Chapter Four

The man who sleeps in the womb of a Palace was never really born.

—Queen Busaba of Thailand

The Prince sat in the white, sun-streaked room, running his long fingers along the delicate strings. His heart pounded, and he closed his eyes as he played. The harp was a majestic instrument, in his opinion. His was large and carved from solid, glowing ivory. The strings were taut, but almost ghostly in faint light-- like wisps, or the last breaths of one left in the cold. He tapped one foot to the rhythm; it was slow, haunting, and mesmerizing-- like melting glass. With its glistening ripple of sound, it was the auditory manifestation of water, of soft white falls crashing into a sapphire lake strewn with tender pink lilies. As he played, he forgot the world around him. He forgot his father, a wrinkled drunk they dared to call Emperor. He forgot his mother, a scowling, bird-boned Empress. He forgot his squabbling cousins. He forgot the Palace and all its silver, all its puttering servants and ancient swords and dusty jewels. Everything else collided into one pulsing, forgettable shadow. He only felt the warmth of his breath, and the rhythm of the strings.

"Hinata-Sama?"

He continued playing. Baka! Whatever it is, it can certainly...!

"Hinata-Sama," The young woman's voice was louder, closer. Her slippers slapped against the floor. "Your Imperial Highness, you have a letter."

The Prince played louder, his song more jagged and strident. The servant set the envelope on a glass coffee-table, shoving her fingers in his ears.

"Hinata-Sama!" she cried, "Did you hear what I said?!"

The Prince sighed, cursing under his breath. He stopped playing and turned towards her.

"A letter," he scoffed, "Haven't they got the message? Nobody writes letters anymore!"

The servant clasped her hands together, a smile dancing on her full lips. She was a pale, petite girl with a large forehead and dark, glittering eyes.

"But doesn't that feel more special?" she asked, "That people take the time to write to you?"

The Prince shook his head, plucking a sad note.

"I felt more special," he whispered, "When we were together."

"I remember," she whispered, "That night, gazing at the stars. I was your first and only…."

He lifted a hand.

"My first, and the only one this sweet and beautiful."

Kanako walked over to him, rubbing the knots out of his shoulders. He grunted in satisfaction.

"I just wanted to thank you," she murmured, "For all you've done— for me and my family. We didn't deserve that big a house!"

"Ahh…." He turned his head slightly and kissed her cheek. "I am indebted to my servants; you do so much."

"I bought you a cologne."

"Well…it smells sweeter, more like you. You know, honey, I'm composing a new tune." He plucked the strings smoothly. " 'The Lovely Maid.'"

She kissed his cheek back, and he blushed, rubbing the spot with one hand.

"Then you are kind and beloved by those beneath you…a trait the people should respect."

The Prince pulled away from her.

"Don't play games with me, Kanako. The people think I'm stupid and you know it."

"With all these letters? Most people don't bother writing letters to those they...hate. Especially not a Prince. You're every woman's fairy-tale!"

"Have you read them?"

The woman twirled a long lock of black hair.

"Well, no...that would be a crime against His Imperial Highness."

"Oh, cut the crap," groaned the Prince, burying his face in his hands, "They write to complain. And if they don't, they're stupid. I'm a man, dammit! For once, I want to be alone!"

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, "Wh-What do you want me to do?"

Brangg! Brangg! Brangg! He purposely played a dull, heavy tone on his harp. She laughed.

"Oh, you like that?" he joked, playing the same dreadful tone, "It's a new tune I'm composing… 'The Nagging Maid!"'

Kanako regretted laughing. The sound irritated her until she clapped her hands over her ears.

"Burn them!" he snapped, "Burn the letters, with all the others! See if anyone cares!"

"But this is...."

Ka-wip. The Prince rose and slapped the air. She dodged it; he did this often, this pretending to slap her. Still, she was amazed he never did.

"R-Right away," Kanako said, bowing low, "Thank you."

She closed the door softly as she walked down the long, glossy hall. She paused. Smiled. One flamingo-bright fingernail pressed a clear button hidden behind one large samurai sword. A large, silver oval drawer slid out from the wall, one bulging with frayed, yellow envelopes. She set the new one down, starting a new pile. As Kanako pressed the button again, she thought of all those unread words, all those unthought thoughts people wanted to give the Prince. Tears glimmered in her eyes. I can't imagine how happy he would be, to know how long he lives in our hearts!

XXX

All my life, the old lady's spoiled me rotten. Why should I expect any different? When I was a little girl, I once broke her favorite fairy-skull. It was tiny, white, and delicate— and I swear it was an accident. Mom freaked out, but I think she was more worried about her Maman (Grandma) going off on her. Grandma scolded me a bit, just to look responsible, but that evening she bought me a silk pillowcase— one I still use. She always gets a lot. Always.

—from the diary of Pearl Solstice

The next morning, Pearl rose slowly. She didn't know why she felt so comfortable here; sleeping naked on the floor was a lot cooler and softer than sleeping naked in her bedroom. She slid on her corset, tight-lacing it to the smallest, least breathable waist, before sliding on a pink blouse and blue skirt.

"Good morning, Grandma."

"Good morning...Sacrebleu!"

Bathilde spilled brown tea all over the table. Her eyes bulged behind angular, cat-eye glasses.

"What's the matter, Grandma?"

"Y-Your waist...." Bathilde's finger trembled as she pointed it. "What happened?"

"That's my corset," Pearl chuckled, "I didn't wear it on the way in. I'm kinda straight up and down, you know what I mean?"

"Yes. But that's a bit much, dear."

"It's the new style these days...a fairy-waist. A waist as small as a fairy's."

Bathilde frowned.

"You can keep that, ma bichette. I'd rather be fat and cozy." She tapped her chin. "Besides, that was the style when I was a girl."

"The early 1900s, right?"

"Yes." Bathilde shook her head. "A wasp-waist. My sisters used to call it the 'fly's ballsack' or something or other....Strange how these things come back after so many years."

Bathilde lifted an emerald-ringed hand, causing the ivory kettle to pour hot water into two rose-painted teacups.

"Since you might forget your candle-casting skills in the process, you should learn a different skill, so you know how it feels."

"I'm sorry, Grandma, but that doesn't work for me."

The old witch's dark eyes flashed with rage.

"The only way to experience my magic, if I give it to you," she said, "Is to learn another sort."

"Not today, I hope."

Bathilde bent forward, drilling her dark eyes deep into Pearl's.

"Listen, ma bichette," she snapped, "I will die sooner than you think. Some of my power must go to you."

"You told me the other night that I might lose mine in the process."

"But you would also get new ones-- better ones."

"Th-There can't be anything better, Grandma."

"It's all you know, though, so you must have a range. You can't be a one-trick witch."

"So what do I learn?

"Water-gazing," Hajime chimed in, "My specialty. Follow me, Miss Pearl."

Pearl followed the old wizard into the soft green forest, until they reached a small pond. The water was clear and blue-white. Hajime dropped a pebble into it, watching it glimmer in the faint sunlight.

"One ripple," he announced, "One means a good day; two means a good week. Three is a good month. And four is well...bad."

Pearl nodded and frowned. Interesting, but not as fun as carromancy.

She turned back to the water. With his fingers, Hajime made it dance-- swirling and shifting into various shapes-- small birds, jumping fish, glittering fairies. She gazed at her trembling reflection.

"If I were to become Princess," she said, thinking aloud, "I would hire someone to perform these tricks for me."

Hajime's voice bubbled with the water.

"As servant to the Imperial Family," he said, "I hate to tell you this, but there's no redeeming qualities in the Prince. You'd be better off marrying a butler!"

Pearl giggled into her hand. Hajime frowned.

"He's not brave or smart or even interesting. What is it about him?"

"He's rich!"

She laughed even harder this time. Hajime's mouth opened slightly.

"You can't be serious...! As the daughter of Amarantha, as the granddaughter of Bathilde, certainly you know better than that!"

"What do you mean, I can't have a little fun?"

"Well, your logic is...below your station. Like a spoiled little girl, to put it bluntly."

How rude! Pearl eyed his right hand. She hadn't noticed before, but he didn't have a pinky finger on that hand. She wondered how he lost it-- magic battle? Fishing accident? She looked away and focused on the current topic.

"If it worked for women years ago, it can work for me now."

"That's where you're wrong. They think it works, but it doesn't."

"But what if it does?"

Hajime unleashed a soft, cooing chuckle.

"Oh, now! Back to the task at hand...." He splashed the water with two fingers. "We'll start with the basics. Grab two more pebbles and throw them in-- one at a time."

She turned to the pond's edge. It was shrouded in several small, smooth stones. Most of these were pale-gray or star-white, but a few black ones glowed like beetles in between them. She grabbed the ones in one hand and dropped them slowly-- one at a time. The water swelled into soft round ripples.

"See that?" Hajime asked, pointing at them, "The bigger the ripple, the more your energy will spread. The soul can even ripple water from the afterlife."

"Is that good or bad?"

He chuckled.

"That depends on your energy, Miss Pearl." He nodded as the water rolled from blue-white into a rich, deep Celtic green. Pearl rubbed her eyes to make sure it was real.

"Wh-What's that?" she gasped.

Hajime stepped backward and folded his hands behind his back.

"The change in color is something I discovered on my own. I'm still not sure what they all mean, but the cool colors are better than the warm ones, at least, in my experience. They signal peace, while warm colors signal conflict."

"I see. Green's my favorite color anyway."

"Really? I thought you'd go for a more opulent...option."

"What could be more opulent than green? Grandma says that's what the giant kings and queens wear."

"But without that association, it would mean nothing to you."

"No. It's a pretty, soothing color anyway."

The old wizard folded his hands across his belly.

"Focus on what you want soothed," he told her, "If you focus on the chaos, it will prove pointless."

"Water itself is chaotic," she said, "Usually. Storming, rising, falling. I never see it like this."

"Water is all about changing form to fit your needs. And if you need soothing, how could you deny yourself?"

She stared deep into the pond, meditating on its clear, endless beauty. Hajime smiled.

"Shall we continue?" he asked.

"O-Of course!"

"Good," Hajime told her, rubbing her shoulder, "Let's keep going."

The lesson seemed to drag on. Pearl did what Hajime said, and clung to each word, but she couldn't wrap her mind around the hollow inferno of water. She learned to drop glossy pebbles in a pool and watch the ripples swell. She shifted blue into green, pink, and gold, but still prayed for home. She wished she was reading Tatler on her laptop right now, sipping a hot coffee as Rudy chirped from his cage. She wished she could hear Dad ramble about history, while Mom giggled and arranged several colorful flowers in a clear vase. She wished she felt the warmth of candlelight, watching the gold-orange flame flicker as she collected wax in a small shiny bowl. She wished she could hold Grandma's wrinkled hand and hear her crusty laugh as they plucked daisies together, telling stories of elves in enchanted mountains. She wished she could do what she wanted, when she wanted. Hajime seemed like a nice old man, and he was perfect for Grandma, but...she wrinkled her nose...do I really need to be here?

"So you prefer fire to water," Hajime pointed out, "You're an interesting one, Miss Pearl."

Pearl shuddered, suddenly ripped from her reverie. Hajime sat smiling at the clear water, throwing a few panko crumbs to glossy koi fish. Pearl tried to distract herself with the way the fish fanned out their thick, spherical lips.

"I...how do you know?" she asked.

"I hear thoughts," he said, "Not in a crazy way, but whenever I will...it's something I've done for years."

"Oh. I...I'm sorry. I just...I'm not sure about this."

The old wizard rose to his feet, loudly popping his joints.

"It's all right. If you were sure about everything, I'd be worried about you."

Pearl looked down at her feet, at the sunlight glinting on her shiny black shoes.

"I...Grandma was always so much fun. We would explore caves together, collect herbs and crystals, tell stories about elves and giants...I just don't want to lose her."

"Neither do I, Miss Pearl. Trust me, we are very much in love."

He winked. Pearl blushed.

"I figured!"

"And I know you're scared of new powers."

"I...I guess I'm just scared of everything right now."

"It's okay. Take your time." He nodded. "Do you need some time alone?"

"That would be great, Hajime. Domo arigato."

The wizard smiled, impressed at her pronunciation.

"See you soon, Miss Pearl."

Lifting two wrinkled hands, he vanished into the cool evening air. Pearl smiled, running a stick through the soft water. She watched the fish wriggle their bright bodies as pink water-lilies glistened in the fading sunlight. She closed her eyes, and a warm tear dripped down her cheek. Who is he kidding....I'm not strong enough for this!

XXX

"The Prince may be thirty-four years old," remarked Ayako, a local old woman, "But he's never used a microwave. Never driven a car. Never paid for something himself. And they expect him to lead the country?! At least his cousin is better-adjusted….

The Imperial Family is never alone. There are maids and butlers everywhere-- on each floor of the massive Palace. At an early age, an Imperial family member grows accustomed to being surrounded by black-suited servants everywhere he turns, and thus there is no privacy, so the social filter is broken. Imperial servants listen to everything with stony faces-- from arguments to first periods. They are present, but not really there, as standing with lance-straight backs pressed against the wall, pretending not to be fascinated by the ways of an Emperor.

Supper was served at a long, cherry-wood table, with soft amber candlelight and a string quartet performing in the parlor. The Imperial family dined together, but this time the Prince's Cousin was absent. The servants weren't sure why she was gone, but marriage, they noted, was a big focus of the Crown.

"Hinata," rasped the Emperor, "It's high time you got married."

"Of course," chuckled the Empress, "You're too handsome to die alone."

The Prince frowned as he took a bite. His parents looked old, with crinkled faces and hands. Their gray hair faded into wisps, and their eyes were duller and more glazed even than usual. Not as strong as I thought!

"Is that a problem?"

His parents smiled at each other, then at him.

"We've chosen a princess for you to marry," the Empress announced, "You'll love her."

The Prince watched Kanako walk through, dusting the furniture. She turned and winked, before walking away."

"Who is this?" he demanded, resuming his previous mood, "Don't play games with me!"

"The Princess of Thailand."

The Prince's jaw dropped.

"Princess...Achara of Thailand?"

"Yes," responded the Emperor, "You've seen her before. Remember the Swedish Queen's coronation?"

"But...how I can ever...?"

"It'll be easy," the Empress assured.

"Achara's a good girl," the Emperor added, "She gives to charity. She's an opera singer. What more could you want?"

"I...." The Prince blinked. "She's...too pretty, if that makes sense."

"Impossible!" hissed the Empress, "Every man wants a pretty woman."

"Not to the point she is. It threatens a man."

"Is this about what her father did last autumn?!" snapped the Emperor.

An old butler refilled his glass. He raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in the discussion.

"Of course not! They all sleep with ladyboys over there! That was nothing, Dad!"

The Emperor reached for his wine.

"You may not inherit the throne, but you're still a prince. Tradition runs deep, and if you refuse this match, it won't be good for us."

"He's right, dear," the Empress agreed, "What will the people think of us, with one difficult but talented niece and one spoiled, er, NEET of a son?"

The Prince sighed, sounding more annoyed than offended.

"You can't compare me to Sadako!"

"The people do," she added, "Even the ones who pretend to be poor. It's only in your best interest, dear."

Kanako walked in again, this time dusting the golden frame of a painting.

"Nice work, Kanako," the Prince said.

She blushed, giggling into her hand.

"Th-Thank you very much, Your Imperial Highness."

"Kanako!" snapped the Empress, "You should know not to dust during dinner! You'll make us sick!"

"I-I'm sorry, Your Imperial Majesty."

She bowed low and vanished into another room. The Prince raised an eyebrow, throat tightening with rage.

"Mom, you didn't have to say that. Kanako's a nice girl."

"Nice doesn't win you the favor of the people, Hinata."

The Prince took a bite of steak. Before long, he was coughing violently, then spitting the soggy hunk in the middle of the table. His parents recoiled in shock.

"B-Bring me the cooks!" he spluttered, "How dare they humiliate me in front of my own parents!"

He snapped his fingers at the old butler. The man nodded and vanished downstairs. He returned with the female cook and her young male assistant. A stocky, tired-looking lady, the cook trembled and rubbed her callused hands nervously.

"Who cooked this?!" demanded the Prince.

"Please be gentle with my son," the cook murmured, adjusting her ponytail, "He's still learning."

"So he cooked it?"

The assistant stepped forward.

"Yes, Your Imperial Highness."

The cook's assistant was a chubby, handsome man with thick hair and rosy cheeks.When he saw the Prince, he bowed low.

"Your Imperial Highness," he breathed, "I am but a humble servant who cooks and shares his food with the most noble family in Japan. Never in all my days, have I imagined...!"

"I'm not complimenting you, Tadashi," the Prince snarled, "This steak was cold!"

He threw the soggy piece at Tadashi— the same piece that had been in his mouth— and jabbed a finger at the young man.

"Eat it!" he shouted, swinging a knife in the air.

"Oh?" Tadashi asked, glancing at his mother.

"You heard His Imperial Highness!" snapped the Cook, folding thick arms, "Go on."

Tadashi squeezed his eyes shut and popped the saliva-soaked wad of beef into his mouth. As he chewed, nausea bubbled in his throat. But he felt the Prince's eyes on him— cold and constant— prickling like icicles.

Tadashi swallowed. The Prince's brows shot up. He tipped his head back and erupted into wild, high-pitched laughter. His cheeks burned red and tears streamed down his cheeks. Even his parents exchanged confused looks; they'd never seen their son act like this before.

"I-It's cold." Tadashi bowed. "My utmost apologies, Your Imperial Highness."

"Of course," the Prince sighed, "You're a brave man, Tadashi. That makes you special in my eyes." He grinned. "Very special."

The kitchen assistant nodded.

"Th-Thank you."

He and his mother bowed before vanishing downstairs. The Prince ate in silence as his parents watched him with restless eyes that feared something about to erupt.