Return
Faylen runs, mind aswirl with visions of her best friend dead on the ground, dozens of possibilities flashing through her head. Lyon could be lying -- she wouldn't put it past the little bitch to screw with her head -- but that doesn't mean Roy's safe. Doesn't mean a damn thing.
Lyon had nearly killed Roy right after that duel, after all. Only Sialeeds' orders had stilled her hand, kept that quivering blade from slicing his head off while Dinn held him down, hand wrapped in brown and silver hair and yanking up. Just swallowing had looked painful; she'll never forget how his neck had bulged and shifted while he breathed, skin pulled taut and straining.
If they've already -- unbidden, an image of Roy sprawled out the same way the real Prince had been floods her mind, the only differences how brown peeks through bloody silver, the pools spreading beneath his body.
But that's stupid -- surely they wouldn't execute him while still dressed like that. Once he's outlived his usefulness as a decoy, surely they'll strip him bare first, killing him as Roy -- or just a nameless bandit, another victim of the war.
After all, it's not like he'd be important to any of them, right?
Twenty steps, ten steps, one step more and she's in the Prince's room, sees a silver-topped head and her heart stops, starting again only when he turns and she sees gold instead of blue.
"Roy...!"
The faux Prince frowns, tapping part of his weapon against his shoulder.
"Faylen, we've been over this. It's 'Prince' now."
She matches his frown, wishing she didn't have to agree. Wishing she could tear that stupid wig off and pitch it out the window, followed by that idiotic costume -- remind him who he is, that this is just...
...This is all that's keeping them alive.
"Of course... Prince."
He nods, pretending not to notice the gritted teeth or the fists trembling at her sides. She's not the only one who needs time to adjust.
------
Worlds away, Faylon wonders where his sister's gone this time.
Lyon had nearly killed Roy right after that duel, after all. Only Sialeeds' orders had stilled her hand, kept that quivering blade from slicing his head off while Dinn held him down, hand wrapped in brown and silver hair and yanking up. Just swallowing had looked painful; she'll never forget how his neck had bulged and shifted while he breathed, skin pulled taut and straining.
If they've already -- unbidden, an image of Roy sprawled out the same way the real Prince had been floods her mind, the only differences how brown peeks through bloody silver, the pools spreading beneath his body.
But that's stupid -- surely they wouldn't execute him while still dressed like that. Once he's outlived his usefulness as a decoy, surely they'll strip him bare first, killing him as Roy -- or just a nameless bandit, another victim of the war.
After all, it's not like he'd be important to any of them, right?
Twenty steps, ten steps, one step more and she's in the Prince's room, sees a silver-topped head and her heart stops, starting again only when he turns and she sees gold instead of blue.
"Roy...!"
The faux Prince frowns, tapping part of his weapon against his shoulder.
"Faylen, we've been over this. It's 'Prince' now."
She matches his frown, wishing she didn't have to agree. Wishing she could tear that stupid wig off and pitch it out the window, followed by that idiotic costume -- remind him who he is, that this is just...
...This is all that's keeping them alive.
"Of course... Prince."
He nods, pretending not to notice the gritted teeth or the fists trembling at her sides. She's not the only one who needs time to adjust.
------
Worlds away, Faylon wonders where his sister's gone this time.