First Prince

Irene was currently drinking the tea that was meant to be Lecil's. Irene's hand shook slightly, and she had to hold the teacup with both hands to keep it steady. Today's shock was still running through her body.

Lecil decided to leave her a moment. She was also overjoyed someone was drinking the tea. She didn't care for it anymore. Not unless it had obscene amounts of sugar. Lecil's taste for warm tea dropped dramatically after having inherited Celia's memories. Celia grew up on the go and practically ran on sugar. She absolutely refused coffee, as it was proven to wire the brain.

Celia thought sugar would be a better substitute. It did practically the same thing while tasting better. She wasn't a warm beverage drinker either. Coffee, hot chocolate... Tea.

What? Was she supposed to act British now that she was actually a noble? Bunch of ninnies.

Lecil found Celia's distaste to be exotic while also sympathizing. Celia has specific and vivid memories of a high school history course with a history teacher she loved to listen to. He actually knew what he was talking about while making the course fun. This was where she learned about how insane the British were.

Tea is one of China's biggest exports, and when the British found out about it, oh-ho-ho, they went absolutely bonkers. They ordered ALL of it. The Chinese officials were all like, "No, we need some for ourselves and our tea ceremonies." The British were like, "We don't care, take our money." The Chinese were like, "Fine. We will quadruple the price!". The British were like, "Hah! Is that all?"

The Chinese were like, "All right, they surely have enough now," and cut off trade. The British Ambassador was like, "What the tosh? Where's our bloody tea at?" The Chinese leaders were like, "You've had enough. We need some for our tea ceremonies. If you want more, you need to pay ten times the price!" The British guy laughed and said, "Hah. Is that all?"

So the British continuously bought up nearly all the tea since they couldn't grow much on their islands. Eventually, the Chinese treasuries were overflowing, and they were like, "We have enough money, surely?" So they cut the British off again. The sorry lot was so hooked that they offered even more money. The Chinese rejected the offer and said, "If you get on your hands and knees and beg, we will sell you more." The British were like, "Hah! Is that all?"

Thus Kowtowing was invented.

So, every time they requested tea from then on, they had to bow their heads to the floor while also paying obscene amounts of money. This was somewhere around 1800. Celia couldn't remember the exact dates and her teacher never stressed it as important. "As long as you know the general timeframe and arent off by hundreds of years, world history isn't that hard."

Celia also remembered the Chinese having a huge Opium problem. They were just as hooked on it as the British were tea. There were even two opium wars.

Alright, enough rummaging.

Celia's memories were all connected like a string. Pull one, and you start pulling them all. A useless font of fun facts that didn't even apply to their world anymore.

Well.. maybe their combined knowledge could come with a way to make iced tea instead. It would probably be a hit. Especially in the warmer regions. Could Lecil rake in some coin that way?

Lecil had wandered over to the dresser during her mental escapade. She moved a small clock and picked up a journal, leafing through. Taking a magical pen, she jotted down some more notes. Underlining.

Iced Tea? Make sweet and cold. Strawberry Flavor.

There weren't many notes, and only a few pages were filled with Lecil's scrawling. Celia never made it far enough without daydreaming of something else.

Not to mention that Lecil never got past the proverbial starting zone in "Renegade". She spent hours on the game yet always inevitably died when meeting Duke Sallow. She missed something crucial and could never figure out what.

Looking down a hastily written list, the next item on both of their agendas was to gain someone she could trust, a secondary source of information.

"Irene? Can I ask you to throw out this clock?"

"The. Clock. Princess?"

The words were clipped and without understanding.

"Yes. Can you throw it away? I will get a magical one later. One that doesn't tick..."

The task is something simple to get Irene moving again. The small ticking of the clock infuriated her and served to keep her up for an entire week. She wanted nothing to do with it. Helping Irene and getting rid of the diabolical contraption like hitting two birds with one stone.

"Of course..."

Irene set down her wobbly teacup.

"By the way, do you know where that thing came from? I don't remember it."

Irene blinked, looking at the small clock for a moment.

"It has Princess Anne's initials on it. It is likely hers."

"Oh."

Lecil felt her face contort in an extremely foul manner. She stopped when she saw how Irene reacted.

"Well. Don't bother giving it back. Just toss it in the trash. Also, Please come back immediately. I still have some things to discuss with you."

"I understand..."

She didn't.

Watching Irene bow, accept the trash-bound clock reverentially, and exit all in a daze was concerning. Lecil didn't want to overstimulate the poor girl. Hopefully she would get back in time for the event.

She was supposed to be absent during the next event in the "Renegade". Lecil was planning to stuff Irene in a closet and have her watch secretly. Hoping that being a witness would shatter many of the chains still binding her.

Lecil decided against that route after seeing just how shaken the girl was. She dismissed how unstable she was immediately after gaining new memories. Even if Irene wasn't gaining a second set and only unlocking her own, it was still a huge burden on the mind.

Risks would need to be taken if there were no witnesses other than those involved. More risks than either of them wanted.

If they died... was restart possible? Or was it a permanent game over?

=

As I in position? I believe this was how it goes...

The doors to the bedroom were once again flung open.

Those poor doors.

"Lecil."

Looking back over her shoulder, Lecil saw Tristan dressed almost exactly the same as last time. Formal clothes, needless pizazz, sword at his hip, that annoying scowl imprinted on his face. If he smiled, he could probably charm any fair Lady he so chose.

Lecil never had the 'pleasure'.

Tristan marched over to the balcony where Lecil leaned. He stopped at the edge of the doorway. Sneering, he eyed her up and down.

"Why do you look like that? Why aren't you dressed when it is already noon?"

She hadn't readied herself other than having her hair combed. Lecil still wore slippers and her nightgown. Her wounds were clearly visible. Tristan either chose not to see, not to care, or was completely unable of both.

"Brother. That is the second time you've entered without knocking."

"Don't play with me."

"I'm not."

Lecil's gaze was steady and serious. Tristan didn't care. The percentage above his head still negative.

"I heard from Anne that you didn't choose a suitor. That you chose to postpone the decision and remain here. Why?"

The winter wind chilled the air. It was cold outside and she really shouldn't be out here, nearly naked. The sun was out, fortunately, helping to mitigate the temperature.

"I convinced Father that Anne wanted me around."

Tristan brought a hand to his sword, resting it there. Celia remembered how this option played out. Picking this choice was a death route. Lecil didn't care.

"You know very well that none of us want you here."

He growled as he crossed the threshold.

"You should have chosen a suitor and escaped while you still could."

He drew his sword.

Lecil laughed in his face. His face grew redder and angrier.

"Is this something to laugh about?"

The sword shimmered in the sunlight. Cold steel touched her neck, halting her movement but not her quiet laughter. There was no fear in her eyes—only burning hatred and pity.

This was Lecil. The girl who had no grand birthday parties or gifts. Who ate alone ever since her maid mother was exiled. The little girl who cried herself to sleep, wondering why her brothers hated her and her sister kept ruining her clothes. The teenager who stood in the shadows at every public event, attracting stares and rumors. The hypnotized girl who believed it was all her fault that the world scorned her. Hated her. DENIED HER.

The laughter ceased. Madness swam in her eyes as she grinned unnaturally. Lecil didn't have a 'pretty' smile. Just an evil one.

"Do it."

"What?"

Tristan seemed confused. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She should be crying and pleading for her life. Then Tristan would deny it and end her pitiful existence.

"I said, do it."

Lecil grabbed the rapier. The cold metal bit into her palm as she pointed the tip at her throat.

"Thrust and get it over with."

"What are you..."

Blood flowed down her clenched hand onto the blade, trickling down its pristine surface, the weapon being bloodied for the first time.

"Just a few inches forward. That's it. Come on! A push, and I'm dead. That is what you wanted, right? You drew your sword because you were going to use it. RIGHT?"

Tristan tried to remove his blade, but it didn't move. Stuck in her palm. If he pulled hard, she would lose her fingers. If he pushed, she died. Wait. Wasn't that what he wanted? Just push...

"KILL ME!"

Dark fire burned and roared. Lecil looked down on Tristan despite him being taller.

His character was so flat. He didn't deserve to be a star. A romantic interest? Hah! He was more deserving of being a background character. A pitiful tool scripted to act, suddenly trapped in inaction when encountering an unexpected resistance.

"Too bloody? Just push me over instead. Make it an accident. I'll die from the fall, and you will live to be the unfortunate soul who tried to save his falling sister. People will love you, and it will give you a bit of character."

Her voice became scornful as she pulled Tristan's blade with her. She brought him to the very edge of the balcony, backing up. Tristan had no choice but to follow or finally commit to a course of action. Lecil watched his eyes travel down to the ground below, bouncing between it, his sword, and his half-sister. Indecision and puzzlement defined him.

The drop was three stories, enough to kill her on impact. Below, her body would be discovered, smashed against the bricks framing in the flower beds. Her blood splattered like morning dew on white winter snowdrops.

"You're crazy."

"Crazy? Don't be like that. Did you want to make this more personal? Here."

Lecil pushed away the sword and grabbed Tristan's empty hand with her injured one.

"You and Kly. The staff. The King. Anne."

She guided Tristan's hand to her throat.

"You all drove me to this. You all made me."

"What are you..."

Tristan's hand wrapped around her neck. She leaned back, perpendicular, hanging over the edge. She forced Tristan in close, staring directly into his grey eyes.

"I'm suicidal."

...

Neither moved until a stray cloud cast them both in shadow. Tristan came out of the spell and realized what was happened. Quickly, he separated himself, taking a few steps back. Lecil steadied herself and watched the swirling icon above Tristan's head.

He looked at his hand and then to Lecil's neck. His sword dripping crimson blood onto the stonework. His eyes seemed confused, then settled for apathy.

"There is no need to dirty my hands. I have no desire to kill someone looking to die."

The icon above his settled at 0%.

It was a victory in the loosest sense. Lecil didn't want to be his friend or family. She just didn't want him trying to kill her at every turn. This was all for that. Surviving was the only option right now. The only way to do that was to change him from a cold killer into an unwanting executioner.

She absolutely did not want to die. Under any circumstances. She just had to play the suicidal card to get him to back the fuck off.

That is the second time. I refuse to play the victim a third time.

Lecil clenched her burning hand, causing a few more drops to mimic Tristan's blade. Lecil noticed in the corner of her eye, a figure half-hidden, watching.

She smiled. Clutching her bloody hand in the other, she made a waving motion.

"If you won't grant me my wish, then leave me. I need to clean my wound."

Tristan stared at her bloody hand and then at his sword. Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped his blade down. Lecil signaled Irene with her eyes. Tristan replaced his sword in its scabbard and threw the napkin on the ground, covering the spilled blood.

"Clean this up while you're at it."

So he said before turning on his heel.

"I still don't know why you hate me enough to kill me."

Lecil got the pleasure of watching him flinch before continuing out.

She could finally collapse. Sliding down to sit on the floor, she gritted her teeth and hissed.

"Oww. That really hurts."

She half looked at the discarded handkerchief but decided to burn it later. Handkerchiefs hand special meanings among royals. The fact that he used it to wipe his sword and threw it away rather than offer it to his sister for his mistake was the largest insult and almost hurt more than the wound. She was still a Lady, after all. Didn't she deserve at least a modicum of respect or concern? There truly was no reason for him to act this way.

No doubt he would have the long and tumultuous backstory that explains it all later.

"Ow. Ow. Ow. OWW."

Lecil wanted to roll her eyes but she was busy clutching her hand and trying not to think about the pain.

Fine. He can play the victim if he wants to. I am done. Never again.

"Princess! You are bleeding! Did, did he do... No. Lets fix this up first. I will get some bandages, come over here and sit-"

Irene was fussing.

Maybe... Maybe everything would be alright after all. At least one person finally came to her rescue. If a bit late.