Chapter Fourteen

Entry:

I hate when I speak. My mouth gets dry, breath stinking. Even more gross is the utter shame I feel for speaking excessively. Just shut up, you're rather annoying. Nobody cares. I don't even care. But they care, so I am grateful to them.

Them, the touches that have turned to voices. We converse sometimes. They remind me I am alive, I have control over my actions, I have a body connected to my head. This was a conversation I had with them while sitting at the windowsill:

Them: Why are you sad?

Me: I don't know. I don't even know if I am.

Them: What do you mean you don't know? They're your feelings. 

Me: You know I don't understand.

Them: What binds you here?

Me: What?

Them: What binds you here?

Me: That there's more.

Them: What ties you here?

Me: There's so much MORE! Beyond what I feel right now…

Them: Good.

But they are hard to listen to, feeling sad is pleasant because it reminds me that I can feel. I am familiar with sorrow. I know its texture and smell. It is easy to label and understand.

Phoenix

--

The library's atmosphere had changed. 

While dust still sprinkled the air, the room smelled oddly fresh, as though the flowers had finally bloomed. It didn't take a lot of searching to find the Prince, who leaned against a wall with his nose in a book.

  Even when Phoenix stood right in front of him, he didn't notice her, his icy eyes sliding left to right across the page. Phoenix was so surprised by his nerdiness she forgot to say anything. Here he was, vulnerable to stares, to judgement. Phoenix looked at his sharp jawline and white hair that naturally fell into his eyes and wondered what kind of books hook his attention. And there, his lips moved slightly with the text, yet no sound came out. The Prince brought his index finger up to his mouth and lightly licked the tip before flipping to the next page. 

Phoenix cleared her throat and his face shot up to hers.

His confused features melted as he recognized her, "Oh, it's only you."

"Yes, plain me," Phoenix replied with some edge. "How was last night?"

A smile that didn't reach his eyes appeared as he teased, "Wouldn't you like to know? Looks like I'm not the only pervert in this castle."

"That's not what I meant!"

He chuckled a little and pushed himself from the wall, walking right past Phoenix and toward the exit. "Let's get this over with," he proclaimed over his shoulder.

Phoenix caught up to him, jogging a little to close the distance of his long strides. "Why must you always act like this?"

"Act like what?" he asked distantly, making a turn, and walking the length of the castle.

"Like you think no one can reach you; no one can see what you're really feeling."

He stopped and turned to look at her. She shrunk under his gaze, his sharp eyes peeling through her self defense. 

"What a curious notion," he commented, the weak, fake smile never leaving his face. It must not have been that curious a notion, though, because he turned and continued walking just as abruptly as he had stopped. 

A minute of silence accompanied their walk, uncharacteristic of the Prince enough for Phoenix to feign curiosity. 

"You've always been so talkative before. Why so quiet now?" she remarked. 

He let out a sigh of annoyance but continued walking. "You're always discrediting the royal family. Why the sudden interest now?"

The Prince seemed different. Usually, he just teased people, but this time he sounded genuinely annoyed. Maybe last night with Isla didn't go that well? Phoenix would have to ask Isla later during their walk. 

They stopped in front of an oak door near the end of the hall. Wood all the way through, no window peering inside, no indents or inscriptions. The door appeared rather unremarkable, and Phoenix never would've noted it as important. The doorknob reflected his hand as the Prince pushed the door open, revealing a large room painted beige, just like all the rest of the castle. A table sat in the center, with wooden chairs scattered around it. Windows lined up the east wall should Phoenix need an emergency exit from the Prince's arrogance. 

He walked right past the table and to the door just behind the large chair at the head. No doubt the King's spot. 

"There's no lock on the door," Phoenix noticed.

"Good observation, moat girl."

She glared into his back.

"If you keep on glaring, you'll get horrible wrinkles between your eyes," he teased, gaze still focused in front of him. 

"I wasn't glaring," Phoenix gritted out to his back. There was no way she had the same wrinkles Cole got from scowling. And there was no way the Prince picked up on them so quickly. 

The Prince turned with a knowing smile and noted, "You're an awful liar, Wrinkles."

Before she could protest the new nickname, he pushed the door open to reveal a room twice the length of the meeting room. The Prince took a couple steps in and she followed far behind, determined not to smell whatever scented chemicals he doused himself in.

"Did I actually need an official to let me into this room? Everything's unlocked," Phoenix noticed. 

The unmistakable sound of a gun clicked to her head. 

A man to her right ran held a gun up to Phoenix's temple. Phoenix sprung into motion, hitting the man's arm up and knocking the gun to the floor. The intruder went limp in her hold. 

It was too easy to knock the intruder on the ground, shock still gripping his features as he was pinned below. With the danger neutralized, Phoenix paused to find the Prince's back to her, oblivious to what transpired. Could he be more self-indulgent? 

"Well," the Prince started, "there may be no locks, but you'd have to get by an intense security system." With that, he finally turned and saw Phoenix pinning a man on the ground, and disappointment crossed his face. 

"Really, Hughes?" the Prince dragged out.

"Your Highness! I wasn't expecting her to attack, I was caught off guard. I didn't recognize her and thought she might have been following you."

"Weren't you the one to make the first move on her, though?" he asked with his eyebrows raised. "And besides, just because I don't bring visitors here doesn't mean I can't."

Understanding Hughes was harmless, Phoenix released him and picked up the gun casted to the side.

"That's your security system?" Phoenix mocked. "You have guards as strong as horses, and that's your security system?"

The Prince shrugged. "The only people who come in here are old councilmen who would freeze at the sound of a gun. You know the whole," The Prince's jaw went slack and he held his palms up, shaking them in distress, "'Don't shoot! Please, I want to live so I can continue being rich!'" 

His imitation was funny enough that Phoenix almost laughed. 

Almost. 

Instead, her gaze fell to the floor, and a wave of guilt washing over her. "I could have waltzed in here, told Hughes you sent me, and taken the files without getting Isla involved." 

"But then you wouldn't have the honor of hanging out with me," the Prince flashed a quick smile, not sensing Phoenix's rising anger. "Besides, Isla and I had fun together, not that you would know anything about that you prude!"

Phoenix couldn't hear him. Not over the uncontrollable rush of rage that pulsed through her veins. She sold Isla to a narcissistic Highlander when she could have just come in and taken everything, getting no one involved. In and out, in, in, in, out, regain control, stay cal- 

"Just shut up you royal filth," Phoenix spat. 

A look of hurt crossed the Prince's face but she continued anyways, "What? Don't like nicknames, pretty boy? You can go cry about it to all you maids and order my whole family executed because your feelings are hurt. Then you can go back to your soft bed and sleep your difficult day off with your belly full, you disgusting Highlander."

"I'm not-" 

"Is this a joke to you?" Phoenix spiraled. "Let's see how many girls I can get with so I can inflate my ego! Have you ever been to the Lowlands? Have you ever seen your people, what their lives are like? A quarter of the population doesn't even have shoes! And you have the nerve to play your royal life like a fun game. It's not. It's your job, so start working for once."

Phoenix looked down at her hands, still trembling, and studied the gun. The Prince followed her gaze. 

"No one deserves death," the Prince quoted her words from when she held him hostage. "Breathe." 

The last thing Phoenix wanted to do was listen to him, but she needed to collect her thoughts before she did something regrettable. Count. One, his eyes drilling into hers, curious what she'd do, but not scared. Two, the stale dust coating the room, stuffing up her nose. Three, gun's rough handle, and her index finger resting on the smooth trigger. Release.

Her body obeyed.

The gun's rattle hitting the floor echoed through the silent room. 

"That's quite a temper you have," he commented to himself, as though taking notes about her behavior.

"That's quite a nerve you have," Phoenix countered, anger deflating, but not entirely gone.

He walked toward her until he was just an arm's length away, making her whole-body uneasy. 

"Hit me," the Prince said. 

"What?" she stammered out in surprise.

"Hit me," he repeated, gesturing to his body with his hands. "You've already chewed out my family and me, why not just hit me?"

Phoenix wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to take the gun and hit him over the head with it. Maybe even shoot him in the foot. But, for some reason, she couldn't. 

Phoenix couldn't bring her anger into action.

"Just show me where the case files are," she sighed, the weight of pent-up anger leaving her. 

The Prince seemed like he had a thousand questions, but he just smiled and laughed gently to himself. 

"This way," he explained, walking past the desk and towards the stacks of record books. "Hughes, please make sure no one disturbs us." 

Phoenix threw Hughes a look of pity then followed the Prince. 

"Are you…" Phoenix's heart sped. She just ranted to the Prince! How stupid could she be?

"Am I what?" the Prince asked while taking a left toward more stacks of boxes.

"Are you going to punish me? Cut out my tongue?"

"No, we don't do that kind of thing, my father just uses that line to scare people," he shrugged. "I have a far crueler punishment in mind."

Her heart stopped as she thought of her family getting hurt. 

"I'm going to continue with the nicknames, Wrinkles." 

Phoenix rolled her eyes but supposed that was the best-case scenario after her offence. The Prince stopped in front of a shelf, it's length paralleled by every other shelf in the room.

"Here is the history of every assassination attempt on the Queen," he pointed out. 

"Not funny," Phoenix dryly commented at the emptiness he gestured to.

"Really, there has never been an attempt on the Queen's life. Why do you think my father hired you? The assassination attempts are serious because it's never happened before. The Lowlanders don't have a way to get up here, and the Highlanders are pleased with their situation."

There had to be more to the story. Even if the Prince was too stupid to know everything, he could still be helpful. 

"Do you attend the meetings?" Phoenix asked. 

He shrugged. "Not all of them, but a lot."

"Do you know all the councilmen?" 

"I suppose so," the Prince said.

"Do any of them have gross mud stains?"

His chin rested in his hand as he thought back. "Mud stains? I can't recall."

"Do you know anyone with such a description? Raspy voice, male, knows the Queen personally enough to meet with her alone and call her by her first name?"

His eyes sparkled and he snapped his fingers together. "Do you mean Old Man Roman?" 

"Old man who?"

"Let me show you." The Prince walked over to the stack of records to their right and pulled out a book with pictures in it. He pointed to a man, around 6'2 with knotted grey hair and a long beard. "That's Old Man Roman."

Phoenix studied the picture, which appeared as old as the man trapped inside. "I would also like records of court members."

"Okay, but first, you have to stop discrediting the royal family."

"Fine," she grumbled.

"Lovely, this way," he hummed as he walked down the aisle directing to the right.

This time, the shelves were packed with three identical boxes labeled "court."

"Is this up to date? Alphabetized? Any sort of organization?" she asked.

The Prince rolled his eyes. "Of course it's organized. I just don't know how."

Phoenix put her hands on her hips and glared until the Prince had the decency to shrug an apology. Then, turning to the records, she opened the first box. 

Every name in the box belonged to a single gentleman. There, a name she recognized: William Decker. He was forty years of age and never married after the Queen was married to the King. His parents made their wealth designing clothes for the royals and was invited into court while William was in his teens. According to Isla, William was infatuated with the Queen and proposed three times before she said yes, only for the King to stop the wedding. He had a hatred for her ever since for breaking his heart- could that hatred translate to murderous intent? 

Phoenix closed the file and flipped to the next box, which was married gentlemen. Corton Fairchild was the name Isla had given her that raised her suspicion. According to the file, he had three kids and a wife of ten years. They got married at twenty. He was a jeweler, but according to Isla, the Queen had recently taken her business elsewhere and if he didn't come up with money quick, he'd lose his prestige and his family would have to move back to the Highlands. If he didn't find business there, they may even have to move to the Lowlands. 

"Wow, are you listening to me at all?" the Prince asked.

She whipped her head over to him and blinked. "You said something?"

"Yeah, I asked if you had figured out how they were organized."

"They're organized by sex and marital status. It really wasn't that hard to figure out, if you spent any time looking at them you would have been able to figure it out."

"Whatever. I'm bored, how much longer?"

"Just two more names," she hissed.

The third box was married women. The only name that interested her was one Lila Waters. She married at twenty-five but had a son who was born before then. Lila claimed that her child was the King's son and felt as though she should have been Queen. Lila's husband was a council man, which must have been why she was still in the court despite making those claims. Phoenix tucked the information away and turned to the final box.

Mavise Arrigton was in the middle of the box and the thinnest file yet.

All it said was that she was twenty and had gone to the King himself asking for the Prince's hand. Initially, Isla made it sound like Mavise had a deep resentment for the Prince, and Phoenix thought it would translate to deadly desires, but it didn't make sense anymore. The file said Mavise came from money and had always been part of the court, even from a young age. She was raised to be a wife and nothing more. 

"You've checked every box, does this mean you're done?" the Prince whined.

Phoenix let out a heavy sigh. "You know, you didn't have to stay, you were more than welcome to leave me alone."

"Or I could bother you," he shrugged. 

Bothering her seemed to be his one and only talent. 

"I'm also pretty," Talon whispered.

"What?"

"You meant to keep the talent thought in your head, didn't you?"

She wasn't that easy to read. 

Frustrated, Phoenix marched back to Hughes' desk, her heals and the Prince's dainty flats echoing against the shelves. It appeared the Prince didn't only follow his father around like a puppy, but anyone he was hanging out with. Phoenix hated that about him. 

"Is Old Man Roman a lead? And who in the court were you looking up?" the Prince inquired.

"That's official business," Phoenix replied rather smugly.

"You know, yelling at a royal would be a good reason to get your family kicked out of the castle," the Prince prompted as they entered the meeting room again.

"You're annoying."

"Maybe, but I'm composed and don't yell at people," the Prince said. 

"It's official business. I can tell you when I do more research."

"For someone who hates me so much, you and I work well together." 

Phoenix ignored him, refusing to play his games. 

"Maybe I'll join Isla for your walk today," the Prince mused to himself.

"If you're trying to annoy me by imposing your company, it's working."

"I do not impose," he gasped. "You are on my grounds, so technically you are the one imposing."

"Yeah whatever, I get it, you're clever. Please stop talking now." 

"Such a thing would be a crime, moat girl."

They walked back to the library, through halls of centered family portraits and vases, past silver heirlooms and bronze music trinkets. A comfortable silence settled between them and Phoenix figured the Prince was nice when he wasn't talking. They eventually entered the library, and she remembered the Prince's absolute devotion to his book earlier.

"What was that book you were reading when I came in?" Phoenix asked. He smiled as they entered the library and picked up the same coverless book as before, sat down, and continued reading without so much as looking at her.

"A good one. Goodbye, moody." 

"I'm not-"

"Shhh," he shushed while gesturing to the library, despite no one else being there. 

With a roll of her eyes, Phoenix left him to his book and headed back into the hallway. With the Prince off her heels, she could search through more files without being watched. Phoenix returned to the record room, strolling past Hughes, telling him she needed to follow up on something. 

Phoenix spent longer than desired wandering around looking for anything useful. After fifteen minutes, she found something that caught her eye: a history on the royal family. 

Three boxes slept on the shelf, so Phoenix randomly pulled one out and read. It was how the royals came into power. After the Burning, any survivors made their way to the land Domum, the only kingdom not hit by the comet. Phoenix flipped up a note attached at the top- "Domum: Home." 

Adding the new information to the back of her brain, she continued reading. Most people had arrived via boats after the king at the time, Theo, sent out rescue efforts. All the refugees were placed in a swamp, a place with plenty of space to grow on the coast facing the ruined lands. Natives to the land remained where they were, on a peninsula on the other side. 

Theo provided resources for refugees to grow businesses and homes. Then Theo died. His successor, Pierre, saw all the resources Theo gave out as something that needed to be paid back. A simple solution: hefty taxes. 

Now, over a century later, people in the Lowlands and Highlands considered themselves people of Domum. But the tax remained too prosperous for royals to justify lowering it, creating the sense of two different worlds. 

Phoenix carefully re-filed everything away and shoved the box back into its place. Dust shot in the air and a cough wheezed out of her. They must ask servants to stay out of this room.

Her fingers grazed the next box, it's brown and stiff material worn from years of manhandling. Corners of papers jutted out as though they had been thrown in haphazardly; a chaotic mountain range of crumpled paper. 

"They're so egotistical, you'd figure they'd keep their history all neat and orderly," Phoenix mumbled to herself while sifting through the papers. 

It was a record of the royal family tree. The Prince would become King when his father died, and his sister would receive a position on the council.

What about the Queen?

To Phoenix's defeat, there were only sketches of her commanding her army. Did the lack of information have to do with the fact she married into the family? Even still, there wasn't a single background or basic information about the woman. Queen Amelia's mysterious aroma bled into the records. 

In the third box Phoenix discovered nothing important, merely a history of the various injuries from the royal's lives. She placed the third box back to rest until the next visitor.

Her shoes shuffled through the stacks of shelves and towards the exit when her eye caught a box to her left labeled "treasury." Her whole body shifted direction and she tapped her feet together, paused, and leaned forward, intensely staring at the box. 

Inside was a detailed description of how much the royal family was worth. Never had Phoenix seen so many numbers in a row. 

The only mines in Domum were near the Highlands, so gems in the Lowlands were usually fake. Phoenix flipped through the pages of rings, bracelets, and coffers, noting that each jewel was real. Past all the small jewels she finally found something promising: crowns. The last page was dedicated to the Queen's infamous black crown. Unlike every other piece, it had no price tag on it. Only one thing was written in the description. 

Queen Amelia's crown: Burning Stone

Burning Stone? Phoenix had never heard of that material. Was that the same "stone" she overheard in the conversation? Phoenix flipped through the remaining pages in hopes of discovering more, but there was nothing else. A soft sigh escaped her; the box thudded heavily as she put it back. Her hand tucked itself under her chin while her feet strolled out of the room.

"Best to ice that for a night," Phoenix instructed Hughes while passing him.

  He nodded sheepishly and gave a small "thanks."

A story about the royal family was coming together.

The story involved this "Burning Stone," secrecy matched by nothing save the royals themselves.