up from his spot on the floor next to the bed. He disappears into the kitchen, and Everett wonders where it was that he stored dishes. He did not see any cabinet or storage space, but his answer is provided when Floryn reaches out one of the windows. There is a small drying-rack outside where he seemed to store all his plates and bowls and cups. He grabs a teabag and a glass teacup. He boils some water over the fire in the furnace and returns around ten minutes later.  

The prince was mostly calm by then, but he sipped on the tea gratefully, feeling his heart warm as the heat fell down to his stomach. It was also warmed by the thoughtful act. Everett did not take Floryn as a caring guy, especially not when they first met, but he was beginning to feel that he had been wrong about him. 

“Did you mean what you said?” The prince surprises Floryn by breaking the silence. “About my father, I mean. He wants me to die?”  

Floryn bites the inside of his cheek.  

“I’m afraid so.” The words sting coming from his tongue. 

“What a bastard... I tried to be the best son for him, and he repays me with this?” Everett growls, spilling some of the hot tea onto his palms. They were healing slightly, but they had not been tended to, and Floryn did not have the medical supplies needed for it. So, Everett would have to be patient and let his wounds heal, which meant he should be careful to not spill hot liquid on them.  

The assassin says nothing, just crosses his hands together and sits patiently by the mattress. His eyes are focused on Everett with intent, and his eyebrows furrow with worry.  

“He hired a tutor for me.” Everett says, then goes to explain the whole situation with Sir Henry and how he hit him with a paddle until his wrists turned red.  

“Why?” Floryn interjects. “What was the reason?” 

Though Floryn thought his main reason for wondering so was curiosity alone, he was also beginning to like hearing Everett speak. And that thought alone scared him.  

“I attended a courting dinner, and the lady I spoke with did not find my manners suitable. But it was soon after you had broken into my room, so my head was all over the place.” Everett explains, to which Floryn cracks a smile. 

“I distracted you that much, then?” He says, a flirtatious tone evident on his tongue, one that Everett does not miss. 

“That is what you take from this story?” Everett lets out an amazed laugh, and Floryn does too. At least he was able to get a laugh out of him. Mold his sadness into laughter with his own hands. Keep the nightmares at bay.