Chapter 9: The Weight of a Prince

Elliott woke to the sound of the lights flickering on, alerting everyone in the Crystallized Tunnel that the sun had risen somewhere. There were sophisticated manufactured lights imitating sunbeams as closely as possible, but for a child who had seen the real sun, it was not enough to lure him out of bed. He was now staying in a different chamber facing one of the grandest squares in the Tunnel. Laima had moved into her own room a few days prior, claiming she required her own space. They weren't far from each other, she was staying just next door, but the soothing comfort of having her in the same room was far better than what he possessed now.

It had been more than a month since he arrived at the castle. The halls remained the same as always; nothing new ever happened here. Inevitably, Elliott was bored. He was bound to the same routine every day: wake up, wash his face, brush his teeth and hair, take a quick shower, change clothes, glance at the mirror, and set off to find a game to play. Today, however, he remained sprawled on his massive bed, spreading his arms and legs on either side of his small body and staring at the dull white ceiling that reflected the artificial sunlight from outside. He felt like crying.

Laima was planning the wedding preparations with Ami, a sweet servant of the house, in what she thought was a storage room. Queen Iselda, meanwhile, was grappling with her Tunnel’s economic regression and the residents' grievances regarding new regulations. Laima had an inkling of why the Queen was so eager to crown her as well; she wanted to divide her burdens in two so she could breathe more easily. In Laima’s home Tunnel, the royal family was such a deeply rooted structure that while the faces changed, the rules never did. Laima, therefore, didn't attach much significance to the maneuvers of this novice Queen. She sat on an elegant chair as the light filtered through the windows, brushing against the curls of her hair and falling into her eyes. Ami, on the other hand, was excitedly discussing how the ceremony would unfold. Laima didn't truly care about the wedding or its outcome; she simply yearned for peace.

The Queen was listening to one of her aristocrats, who was defending his none-too-subtle methods of causing disaster in the lands. Iselda could have taken his head, but unfortunately for her, there were laws protecting the aristocracy, laws her mother had held dear. That was why, instead of becoming aggressive, she chose to offer a polite smile and let him believe she would implement his suggested strategy. She wanted to dash back to the storage room to design her wedding; the excitement in her veins clouded her comprehension of the meeting. Politics, economics, and rebellions had begun to exhaust her. Normally, she would care, at least a little. It would be far better if the aristocrats made sensible decisions among themselves and merely communicated them to her, so she wouldn't have to rack her brain over it. But today, she sat upon her golden throne, embellished with various crystals, presiding over the meeting with her hand supporting her head. She looked utterly bored, her eyes sunken from exhaustion. She let out a heavy sigh, interrupting an aristocrat who was talking about suppressing the ongoing rebellion in town.

“Okay, I get it. Um... why did they get this angry over something so simple? It was just mirrors.” She spoke as if she couldn't believe her own people. “Mirrors that could paralyze and move through real life... Tsk. I was just protecting them.” She clicked her tongue. “And everything will cease after my wedding. No one would say no to a royal wedding full of free food and entertainment.” She flashed a lopsided smile and shrugged one shoulder, as if she had already found the solution to everything. No one in the room dared to speak. Shared glances and unspoken words filled the arrogant silence, and that was Iselda’s cue to depart.

Queen Iselda burst into the storage room, out of breath. Laima and Ami were seated at one of the fancy tables reserved for the wedding; its golden legs, glass top, and beautiful quartz ornaments were exactly like the throne she had just left behind. Laima scrutinized the Queen, judging the excitement she felt for the wedding. Iselda knew Laima wasn't fond of the ceremony itself; she only cared for the freedom the title would grant her. But still... Iselda took a seat beside them. “So, darling, did you finish the preparations without me?”

Laima maintained a poker face. “No, darling, we just chose items for the banquet. How could I decide anything without you?”

Iselda looked shell-shocked, not expecting Laima to play along with the banter. “Um, ah. Yes, great. The food has been dealt with. I want our wedding to be in this palace. I know my mother would have supported it.”

“Okay. I don't care.”

“Then we can marry tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.”

“Did you choose what you’re going to wear to your wedding?”

“No...”

Iselda finally found an opening. “Then shall we see my tailor right now? Servant, please call the tailor to the palace.”

Laima’s face wrinkled; she pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow, observing her surroundings with a strange look.

“Ugghh! I am way too excited for this!” Iselda clasped her hands together and applauded herself. “You look like you want to bury yourself alive, though.” It wasn't a question, but Iselda tilted her head as if inviting an answer.

“No, it's just... I don't care that much.” Laima tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll try my best at the wedding, though. Don’t worry.”

“You can tell me if you want to add or remove something from the feast, you know. I don’t want you to feel like you have to follow my every wish.” Iselda gently touched Laima’s shoulder to soothe her.

Laima looked directly at Iselda. “Thank you. The tailor is a good move. I’d like a blue gown, if that’s okay. And I—I guess I am not accustomed to your traditions, so I am a little nervous.”

“Oh! I see. Don't worry, we will fill you in on the details while you get measured. It will take forever.” Iselda chuckled and turned to her servant.

Ami, who had been silently watching these two interact, simply nodded. “I suppose we need our Prince here to be measured as well, right, Your Highness?”

“Ah, good idea. Yes, please bring him here.”

Elliott was still on his bed. He had slept like a log, four times over. He wasn't in the mood to play. During his fifth attempt at sleep, a knock on the door roused him. He straightened up and shouted, his voice raspy. “Yes!”

The door creaked open and Ami poked her head through the gap. “Are you okay, My Prince? You didn't come to breakfast or ask to play with me.”

Elliott rubbed his eyes. “I—I just wanted more sleep, Ami.”

Ami moved closer, sitting on the edge of his bed. She reached out to ruffle his long white strands. “Great. How are you feeling now that you've slept all day?”

“Still sleepy,” Elliott replied with a pout.

“But the tailor is going to be here today, and the Queen wants you measured for the wedding tomorrow.” She continued to mess with his hair.

“Tomorrow? That’s too soon!” He flopped back onto the bed. “Ugh! I don’t want to go!”

“But you are the Prince! You should be there. They arranged this wedding just to take care of you.”

“I know,” Elliott mumbled to himself.

Elliott had learned the weight of being a Prince a couple of days ago... and he didn't like it. He wasn't rushing to become one. Iselda and Laima, however, wanted him to embrace his new title and the path ahead. Now, staring at the dim ceiling, he questioned his life at the age of ten.

Mrs. Mallory, the tailor, arrived at the palace in the mid-afternoon. She quickly took Iselda’s measurements first, then Laima’s. Since Elliott took his time coming downstairs, they had plenty of time to spare. When the Prince finally appeared in the ballroom, everyone turned to stare. Mrs. Mallory wasted no time, forcing him onto the small stand in the middle of the room and pulling his arms up to begin her work.

Laima moved closer to Elliott while the tailor worked. “You look like hell. What happened?”

“Nothing. Just didn’t feel like a Prince today,” he said nonchalantly.

“Okay.” She looked concerned. “You don’t have to act exactly as we told you. That’s just the rules and boring stuff. You won’t have to deal with most of it until you’re an adult, which is more than ten years away, Elli.”

“Okay.” Elliott’s face remained blank. “I want this stupid work to be finished so I can go back to my room.”

Mrs. Mallory gave him a sharp, displeased look. But Elliott didn’t care. He was bottling everything up in his small chest and mind. He wasn’t ready to become a Prince. He wasn’t ready for the constant security whenever he wanted to step outside. He wasn’t ready to be completely isolated from his peers. He didn't want to hide his mirrors, his hair, the large ring he was holding onto when he first met Iselda, the flowers he loved, nor the man who spoke to him through the reflections.

The grown-up version of himself was now visible in the reflection of the window Elliott faced. The man from his dreams was in every reflection he viewed.

The man was saying his name repeatedly while banging on the glass: “Elliott! Elliott! ELLIOTT!”