Chapter Text
“Prince Edgar,” A voice called from the other side of the door, “dinner is ready.”
Poe wished he hadn’t heard it. He hated leaving his room. It was safe here, his comfortable bed, his desk with his poems strewn across it, and most importantly, Karl, his little raccoon friend that he had somehow managed to hide from his parents for years.
Though he supposed it wasn’t hard to hide something from someone who never bothered to see him besides meal time.
For the first few years of his life, it wasn’t so bad. He was allowed to be a child, and then a teenager, but as soon as he turned 18, his parents began to demand that he find and marry a woman. The idea of meeting new people made his stomach churn, let alone courting them. Even worse, every woman he was forced to meet was incredibly shallow. He tried numerous times to get any of them to discuss novels, poetry, or hell, even the weather. All they ever wanted to do was flaunt their own wealth or beautiful bodies.
With a heavy heart, Poe managed to pull himself off his mattress. Maybe he could be lucky for once, and the topic of tonight’s discussion would be anything but women. Maybe his parents could finally recognize his talent for writing, and they could discuss his current ideas for a murder mystery he was drafting.
Karl let out a soft squeak of reassurance. He wasn’t sure exactly what the raccoon could and couldn’t understand, but he was certain that the animal could tell when he was upset. Poe gently patted his head before straightening his outfit. He was already taking far too long, he knew that. The last thing he needed was to give his parents another reason to be angry with him.
He allowed a soft sigh to pass through his lips as he departed from the comforting warmth of his room, and into the cold, harsh reality that would be facing his parents.
“Ah, Edgar.” His mother–the Queen, he sometimes had to remind himself–gave him a sickeningly sweet smile that thinly veiled her irritation. “How nice to see you outside of your room.”
“Hello, Mother.” Poe managed, taking his usual seat at the table.
The king–his father, though he never acted as such–merely huffed. “Aren’t you forgetting someone, boy?”
“Hello, Father.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze. He knew he would be met with a glare, one that would shatter his already frail ego into a million more pieces.
“Twenty-two years old and you still need to be told how to properly greet the king and queen,” His father’s voice was like poison, the words seeping into his veins and no antidote in sight. “What a truly pathetic excuse for a son.”
It wasn’t the first time he had heard such a sentence come from his father. He was always much more brash than his mother. And yet, inexplicably, the words still stung. Poe was thankful for his long hair guarding his eyes, so his father couldn’t attack him for the tears that were already threatening to fall.
“Now, now, dear.” He watched through blurry eyes as his mother placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Go easy on the boy. He is still the heir to the throne, whether he has married or not.”
Here we go, Poe thought. It always came back to the fact he wasn’t wed. He was convinced that they could be talking about the raccoon in his room and his mother would still find a way to make the conversation about marriage.
“I’m trying,” His voice came out weak. “I just haven’t found the right woman yet.”
“In four years, you haven’t even found one woman to be semi-appealing?” His mother offered. “Edgar, there are only so many women in this world. We can’t tear the country apart just for one wedding.”
Right. Marriage wasn’t about happiness, not when you’re a prince. Marriage is just some stupid political tool to make kingdoms stronger. He hated the fact that he was never going to find someone he truly loved rule by his side.
“Oh!” His mother smiled, and for once it seemed genuine. That scared Poe more than her fake smiles. She reached into her father’s pocket, producing an ivory envelope with the name Edgar Allan Poe scrawled neatly on the back. “That reminds me. Edgar, dear, it seems you’ve received an invitation.”
His heart rammed against his ribcage. What would he possibly get invited to? He wasn’t exactly social, the only people he could really consider as friends growing up were the sons of his father’s colleagues. He had an absolutely terrible feeling about this.
“Edgar.” His father’s voice came.
He was hesitating again. He took a deep breath, taking the letter from his mother’s hand. “Thank you.”
His fingers trembled as he began to open the letter.
Dear Edgar Allan Poe,
I would like to formally invite you to a ball that I am hosting. It’s been awhile, and I’d like to catch up with my favorite poet. I’ve also caught wind that you haven’t married, is that right? Luckily for you, my friend, lots of single women will be present in search of suitors!
It’s a masquerade ball, which means you’ll need a mask. And, you can pretend to be all confident and stuff because nobody will know who you are. Just make sure you pull your hair out of your eyes.
Sincerely, (Your best friend!)
Osamu Dazai.
Poe fought the urge to crumple the letter right then and there. He wanted to pretend he never read it in the first place. He really wanted to go back to his room. He should have guessed by the informal writing in the first paragraph that it was a letter from Dazai–a man that he would barely call a friend, definitely not his best friend.
“Well?” His mother asked expectantly. She probably had a vague idea of what was in the letter. After all, she was friends with the royals of all the neighboring kingdoms.
“Osamu Dazai has invited me to a masquerade ball.” The words were harder to get out than he would like to admit. “He says it will be a great opportunity to find a wife.”
His mother clasped her hands together, letting out an excited giggle. “Oh, how wonderful! Masquerade balls are so fun–so full of mystery and romance! Oh, Edgar, you’ll go, won’t you?”
A farce. She was merely acting as though he had a choice. He knew that wasn’t the case. Either he went, or he was going to be thrown out of the castle. At this point, he’d love to go live in the woods with only Karl by his side, though he’d eventually miss the castle’s library and his soft mattress.
“Boy.”
He was hesitating. Again.
“Y-Yes. I’ll go.”
“Excellent!” His mother stood, apparently finished with her dinner, and kissed the top of Poe’s head, a gesture he certainly wasn’t expecting. “I’ll have the servants fetch a tailor. Oh, Edgar, I’m so excited!”
She dashed off immediately, leaving him alone with his father. He tried not to seem as terrified as he was, but his father could probably tell. God, he was so obvious. Anyone could read him like an open book, couldn’t they? He felt so pathetic.
“I am also… excited, as your mother would put it. I expect you to bring home a woman after this ball.”
His stomach dropped. He knew the talks of marriage were becoming more frequent, but he didn’t realize that a deadline was coming so soon. He had until just after the ball to find a woman that he loved enough–or, in the more likely case, a woman that he could tolerate. How the hell was he supposed to do that? Dazai claimed that he could just pretend to be someone else, but there’s no way it’s that easy, right?
“Edgar.”
Right, his father needed his confirmation that he’d heard his demand.
“Yes father. I will bring home a lovely woman after the ball.”
“Good.” With that, his father stood, leaving Poe alone with his thoughts at the large, lonely table.
Just what was he going to do…?