Chapter 146: Arc 4-Royal Pains-Part 45

It’s over, but I’m not taking any chances. Who knows? A dragon could swoop down from the sky and Marcus could escape in the chaos. I’m sure the prince will find a way to blame me for anything that goes wrong.

Kierra gives in to my paranoia and sends one of her helpers to report the incident. Someone should be around shortly to collect the troublemakers. Lucky me, thanks to my performance, I get to relax. Alana as well, but she is still nervous after the sudden violence, pacing close to the “prisoners” while keeping a wary eye on Browyn. The prince remains sullen. A hand occasionally rubs his side, remembering his short beating.

Marcus is strangely calm, seated with his back straight and chin raised. Proud before his execution. It’s so strange I find my interest peaked and wander over. “Thinking good thoughts?”

He briefly glances toward me before he scoffs. “Go away.”

“Humor me. This may be my only chance to talk to a royal killer. Well, a potential one anyway. Come on, I want to know what you were thinking.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. I doubt anyone else is going to stop to ask about your feelings before they remove your head.”

He looks back at me and his gaze lingers. I give him what I hope is a friendly smile.

“My whole life…I’ve been told I was worthless,” he starts slowly. “Not in words, of course. For nobles, it is always what they don’t say you must pay attention to. My father is a rich and powerful man. An important man. For his children, he is an immovable pillar of tradition and expectation. But those expectations were considerably lacking when it came to me.

“My two elder brothers received several tutors, their days were scheduled to the last minute. My sisters were hardly better off in the care of my aunts. As for me…nothing. My tutors weren’t strict and left me plenty of time to play, I was given many toys, and took frequent trips into the city.”

I snort. “You asshole. Are you complaining about your luxurious childhood?” Apologize to all the underprivileged children in the world. “I feel so bad for you.”

He glares at me. Absolutely terrifying, really. “There is a saying. The battered tool is more loved than the shining spare. My brothers’ lives were difficult. Some might call it cruel, as my father was not forgiving when they failed to meet his expectations. But they had purpose. For high nobles, that is as close as it comes to love. Me? I lived as a Ferraro son is expected to but there was nothing beyond it.”

His eyes are narrowed, lips tight as he stares at the ground. “I tried. With the hopeful naivete of a child, I thought if I proved myself worthy of his attention, my father would take notice. I listened by the door when my brothers sat with their tutors, committing their lessons to memory. I would mumble each fact a dozen times to make sure I had it word for word. So at dinner, when my father asked my brothers what they learned that day, I could jump in and spout the answers. Do you know what he did?

“He ignoredme. He gave me this hateful look, as if a dog had dressed in his son’s clothes and sat at his table. My excitement was instantly cowled as I shrank into my seat. I told myself that it was because I had spoken out of turn. From then on, I did everything properly, became a model child. He spared me his harsh words but I was less than air to him. Eventually, I stopped—”

“Oh, for saints’ sake, would you get on with it?” I huff. He glares at me but the indignation slides off my shrugging shoulders. “I want to know about what the prince did that was so bad that you’d ruin your life to kill him, not your daddy issues. Get to the good stuff.”

“Heartless creature. Why would you ask if you won’t listen in full?”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have asked. Don’t know why I bothered when I have the answer. No one who commits treason is right in the head.”

“I am not crazy!” Marcus tries to surge to his feet but one of Kierra’ helpers is there with a heavy hand on his shoulder. He scowls at me. “Imagine this, you arrogant bitch. Imagine being sold away, no, gifted, like an animal. To be presented to a boy with a raised chin and that damn silver hair and be told, this is your master. Some brat’s words become your law, his mood determines your fortune. Imagine the fall from being a proud son of a marquis to nothing more than a servant.”

Yeah, that sounds terrible. “I couldn’t stand it, sure. So, why not leave? You chose the most extreme option.”

“Leave?” Marcus scoffs. “Who dares claim they are too good to serve the crown? Who dares to reject the honor of licking His Highness’ heels?”

“Run. Go find some dungeon town and disappear.”

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“And what? Spend my life crawling through those monster pits? Become a laborer? Stand on sore feet behind a store counter with a fake smile, a servant to the whole city? I didn’t want any kind of life. I wanted the life owed to me, the life of a Ferraro son! Even if my father never looked at me, I could have made something of myself! But because of him—”

“Alright, take a deep breath.” His entire face is red with restrained fury and his voice is steadily getting louder. Samuel glanced over but quickly turned away with a scowl. Last thing I want is the two of them getting into something, as both have shown poor impulse control.

“How does assassinating him get you that life? You’re dead.”

“My life was already over. Father would never allow me to reject my servitude. No matter where I went or tried to accomplish, his agents would make sure I failed and lived a miserable life in retaliation.” He sighs deeply. “I doubted my chances getting out alive. I simply wanted to take him with me.”

“Hmm.” When he says it like that, I can feel the slightest amount of empathy. Saints know what I would have done if my father tried to ‘sell me off’. It would have happened eventually and I had plans of running away myself, but I never worried about being tracked down. He’s a little pitiful.

“The things I had to endure at that boy’s behest. Playing to his inflated ego. Listening to his endless diatribes about the first prince, unquestionably his better in every way, and his useless ambitions for the throne. Maintaining my composure as he rambles about his ridiculous crush, watching a damn prince pine after a single woman. If he had an inkling of how to wield his power, women would throw themselves—”

“Alright, I don’t want to hear about that. There’s really nothing else?”

“What do you want me to say?”

I don’t have anything specific but I was expecting more. Yes, being a servant isn’t fun or glamorous, but I would never throw away my life because I had to cater to a brat.

Where’s the trauma? Is the prince a closet sadist who whipped the skin off your back for fun? Did he sell you to perverts for favors? Did he make you eat nothing but pickled vegetables?

I have to say, I’m disappointed. Just another self-absorbed noble throwing a tantrum. “You know what, Marcus, I agree with your father.” I smile as he flinches, staring up at me with wide eyes. “You are worthless. He gives you a place in the palace, by the side of the prince, and the only thing you can do is gripe about it.”

“You—”

“You berate Samuel for wasting his opportunities. Well, why didn’t you show him what to do?” Where would I be if Kierra took one look at my floundering self in the Enchanted Forest and concluded I wasn’t worth the time? All of my potential, flushed down the drain.

“Who are you to judge me?” he spits out. “A daughter from a low noble house. Even as a servant, I’m worth a hundred of you. Your entire life isn’t enough to touch my heels.”

“Yeah? Too bad you’ll never know if you’re right. Dead men don’t get to see tomorrow.” I crouch down, making our eyes level. “Someone you think is so far beneath you is going to live a long, happy life, enjoying all the wealth and power you wished you could have, while worms eat your rotting corpse. You’ll be lucky if your father doesn’t strike your name from the family tree. You won’t just be buried, you’ll be forgotten, like you never existed.”

I grin at his pale face, slapping his cheek playfully before standing up. Serves him right. Pity? Don’t joke. I still remember what this bastard did. I’ll show up at his execution just to laugh as the executioner raises his axe.

You’re lucky to get off with a death this light. If it were up to me, I’d feed you piece by piece to the dogs. Over the course of several months that you’d spend chained in a dark, dank basement where you can hear them baying for your blood throughout the night.

And that’s what I can think of without any time to plan.

I hope the saints’ light never reaches your soul. Spend a short eternity in the Abyss and hope you’re a beautiful girl in your next life. Maybe then I’ll have pity for you.

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