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Red-violet eyes stared across the window to the small castle with a rounded and cemented roof made out of gold and marble. He sighed sadly, arms crossed on the window pane and resting his chin on top of them.
[Little Crumb?]
“Grandfather?”
[Yes?]
“Tell me a story.”
♔
Deckard Belgoat, just few days after he was born, was proclaimed the Crown Prince of the Belgoat Empire. But no songs were sung, no fireworks lit up the sky, and no smiles were made. For at the day of his birth, his mother died for him.
Yereninovica Susuvia Lebovny Belgoat, Empress of Belgoat, died seconds after holding him in her arms and giving a single kiss on his head. The raw divinity coming from the unborn babe was too much for the young empress who could barely handle it despite being proclaimed priestess and blessed by Raulus himself.
Deckard, she had whispered, live a happy life this time.
Confusion was amongst the people inside the birthing chamber. Confusion except for three people. And one of those was Deckard’s own father and the empress’s husband, Erudian Lu Soledo Belgoat, Emperor of Belgoat.
Before she uttered her last words for her son, before she succumbed to the hands of death, she had whispered words to husband, words unknown but to him. And till this day, only the silver-haired man in his thirty-sixth year only knew the contents of his wife’s whispers.
Ever since that day, it seemed like a dark cloud and a winter chill enveloped the luxurious palaces of Brashard. The smiles and warmth the young empress had brought with her disappeared with her life, and her last gift, her legacy, remained indoors.
Deckard played with the toy soldier his Uncle had given him. The small wooden shoes of the figure stepping on the metal window pane.
“I shall protect you, Princess!” Deckard exclaimed in a false voice, letting the soldier face the direction of the small palace across his window. “No monster shall harm you!”
There was no reply and Deckard sighed, shoulders slumping.
“Oh my, is His Highness planning to be a knight?”
Deckard turned his small head and sees his nursemaid, Miss Marianne. Deckard liked Miss Marianne. She always tucked him to bed with a small smile, staying with him despite the candles in his room turning into nothing but a mess of wax and the moon lowering for the sun to rise. Miss Marianne always walked him around the gardens and he would play tag with her if he could.
Deckard could still remember the day he had called Miss Marianne ‘mama’ and his nursemaid’s face turned pale, her body shook, and her fingers cold to the touch. He had just turned three, they said, and he didn’t know any better.
Later that day, Miss Marianne was nowhere to be seen and his godmother came, her golden hair catching his attention as she took him to a hallway to the third floor.
“Mama says not to go here. She says Father will be not happy.” Deckard uttered in his small voice but his godmother continued on walking.
“Deckard,” she sighed sadly. “Miss Marianne is not your mother.” She said as they stopped in the middle of the hallway.
“Yes, she is!” Deckard insisted. “She tucks me goodnight and gives me cookies and milk!”
“Deckard…” his grandmother said grimly before taking him in her arms and turning his head to a portrait he had not seen before. “Deckard, sweetling, this is your mother.”
Deckard blinked at the huge portrait of a woman in white, dressed in pretty jewels and finery. Her hair was the one that caught his attention. Pink. His eyes lowered to her face and he gasped at the prettiness of the woman who was his mother. He could not help but stare at the blue eyes which shone despite being a painting of who-knows-how-long.
“She’s mother?” he had asked, unable to tear his gaze from her. “She’s pretty.”
Divinity encircled him and he felt warm.
“Yes.” His godmother muttered in his ear. Deckard didn’t notice the crack in her voice and continues to oogle the painting.
“Where’s mother then?” he then turned to his golden godmother, “Why doesn’t she give me cookies and milk? Why don’t I see her?”
His mother mustered a teary smile and opened her mouth to respond to his innocent question.
“What are you doing here?”
His aunt had frozen and Deckard turned to the figure coming up the stairs and he beamed.
“Father!”
A scowl. “Clarice.”
“… Your Majesty.” His godmother bowed her head while Deckard smiled at his father and pointed at the painting.
“Father, father! Look! Godmother says that’s mother!” he grinned, not seeing the dark look crossing his father’s face as he stepped closer towards them. “She’s so pretty, Father! When can I see mother—“
“Quiet.”
A menacing voice and for the first time in his short life, Deckard learnt in that moment, absolute fear.
What were spiders and bugs compared to this? Not even the monster hiding under his bed had brought such a cold feeling to Deckard and he trembled in his godmother’s arms as red-violet eyes, the same colour as his, glared down on him.
“What did I say? I explicitly forbade him from entering this floor. How dare you go against me? And you even dare show him her portrait? Clarice, I value you and your husband, and I am a patient man but this…”
Deckard could feel the coldness seeping through his godmother’s clothes and he trembled with her. Deckard wanted to cry but the fear in his little body paralyzed him.
“F-F-Fath-Fath_Father…”
A glare and he whimpered, hiding his sobbing face in his grandmother’s neck.
“Get. Out.”
And Deckard could only remember his head hitting his godmother’s neck as she ran and the sharp divinity clinging to him and making him cry. A divinity came and blocked some of it but there were still some divinity that made through and hurt him.
“Your Highness?”
Deckard pulled away from his thoughts to look at his concerned nursemaid.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked as she moved away from his bed and approached him by the window, sealing it as to not let the cold come in.
“… Just tired, Miss Marianne.” He muttered underneath his breath and cradled the wooden soldier in his hands.
“Ah, yes, your teacher did say something about that.” His nursemaid smiled kindly and pushed him gently to bed. “Some sleep would do you some good, Your Highness. It’s past your bed time already.”
Deckard nodded quietly and was tucked in the bed. But as Miss Marianne sat on her chair beside his bed, as the candles died down and the flames of the fireplace dwindled, Deckard looked outside his window.
Lights.
Lights from Bellrock Palace.
“… Tell me a story, Miss Marianne.” He whispered but no response. He turned. Miss Marianne had fallen asleep. Her embroidery in her hands.
Deckard moved and set the needle and handkerchief on the table. He pulled his blanket and placed it above his nursemaid who squirmed and muttered before falling back asleep.
The crowned prince climbed down his bed and went back to his spot on the windowsill. He felt some divinity, perhaps from his grandfather, surround and embrace him.
The lights of Bellrock Palace were lit, its owner inside with his father.
Deckard folded his arms on the window and rested his cheek on top of them.
“Tell me a story, Mother.”
♔
“Hmmm~ Hmmm~” Deckard hummed as he walked on the pathways of the Imperial Garden. “Hmmm~ Hmmm grey…” he sighed and stopped in the middle of the stone path.
Just ahead of him was the entrance of Bellrock Palace. And as much as he wanted to step a single foot on its perimeter, he was forbidden to do so.
[Go on, child. See your mother.]
Deckard frowned at the voice in his head. It’s him again. The voice that claims to be his grandfather. He had heard it ever since he was little. Like after the time he had seen his mother’s portrait, the voice was there as he sobbed in Miss Marianne and Godmother Clarice’s arms, telling him his mother was happy to see him too.
He found it hard to believe that the voice would know such a thing and for a long time, he had thought it was something his mind had come up with, a voice his mind desperately maid that would speak of his wishes and wants of his mother.
It wasn’t until his Uncle Diego spoke to him did the voice have a name.
Raulus. His ancestor and the God of Belgoat. Perhaps the same person sending divinity to comfort him.
“… No.” he said quietly, kicking the stone pavement. “I want to… but I can’t.”
[And why not, Little Crumb?]
Deckard pouted and looked at the blue skies.
Eyes.
Deckard shook his head and looked back down.
“Father won’t let me.”
[I let you and your mother will as well.]
He remained silent with that.
His grandfather knew well what to hit and say to get him to listen. But even though he listened, Deckard never did anything.
Deckard huffed and went to a nearby tree to lay down underneath the shade.
[This isn’t where a crowned prince should rest his head.]
“…”
Deckard didn’t say it out loud but as he closed his eyes, he thought what he had thought ever since his Father had announced publicly his title last year.
I don’t want to be crowned prince…
Blue skies. Blue eyes. It made him want to shut his eyes more.
I just want to see my mother.
“… Tell me a story instead.”
[Again, Little Crumb? Fine. What story do you want? Oh! How about that time one of my cuties decided to ride horses? Man, that was funny.]
As his ‘grandfather’ recounted the tale, six-year old Deckard let the wind brush his hair and for a moment, just a tiny moment, let himself dream that the wind was his mother’s hands. A hand that touched him the moment he was born and never felt again.
Tell me a story of my mother…
Divinity engulfed him and he thanked his grandfather.
[Hmm?]
♔
Deckard watched silently as the children strolled around the Temple courtyard, their hands held by their parents or just their mothers… their mothers who gave their children loving and adoring smile. He frowned as a twinge of something came to his chest. He wanted that, too.
The smiles from Miss Marianne and Aunt Clarice weren’t the same as that. They looked similar, but they felt different. And Deckard knew why and he wanted more of the smile that was never given to him, nor had he seen it.
“Your Highness, there you are.”
Deckard turned his head to see his Uncle Diego with the ever-present smile on his face.
Diego Schumart, alongside with Uncle Iven, were the father-figures that Deckard had. When he had reached five, his trainings had begun but instead of his father taking in the responsibility, he had sent him away to his uncles, and even to Uncle Perrik. While Uncle Iven handled his political lessons, and Uncle Perrik taught him the basics of sword fighting, his Uncle Schumart was the one who taught him lessons on Divinity.
Something that Father should be doing. All those things… it should be Father… he thought grimly, looking down on the floor as he went to approach his dark-haired uncle who seemed to see his upset state and tried to cheer him up.
“I saw you looking at the children, do you wish to play amongst them? You’re young, Your Highness, it’ll be good to make some friends or two.”
Deckard side-eyed the carefree children. He could see some of the parents eyeing him and whispering to their children and he knew what was passing through their ears.
‘Befriend the prince when he comes.’
[I’m sure there’s some kids that want to be friends with you. You need some people around your age, Little Crumb.]
But I don’t need them. I need something else. I want something else.
“… No, I’m fine.” Deckard said to his uncle, not seeing the downturn of his lips and the sadness in those yellow orbs. “You said we were going to pray in the Priests’ Prayer Room?”
“Yes,” his uncle said, the smile returning to his face. “In fact, your mother—“ Uncle Diego stopped himself as Deckard’s ears perked up.
“My mother? What is it? What happened?”
He could see his Uncle gulping down, a shaky smile replacing the joyous one. “Was a good person, Deckard. Now, come. Let’s go to the prayer room, shall we?” his uncle changed the topic, his hand on his small back, ushering him to the direction of the said prayer room.
He looked at his uncle, a plead on his face, a clear look of desperation, but his uncle hesitantly ignored the look and continued looking forward to the direction of the prayer room. He could feel divinity coming for him and it was soothing.
I don’t want your comfort!
Deckard wanted to cry.
Tell me the story! Tell me a story!
♔
“Miss Marianne?” he called to his nursemaid who was once again tucking him in his bed. “Can you sing me Mother’s Lullaby?”
His nursemaid’s face turned pale and with her hands brushing against his cheek, he could feel how cold she turned when she heard his words.
“Her… Lullaby? Your Majesty…” Miss Marianne said nervously, “Now…?”
Deckard kept quiet as he watched his nanny, his mother-figure ponder over his little request.
It wouldn’t have been so little if ears heard and told the emperor, ‘the Prince’s nursemaid is singing Her Majesty’s lullaby’.
Deckard didn’t know why but anything that had to do with his mother was hush and shushed. Miss Marianne had always been cautious with his questions, answering with whispers or barely saying anything at all. Deckard knew that his father was grieving still. His uncles and godparents, and even Miss Marianne told him he was too smart but it was clear as day and as he thought about his encounter with his father with his mother’s portrait, it became a fact for the young boy.
Does Father hate me because of Mother?
Perhaps his sad thoughts appeared on his face as a soft hand caressed his cheeks once more. His red-violet eyes went to meet his maid’s brown ones and it seemed like Miss Marianne had aged for ten years so suddenly.
“Softly, yes?” she said, a nervous smile showing and Deckard nodded in understanding.
Miss Marianne took a deep breath before sitting on the edge of his bed and sang in a hushed tone,
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey…”
Deckard closed his eyes, dreaming of a pink-haired woman with soft blue eyes, smiling brightly at him. In his dream, it was she who sang to him, it was her hand that held him, and it was her who was his happiness. He felt something cold against his forehead.
Tell me a story, Mother.
But nothing came out of her lips but songs of sunshine and love.
Love he had never felt.
♔
Deckard opened the book he took from the library and stared at one image in particular.
Empress Yereninovica Susuvia Belgoat of House Lebovny of the Kingdom of Lebovny.
His small pale hand caressed the image of the pink-haired woman smiling softly, a sceptre in one hand and the other holding his father’s. Deckard stared at his mother momentarily before shifting his eyes towards his father with hesitation.
He had never seen his father with such an expression.
In the small image that the book provided, his father looked happy, soft, and content. So different from when he would see him. Deckard, even if he was the crowned prince and the only family left that his father has, wasn’t allowed to meet with the emperor without permission.
And whenever he did, it was during balls and gatherings and his father would always have a dark and solemn look in his face, barely even giving him a glance. When Deckard was by his side, it felt like he didn’t exist at all and it hurt him deeply.
The only parent he has, doesn’t acknowledge him as his son, but an heir only.
Deckard caressed the pages and recited a paragraph by heart.
“Empress Yereninovica was loved by the people because of her kind heart and beautiful appearance…” he muttered softly in the safe and quiet confines of his four-walled bedroom. “She was beloved as not only the Princess of Lebovny or Empress of Belgoat, but as a wife by her husband,…” Deckard stopped. He couldn’t say it… he can… but he didn’t want to.
He looked at the serene face of his mother.
“… Tell me a story… something different. Something from you.”
A frozen smile was all he had in return.
He felt the familiar divinity from Judetta come to embrace him again and he closed his eyes in pain, lips wobbling and tears threatening to fall.
♔
The lights were on again.
Every night, without fail, the lights of Bellrock Palace were lit. And it was so bright one would think a sun was hiding inside its walls. But they would slowly disappear when the moon was at its peak, and Deckard still doesn’t understand why it was lit and unlit.
I wish I could go inside…
Everyone knew what was inside the palace.
The sarcophagus of the Empress. Deckard’s mother.
Deckard turned around. Miss Marianne had fallen asleep and did not notice her ward awake. Deckard blinked before looking down from the window.
… I could climb down…
[… That’s the spirit.]
Deckard huffed and with the help of the window seat, he lifted himself and stepped out. It was cold but he didn’t mind, not even when his bare feet were freezing and the cold seeping inside his thin night clothes.
Deckard grabbed on the wall carvings of the palace and treading lightly to make sure he doesn’t slip, he climbed down. If he falls, he tried to reassure himself that the bushes at the bottom would soften his landing.
“Umf!” he groaned when a sharp carving scratched his hand. He hissed when he saw the small line of red but continued on his journey downwards.
[Easy there.]
Deckard made sure to look at his surroundings, wary of any sight of the night patrol. When he noticed he was finally close enough to the ground, he jumped and landed on one of the shrubbery.
“Ah!” he covered his mouth despite the pain. He looked at his arm and hissed once more when he noticed one of the small branches making a gash on his side. Deckard huffed before trying to stand, making sure he had no other injuries.
Aside from the two, he was fine but he didn’t know how to explain to Miss Marianne how his clothes had become dirty. With a quick wave of his divinity (and some that he could feel were from his grandfather), his wounds healed but the small blood stains and the torn clothing remained in their state. Deckard despaired, knowing Miss Marianne will be upset with him.
“… She’ll understand.” Deckard muttered as his red-violet eyes went to the slowly-diminishing lights of the palace. “She has to understand.”
Quickly as he could, he hid behind the tall bushes and made his way to the now-dark palace. His shoe-less feet helped in silencing his steps. There was an occasional guard or two and Deckard used the shadows to his advantage. He could still remember what that red-haired lady told him one day.
♔
It was one of those boring days and Deckard just strolled around the palace. Miss Marianne could not be with him because his Aunt Tezevia and cousin, Brisney, were coming to visit him and so needed to make preparations. His Uncle Diego was busy in the temple and his godparents were visiting their relatives in the countryside.
But I do have someone… Deckard thought, pausing in his steps and looking at the large stairs heading to the third floor. He looked down, sadness coursing his little body. I have Father…
But he doesn’t have a need nor want for me.
Deckard sighed and continued walking before the sounds of chains drew his attention. He looked ahead of him to find a red-haired woman
Chains were on her neck, hands, and feet. Even from afar, Deckard could sense the divinity coming from the chains and he recognized that cold feeling. The divinity he could sense whenever he was near one of the persons he longed to be close with.
It was his father’s divinity.
Harsh, cold, and powerful.
Deckard had heard of a woman that his father loathed. Whispers could be heard if you knew where to hide in the palace.
Hair as red as blood, eyes as dark as the abyss, and chains of divinity bound to her from the Emperor of Belgoat.
Soleia Elard.
Deckard watched the red woman be escorted by holy knights, curious as to what she was doing here. IF his father hated her, then why was she here? His red-violet eyes followed the group heading to the third floor. And as he watched, those downcast eyes suddenly rose and landed on him.
Deckard froze and stayed in his place, not knowing what to do. And for a moment, it felt like time stopped for the little boy as the adult woman stared at him from far away.
Unexpectedly, a sad smile came to that face and it was for him.
“You have to survive. You have to hear them. Use the shadows if you must, but you have to hear them.”
One of the Holy Knights scowled at her and dragged her away before Deckard could as what she meant.
♔
Use the shadows…
Deckard looked at the darkness on his feet. Is this what she meant for it? She didn’t even tell me what I needed to hear.
His attention diverted to the now dark palace in the middle of the Imperial Gardens.
But what I do want is my mother…
He stepped forward but stopped in his movements when he saw two guards standing at the entrance of the palace. Ah…
[The western window is unguarded.]
Western window? Deckard silently let out his gratitude to his grandfather before creeping in the shadows to reach the said section of the palace. Indeed, there were barely any guards and the only ones that were seen were patrols that merely passed by. Deckard briefly wondered why this part of the small palace was not secure but he didn’t question much as he ran to the window he could reach.
“Oof.” Deckard let out as he lifted himself unto the windowsill. He tried pushing the window open but realized it was locked from the inside. “Ah.” His lips wobbled.
He came this far, he can’t let some locked window stop him. He was so close… so, so close.
Just then, he heard a click and his red-violet eyes lifted to see the lock turn, landing on the opposite side and he perked. The window was now unlocked.
“Thank you, Grandfather!” he whispered, a beaming smile on his face as he moved to the left to open the right window.
[What?]
Deckard ignored him to jump inside, only to land on sharp objects.
[Little Crumb!]
“Ah!” he winced and quickly covered his mouth to look at his feet, tears from the pain blurring his vision.
Pink roses with thorns.
W-What?
Deckard pushed away his confused state and winced again as he tried stepping forward. No doubt there were thorns in his feet and he sat on the marble floor once he was clear from the thorns growing at the walls and floors of the palace.
“Heuk… Hing…” he sobbed and cried as he cradled his bloodied feet. He sensed the familiar divinity from his grandfather that followed him always and it encircled his feet. “It hurts.”
[Ah, you need to be careful. It’s good that you know how to heal yourself, at least.]
“Sniff… What?” he blinked his eyes, rubbing away the tears and looked up at the intricate carvings on the ceiling.
[I said you need to be careful. Really…] a sigh and Deckard watches in fascination as the thorns are removed and the bleeding stopped. But the soles of his feet were red and sore from the recent experience and he hissed in pain when he tried to stand.
[Maybe let them rest for a minute?] He shook his head. [Ah, you really did inherit both of their stubbornness.]
Deckard once again ignored his statement and stood, taking deep breaths that his Uncle Perrik had taught him whenever something hurt. He stepped forward, slowly and surely, until he got used to the pain and was able to tolerate it.
His little feet let out pitter patters on the marble floors of the palace. He was awed by the pink roses that could be seen everywhere and was cautious not to step on another one. He stopped when he saw a grand portrait and was awed of it.
It was her. His mother.
She wore a serene smile on her face, her bright blue eyes shining at him, and her pink hair braided elegantly to the side. She was shining with diamonds on her neck, ears, and clothes but Deckard’s attention was focused on where her hands were.
On her large belly.
Divinity came again, as if hugging him and his right cheek was touched by it.
[Your father had it made when she was pregnant with you.]
“She… is holding me.” Deckard whispered softly, unable to remove his gaze from where his mother was holding him. “She’s happy here.”
[Your mother wanted to have a child and she loved you more than anything in the world, alongside your father.] his grandfather whispered and for the first time, Deckard heard more about his mother from his grandfather and tears threatened to bubble up once more. It wasn’t from pain this time, it was because it felt like his heart was ready to burst with an unnamed emotion. [She was ecstatic when she found out she was pregnant with you.]
Deckard sniffed. “I want to see her…” his voice trembled, “I want to touch her. She’s my mother, I don’t know her.”
The soft and warm divinity embraced him as he turned to where his grandfather urged him to go.
He didn’t know the insides of the palace but it seemed like his grandfather did as the divinity pulled him to where he would go and his voice would tell him instructions. He stopped in front of two grand doors.
[She’s in there, Little Crumb.]
Mother…
Deckard placed his small hands against the two gold and silver doors and pushed with all his might, his divinity and his grandfather’s aiding him.
Creak
Deckard let out a little sigh of relief when the doors finally opened, and his feet stepped forward unconsciously from his energy and effort that he used to push the doors. He panted from his mouth as his large ruby eyes scanned his surroundings.
It was a ballroom. An empty one.
Empty except for one single thing in the middle of the grand hall.
A glass coffin.
His breathing hitched and he slowly stepped forward, the soft divinity surrounding him in every step of the way. He could see it, the hint of pink inside and a body. Deckard’s entire body was trembling and his heart was pounding louder and stronger than before. Not even in the presence of his own father had he felt this, this, fear, this excitement.
His feet stopped and Deckard stared.
Pink hair flowing down to her thighs. Skin as pale as the snow. Pink lashes kissing the pristine cheeks. And eyes closed as if she was in deep slumber.
Yereninovica Susuvia Lebovny Belgoat.
His mother.
Deckard couldn’t avert his gaze but he felt a sob bubble up, and he had no choice but to cry it out.
“M-Mother.” He whimpered, touching the glass. “Mother.” He called out. He paused, biting his lip before letting out another call.
“Mummy.”
He had heard other children at the temple call their mothers that name. And it was so… so… different. And he felt it too, the huge difference and his face crumbled into a heap of tears.
“Mummy, mummy.” He cried.
He didn’t care anymore of his aching feet or his sore body. He wasn’t aware of his rattled state or that his cries were loud enough that perhaps someone could hear him. All that was in his six-year old mind was that he finally saw his mother for the first time.
She was as beautiful as she was in the painting. And Deckard couldn’t help but notice the small smile on her pink-red lips.
Deckard sniffed.
All his life, all that he has ever wanted was to be in this palace, in this room, and be able to finally glimpse at his mother outside of paintings and drawings in the book. What can he say? What should he say? He wanted to stay here forever and wanted to step in the glass to hug his mother.
Would she be warm? Would she be soft? Would she…
No… Deckard sniffed, the divinity caressing his entire being and he closed his eyes in despair and grief. Mother… Mummy is gone… She’s dead.
And it was only the divinity of his father that kept her like this. He could feel inside it inside the glass, that familiar divinity yet somehow… it was also different.
Deckard could recognize it as his father’s. So powerful and overwhelming, he had felt it attacking him even when he trespassed the third floor with his godmother. The divinity inside was the same, but it was… warm and soothing. Not the same as his grandfather’s though. But he wondered why his grandfather’s was weaker. Perhaps he didn’t want to overpower Deckard…
His eyes landed on the silver cross on her chest, above the white silk of his mother’s dress.
It looked familiar…
Deckard didn’t give it much thought as he suddenly felt his legs collapse and he yelped as he met the floor. He hissed and tried to remove his feet from underneath him and he sighed when he noticed how sorer they were. He looked up and could now only see the tip of his mother’s nose, a side of her cheek, and some of her hair.
He remained quiet, staring at her like that, tears streaming down his cheek as some divinity encircled his feet and touched his cheeks.
The silence was suffocating. Disturbing. Not how he dreamt of his mother. His mother was a warm and loving person in his dreams, who always smiled and had pretty flowers in her hair.
And sung the sweetest lullabies with Miss Marianne’s voice.
Deckard twiddled with his fingers as he sat, letting his feet rest. Eventually, he gulped, wetting his dry lips with his tongue and opened his mouth.
“The… The other night, d-dear…” he stumbled and trembled, remembering the hushed lyrics in his heart and mind. “As.. As-as I-I l-lay,” he sniffed, “sl-sleeping…” he sniffed, feeling the warmth surround him and protect him from the coldness of the palace.
“I-I-I d-d-reamt… dreamt… I held you…” he cried, rubbing his now red eyes, “I held you… in m-my… heung… Mummy… in my arms.”
He continued crying then, the song of his mother falling and fading away into nothing but childish crying. His entire body was burning with ache but the divinity surrounding him helped. It was if his grandfather had descended and came to comfort him.
“M-Mummy…” he bawled in his torn state, the swell and his throat forgotten as he knelt on his knees beside his mother’s sealed body. He lifted his upper body and stared at the smiling figure before him. “Mummy, please.” He begged.
“Mummy, tell me a story.”
♔
“Tell him stories, Eddy.” She gasped, the little babe in her arms crying his lungs out. “Tell him about me, about us. Tell him stories and sing him songs. Be there for our Deckard, for our little sunshine, yes?” Yerenica let out a watery smile, her breaths shuddering by the second.
“Yeni, please.” Erudian hugged his wife, lips in her soft, pink hair. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone. Please, please.”
Her lips pressed against his ear. “I love you so much. I love both… I love both of you so much.” Her breaths and gasps were more pronounced and she pulled away. Erudian looked at his wife who smiled at him before looking down at their son.
“Deckard,” she heaved, her eyes drifting to a close. “sweet Deckard. My little sunshine, my little love,” she kissed the little forehead weakly. “Live… Live a happy life… this time, … my little… Deckard…”
An exhale, and then Yerenica’s body slumped. Erudian barely managed to hold her to keep their son safe from falling as he screamed and screamed.
♔
“Tell him stories, Eddy.”
Erudian watched from the open doors as the small figure in white and tattered clothing cried in front of his wife’s body.
He was woken when he felt someone stepping inside the palace. The divinity guarding the doors, walls, and windows of the palace were disturbed and he immediately jumped out of bed, fearing the worst and anger boiling in his veins.
Who would dare to trespass on his wife’s mausoleum? Who?
And when he arrived, when he saw who was there. He knew.
He knew who he was. Who that… small thing was. How could he not with that cursed silver hair—
“—live a happy life…”
Erudian clenched his fists and looked away. He was now prince of the strongest empire in Riker, blessed with divinity, and had people around him. How could he not be happy? Why cry? Why did he torture himself with the knowledge of his mother’s death?
Did he not know that this is all because of him?
The child’s divinity was too powerful for Yerenica’s small and recovering body. Her pregnancy was difficult and filled with pain, more so was the birthing. Erudian was there was she screamed and cried as she pushed their son into the world, their son that unknowingly took his mother’s life.
If it weren’t for him, she’d be here…He grit his teeth. Why, just why did she just want to have children? We could have been happy, we could have been together still. I didn’t need to spend these seven damned years alone!
[But you aren’t alone.]
Erudian’s anger heightened at the familiar voice. A voice he hadn’t heard in years after many attempts at blocking it. No. Don’t.
[He’s a child. He didn’t know any better.]
Erudian didn’t respond and instead glared at the kneeling figure.
[Is he truly at fault?] a pause, [What about you? Aren’t you at fault as well?]
Erudian froze.
[You, haa… You haven’t been much of a father to him haven’t you?]
“Mummy…” the child cried, his little hands clutching the edges of the coffin.
[Where were you when he cried at night? When he shivered in the cold or when he was frightened of the dark?]
Erudian closed his eyes. “You… You can’t expect me to just… just move on.”
[I’m not asking you to move on. I’m asking you to be the father she would have wanted you to be.]
Erudian scoffed. “I’m guessing you have been taking care of him, then? Being the father figure he had needed?”
[I wasn’t alone.]
Erudian didn’t respond and continued to watch the crying child.
[And just once, once, have you ever called him by his name?]
“Deckard,” she panted, “I want his name to be Deckard.” She smiled at him. “What do you think?”
“Mummy, please…” Deckard cried, “I don’t… heuk… I don’t want to be… I don’t… I want to be with you.”
Erudian stiffened at the child’s words.
“I don’t want… I want to leave… I don’t… Miss Marianne is nice… But.. heuk, heuk… I want you.” The child pressed his face against the glass coffin. “Father he…” a whimper, “he doesn’t love me.”
And it felt like the burden in his chest grew heavier, and felt like every eye on the world was on him. Erudian listened, lips dry and body frigid as his child, his own son, speak.
Erudian doesn’t even recall hearing his voice. Is that… Is that what it sounded like?
He then remembered the day when he saw him in the third floor, sitting in the arms of Clarice as he stared at Yerenica’s portrait.
“She’s so pretty, Father! When can I see mother—“
“Quiet.”
Erudian felt sick and lifted a hand to cover his mouth. Gods… he gulped down the lump and stared at the pitiful creature.. no… his grieving son.
A son that didn’t have his parents.
A son that was loved by his mother.
A son that was left by his father.
[You can still do it. You still have time.]
Erudian shook his head and turned, the overpowering guilt coming to consume him whole and he will let it. He will drown in it even and not let him--
[Deckard.]
Erudian paused.
And the crying did as well.
[You’ll never know dear,] a melodic voice, [how much I love you…]
Erudian turned back and looked inside.
Deckard was surrounded by white, glowing divinity… with a hint of pink.
Erudian’s eyes widened and he watched, enraptured, as well as his son as the divinity caressed him. His hair, his cheeks, his arms, his body. Deckard’s eyes were glowing with the reflection of the divinity.
[Please don’t take my sunshine away…]
And a memory came. A memory of Yerenica sitting on a rocking chair, caressing and stroking her pregnant belly, singing that unfamiliar song, the sunlight coming in from the window. Erudian was there by the door, leaning on it as he watched the peaceful scene before him and now, he recalled what he had thought back then.
I’ll take care of both of you.
And he failed on that. Failed on his words.
The divinity disappeared but Erudian could still sense it, knew it from the bottom of his heart. How could he not? This was his Yerenica’s divinity.
[She has always been here.]
In a fit of rage at the sight of the child in front of the portrait, Erudian let out divinity as a warning. Something clashed and blocked with his divinity but still, some managed to push through.
He had thought at first that that divinity came from his son, but no. How could he have forgotten that strong and loving divinity?
Yerenica protected their son and Clarice from him.
Erudian held a hand to his eyes. What kind of father am I… to raise a hand against my own son…
“Tell him about me, about us. Tell him stories and sing him songs. Be there for our Deckard, for our little sunshine, yes?”
Erudian lowered his hands and gazed at the still boy.
♔
Deckard couldn’t remove his gaze from the air where he had seen the divinity, where the soft and beautiful voice came from. It was more beautiful than he could ever imagine.
It was his mother.
He was sure of it.
And he was sure, despite his lack of knowledge, that all the years, all the time he had struggled—the divinity was not his grandfather’s. It was his mother’s. She had always been with him. From the beginning and until now.
His mother had always been there, here beside him.
“Mum-Mummy---“
“Deckard.”
Deckard froze. He knew that voice. Instinctively, he didn’t move, he didn’t turn. It was rude, and perhaps his father will punish him later about it but, he was too scared. Too frightened. His father had caught him, he had trespassed and now—
“Deckard, I won’t hurt you.”
What?
Deckard nervously turned his head to the right.
There he was, his father, standing in white breeches and a cotton shirt. He looked like he had just came out of bed, hair dishevelled and eyes slightly red from the disturbed sleep.
“I-… I…” Deckard trembled as his red-violet eyes met ones with the same colour. “I was… I was just.”
“I know.” His father softly murmured and Deckard blinked in confusion but didn’t ease his tension. “There’s no need to explain yourself.” His father said, stepping closer towards him and Deckard could feel his body stiffening more.
His father must have seen as he stopped a few feet away from him. “I won’t hurt you.”
Deckard looked down at that, his two hands clutching and gripping on his mother’s coffin. He felt it again, the divinity on his back soothing him.
“Come… Come here, Deckard.”
It was strange, hearing his father’s voice and even his name coming out of it. His father had never spoken with him, not directly at least. Birthday greetings from him came from his uncles and sometimes, Deckard even doubted that they were real, that they were made up by Uncle Perrik and Uncle Iven and Uncle Diego to cheer him up.
Deckard hesitantly stood, only to yelp once more with his sore feet and collapse. He was ready for his knees to meet the ground but divinity caught him. His eyes widened and his body, moved and carried by his father’s divinity, went to the older man who stared at him with wide and panicked eyes.
How strange. Deckard remarked to himself and shifted uncomfortably when his father took him in his arms. The little prince gulped down the nervous saliva in his throat and refused to look at his father’s eyes as he sat on his arms.
“You’ve grown.”
Deckard nodded.
“You,” a pause, “What happened to your feet?”
Deckard flinched as his father adjusted and transferred him unto his left arm as his right hand grabbed his ankles. Deckard hissed and his father paused.
“What happened?” his father asked in an… unrecognizable tone.
“I…” He’ll know if I lie… Deckard gulped. “I stepped on… I stepped on the roses when I went through the window.”
“Roses? Ah…” he nervously peeked at his father who looked torn. “They’re… They are for your mother. I let them grow because… because she liked flowers.”
Deckard blinked at the information. He couldn’t resist it. Anything anyone says about his mother, he becomes thirsty for more.
“And your clothes?”
“…” Deckard looked down, refusing to answer. If he did, he would be placing Miss Marianne in danger.
“I see…”
A calloused hand touched his cheeks and lifted his head.
Rubies met rubies.
“Your eyes are sore. You cried too much.”
“I’m… I’m sorry.” He trembled, not able to control himself as he squinted his eyes close.
His father… What can he say about his father? What can he say about a man he barely knew? He would hear stories from the maids and the chatter of the noblemen, but… he never did forget what happened when he met him with Aunt Clarice.
There was a tense silence between them before his father broke it with a choked voice, “If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”
Deckard looked up shyly to see his father’s darkened eyes.
“I… I failed as a father, haven’t I?”
Deckard didn’t respond and continued to stare at his father.
“Your mother…” he chuckled, “if she was here, she would’ve been furious with me.”
“She is.” He interjected as he felt that delicate divinity touching his cheek. “She’s with us.” He added slowly, fearing he had offended his father.
Another bout of silence before his father spoke up again. “Yes,” he whispered, “she is here.”
It was awkward and filled with tension as his father eyed him, his feet, and his ruined clothes. Deckard couldn’t hold on longer and looked down at his thumbs, twiddling them back and forth.
The divinity now was at the bottom of his chin, as if telling him to look up. Deckard obeyed his mother’s wishes and lifted his gaze.
His father was now staring at his mother’s body, eyes filled with guilt and grief. Deckard followed his gaze, staring at the woman he had wanted to see all his life. His father… whatever he must be feeling must be worse that what Deckard was going through.
Deckard thought about it, was hesitant even, but managed to gather his courage and spoke up.
“F-Father?”
“Yes?” his father looked down and the two men who looked exactly the same stared at each other. One with question and eagerness, the other hesitant and nervous.
“Father,” he began once again, “tell me a story?”
His father blinked at him, frozen and still. Deckard briefly wondered if he had made a mistake, that this time, he had truly offended him.
But before anything else, a slow, sad smile appeared in his face and Deckard watched it happen before his eyes.
“I’ll tell you all the stories you want to hear.” His father reassured him as he turned and they quietly left the room.
Both spared one last glance at Yerenica’s body before quietly leaving, promises of tales of the empress made to the young boy.
The smile that was on the empress’ face seemed to brighten.
♔
“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping,”
Erudian leaned against the door frame and watched as Yerenica sat on the rocking chair, singing to their unborn child as she stroked her large belly.
“I dreamt I held you in my arms.”
This was nice, this was peaceful. Erudian continued watching and was eventually sighted by Yerenica who smiled at him and reached for him. Erudian moved away from his position and knelt before his wife, holding her hand in his.
“No pains today, my love?”
“Hmmhmm.” She shook her head and Erudian smiled at how alluring his wife was. “No. Our little sunshine has been behaving very well, thank goodness.”
Erudian kissed the back of her hand. “Where did you learn that song?”
“Hmm?”
“The one you were singing just now.”
“Oh!” she giggled. “It’s from… where I was.” She said, a sad nostalgic expression on her face and Erudian immediately knew what she meant.
Her other world.
“When I was little, and before she passed away, my mother sang that song to me.” she told him, her head resting backwards. “And I thought I might as well do the same.”
Erudian breathed heavily. “Don’t say that, Yeni.”
“Yes, yes. Sorry.” Yerenica soothed him, being slightly to kiss his forehead. Erudian smiled, hiding his fear and nervousness. Yerenica grinned at him as she stood. Erudian immediately knew what she wanted to do and chuckled.
He sat on the rocking chair and let Yerenica sit on his lap. He didn’t mind the additional weight, if anything, it made his heart thunder in happiness. The two most important people in the world for him, close to his heart as Yeni leaned on him, their foreheads meeting and eyes closed.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” She continued to sing softly, their hands meeting and intertwining on her pregnant belly. “You make me happy when skies are grey.”
The chair moved back and forth as they bathed in the light of the afternoon sun. Erudian felt peace and knew he wanted this to last forever.
“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” She ended softly and Erudian kissed her lips.
I’ll take care of both of you.
♔
Red-violet eyes that resembled his but shone like hers looked at him, waiting in anticipation. Erudian smiled.
I won’t fail you again, Yeni.
“Your mother, the moment I laid my eyes on her, I fell in love.” He chuckled as lifted his son’s blanket to tuck it in securely, the boy smiling shyly. “And trust me, I didn’t realize until much later.”
And as he spoke, he could feel the familiar, soft, delicate, and loving divinity embrace him.