Archive of Our Own

I like pretty things. Was that my crime?

I’ll admit I’m a perfectionist. I’m particular. I’d rather do nothing at all than do something wrong. But I’ll maintain to the end that that’s no flaw. I’m a man who can appreciate the beauty in a job well-done, is all. If I’m doing something, you’d best believe that thing’s going to be perfect.

You’d think this would apply to my duelling, and of course it does, that’s how I make my living. But take a second to shut your eyes and picture it:

A dress. A ballgown. White. White’s difficult. A seam on that white dress, sewn so tightly and neatly that you can barely tell where one side ends and the other begins.

Or a dance, if that’s more your speed. A show at the ballet, choreographed to the minutest twitch of the fingers, performed with confidence and precision by dedicated artists of the stage.

Even a fresh-baked loaf of bread, the dough made using immaculate proportions, steaming and good-smelling and ready to be eaten but perfectly satisfied to be looked at by admirers as well.

Doesn’t sound half bad, does it?

Contrary to popular belief, I’m just as particular about the things I make and doas I am about the things I’ve got. Ianthe liked to rag on me for spending so much time on my hair in the morning, but she could use a dollop of gel, if I’m honest. It’s like clay- you take a limp clump of bedhead and you run it through with magic gel, and all of a sudden you can mold it into any shape you want. I simply happen to like it done pompadour. Sue me. I like the way it swoops.

I love a wedding. I like to think that if I hadn’t been born a prince I would’ve made a fortune off planning weddings and gotten stinking rich. You can get a lot of social mileage as a wedding planner in Ida. Three for the gleam of a jewel or a smile is ridiculously apt for a myriad-old description. We like our things big, colorful and shiny.

My career plans didn’t last against the pressures of nobility, of course, but even so I’d like to have been married.

Of course I had someone in mind.

Don’t you dare ask me his name.

Now he was a pretty thing. That boy had a face you could stare at for a year without finding one single flaw. Even when I was feeling critical (which, according to you, is always), the symmetry with which his freckles scattered had me feeling charitable again. Noble-born as well. Son of a duchess. We would’ve been a power couple. Heir to a duchy and cavalier primary? Please.

His name was Cassianos Trilling, and I never could help telling you anything, could I?

Were those my crimes, then? We covered my sharp eye, that wasn’t it. My big mouth? My soft heart? I never thought of myself as having one of those, but I suppose you’ve caught me out, haven’t you?

Of course it was my heart. It was my heart she destroyed in the end. I was already inside her soul when she did it, you know. I saw.

Did you see? Did you watch Ianthe Tridentarius lick my breastbone? She always used to lick the fat and the flavor off the bones whenever we had meat. Did you keep your eyes open when she lapped up my blood like red sauce, or were you too outrageously disgusted to peek?

I can promise you it’s worse from the inside. I didn’t have the option to skip that chapter. My eyes were unfortunately peeled.
I don’t like that something as lovely as a rapier can kill so painfully. A longsword, one like the Ninth has, that looks like it’d be slow and brutal, but rapiers-

Had?

She died? What a shame. I’m talking.

Rapiers are so delicate and swift. A rapier wouldn’t leave you to die with your guts hanging out your abdomen, it’s too well-bred. A rapier likes to be courteous, and it likes to finish jobs.

Your mum projects onto inanimate objects, how’s that?

I’m not immature. Stop listening to Deuteros, would you? She’s the only one who says that. The Second has it out for me, I know they do.

Oh, I know.

I know you like the Captain.

I know you like her more than you like me.

I know you hate me. Just let me talk.

Just let me defend myself.

Was that my crime? That you didn’t like me? Did she stick a sword through my heart because you didn’t like me? Ianthe always did whatever you wanted. You’re the only one she ever thought of pleasing.

Whatever she did, it worked. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger. She’s a cold-blooded killer, but she’s to be adored. I could never have my own opinions on anyone you liked. I’d be strung up in the Grand Hall for lies and slander.

That wasn’t it. Don’t act like I was ever anything less than perfect honest.

Oh, don’t cry. Don’t you start up now.

You never cried for me before. You certainly didn’t cry for me that day. You cried for nobody but yourself, but it wasn’t even really that. You’re not capable of that kind of self-pity. No, you cried for a secret third thing, because of something else entirely. You wanted so, so badly to be on the inside of it all.

Well, I was on the inside of it all, and it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.

Nobody likes me, do they?

I don’t know what I do any of this for, if not to be laughed at. Ridiculed. Booed offstage. I bared you all my feelings. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve to be heckled. I think that’s pretty fucking reasonable, isn’t it?

I told you not to cry.

Well, I hope you’re all having a wonderful time right now. I sincerely do. But it doesn’t look nearly as nice without me, does it?

When they asked me to be cavalier to twin princesses, half the reason I went without a fight is because three’s a good round number. That sort of symmetry doesn’t happen a lot in things like this, but it’s awfully pretty when it does, and I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to be part of something nice, something significant that people would admire.

Again, it’s not what it’s cracked up to be. The life of a Third House cavalier is a hard one. Pretty, but hard. If I could go back in time, I don’t think I’d do it again. Given what choice I had, of course, which wasn’t much. Maybe I’d try and fail all the tests and tournaments on purpose. I’d get myself a placement with some old nobleman. Lived in the lap of luxury like I did in this life. Maybe not quite as high up, but without the pain and without the danger. Maybe I’d have even fallen in love. Gotten married, had children. Made pretty things for them.

It sounds a bit ridiculous for someone in my position, but I’d like to have lived a life.

I seem to be the only one here who places any value on that.

Well, goodbye again. Have fun. And again, I mean that. I mean, I don’t personally find the idea of constant mortal peril appealing, but to each their own, I suppose.

I’ll be here, watching. If you need me.

You know, maybe I was being uncharitable. It really doesn’t look half bad from up here.