Les wiped his forehead with his sleeve. With every step that he took, he felt like he was being set on fire. And before he knew it, his hair was soaked with sweat, covering his line of vision. The stinging gaze and murmurs of those around him burnt into his skin. He felt like he was being strangled, and his head was spinning as he couldn’t breathe while his leg burned in pain from his unhealed wound.
‘Haven’t you ever thought that it’s your own fault? Don’t you think that if it weren’t for you, things wouldn’t have resulted in such a terrible outcome?’
The prince’s mocking voice echoed in his head. Les wiped his wet forehead with his sleeve again, and placed a hand over his mouth to stop himself from groaning out loud. Then he dragged his shaking leg and walked on to somewhere dark, like an insect avoiding the light, far away from the murmurs that wanted to eat him alive.
He sighed as he couldn’t hold back the pain any longer and plopped down on the spot. He was on the beach where the sea water was starting to rise. The spectacular palace used for royal retreats here at the fine white sand beaches of Notter Bay stood distinctly in his view. Abruptly, the gushing salty waves hit against his throbbing leg. At the sudden surge of pain that left him breathless, he grabbed his legs and curled up in a fetal position unable to hold back his groans.
The commissioning officer of the Kingdom of Decant, who was his superior was a terrible smoker. Often, he would tie Les to the ceiling, light the Feitan cigars and let the suffocating scents fill up the small room. Les would cry out until he lost his voice while his tied-up wrists peeled and his shoulders dislocated.
No matter how much he begged or cried or even remained expressionless, the officer would pick a tool like an emotionless machine, check his state under the shaking lamp then stab him with it. The piercing pain, the heat underneath his skin the moment his tendons were cut, the burning sensation that never disappeared even after the knife was pulled out, the blood that covered the floor—his blood, all of it made him sick.
Then the voice would call his name with a familiarity which reminded him of his teacher at the military academy.
‘Kishir.’
‘Just give up and join us.’
He knew everything would stop as soon as he agreed, but Les hadn’t. Now it felt like a distant memory from another life. But every time he took a step, his crushed bones and cut tendons that had missed their chance for surgery reminded him of that moment. His torn leg, as though it had been dissected, with every step reminded him of it and made him regret it.
He had chosen silence, and this was the price to pay.
A disabled leg. A hopeless future. A bad reputation. And a life that was in the hands of the royals.
The moment he was fully exposed and executed by the words of those present at the banquet, he felt like he had fallen to the lowest point in his life. Then the princess had burst that thought by kindly engaging him in a conversation.
‘Actually, my brother has mentioned you a lot.’
His hands shook. What did she hear? How much more could he fall from where he was now?
‘Do you want to dance with me?’
A voice full confidence that hadn’t even considered rejection to be an option. He knew best that there wasn’t an inch of himself that could attract a woman with his current condition, so what could be the princess’ reason?
Surely, she must have considered him a toy that she could play with as she wished. There was no other plausible reason for her to show him any interest. It was a revolting thought. If the princess truly wanted him, the fact that he had no choice in the matter drove him into despair. This was not the reason why he had held out and kept silent until the end. This was not the kind of life he had wished for when he had desperately struggled and run away from his death.
The waves crashed against his feet. The tide was rising and soon it had reached his ankle. Then all of a sudden as though he was possessed by something, Les headed straight with his aching footsteps.
*
After Les Kishir fled from the banquet, Leticia struggled to get away from the wave of crowds that approached her. She found the table her club members were seated at, and Cersei approached her, out of breath.
“Princess, did you just get rejected for the first time—”
“No! I didn’t, okay?”
“Oh my! Oh my! You really did get rejected! Oh! what in the world?”
Her surprised giggling irritated Leticia but Cersei seemed unbothered. The banquet that had been getting boring and had prompted her idea had born fruit. There was no one who could dare to refuse Princess Leticia, but they all had lived to see the day when someone did!