Chapter Text
Andhera had a lot of places in the castle that were off-limits specifically to him. His sister and Mother, the princess and the Queen, were free to wander wherever their hearts desired, of course, but Andhera had one benefit they did not have; Invisibility. Technically, it wasn’t invisibility in the literal sense, if you stared right at them you could still see him, it was more the invisibility of being the spare, as their mother reminded him constantly. So Andhera took to the back alleys of the castle he called home, the dark and forgotten tunnels used in case of emergencies (such as a castle invasion, or if he needed a bit of peace and quiet). He was not expecting to fall over the body of a girl, his age, maybe older, sitting in one of the holes-in-the-wall they normally occupied. When he fell over them, the woman gave a small yelp.
“Sorry.” They said at the same time. In the dim light, Andhera could make out a few discernible features. Soft green eyes, sharp cheekbones, short brown hair that hung around their face, framing it. She reminded Andhera slightly of an old book, ink-stained hands and all. Beautiful , he thought as they looked at her.
“Sorry.” She said, shutting the book she was holding and standing. They bowed to Andhera, when Andhera felt like they should be bowing to them. “My Prince.” The way they said it was like she didn’t believe a word of it.
“Ah, no, there’s no need for- That, at all. Please, I am-” The woman cut him off.
“I know who you are. You are the Prince.” She said, and he nodded, tried to focus anywhere but her hands and the ink soaking into her skin. He longed to take those hands in his and ask the story behind them, what they had drawn or painted to look like that. Instead, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began to attempt to clean their hands. In the dim light, Andhera didn’t see the blush creeping up her cheeks.
“I am.” Without them asking, she turned their hand to the other side when it became clear hot water was needed to clean them. At the very least, Andhera could do what they could now. “Please, call me Andhera.”
“You can call me Binx. Choppley.” The woman, Binx, said. “What is a prince doing sneaking around the back alleys of the castle he owns?” Andhera laughed.
“Owns? You overestimate the life I have. What are you doing here?” They asked.
“I was trying to find a quiet place to warm up.” Binx said.
“Are you a musician?” He asked, moving to his other hand. Their kerchief would be black and ruined by the end of this, soaking up any loose ink on Binx’s hands, but he would find another. He had others.
“Worse.” She said, half-laughing, “An artist.” Andhera felt his heart hammer in their chest. This was the person who would be taking his portrait not that much later, where they would have to sit in a throne room and pose like a good son and be drawn by the most beautiful, old-book looking woman he had ever seen, and they’d have to stay perfectly calm about it.
“Ah. You will be taking my portrait later then.” They said, not thinking about it. With the way Binx’s eyes hardened, became more focused, he wondered if he had said something wrong. She stood on her tiptoes so she could get a better look at his face, mouth turned down in a frown, hands on his cheeks. They were still damp from ink, and would surely leave stains on his cheeks, but they could clean their face later.
“What are you-” They began, and Binx seemed to remember herself and took her hands away.
“Everyone said you were hard as stone.” They said, “But you’re so kind.” They were now playing with her hands, running their fingers over one another, “I’ll see you later, then? My apologies for touching you.” They placed both hands behind their back, but Andhera was confident she was still playing with them.
“No, none are- Please don’t.” They said, skin burning where Binx had touched them.
“Right. I’ll see you later, then.” She said. Andhera hummed in agreement and watched her walk away.
Oh, this was bad.
“What did you think of Binx, Son?” His Mother asked over dinner with his sister and himself. Andhera’s head snapped up. During the portrait, there had been little conversation. Instead, Binx had studied Andhera intensely while Andhera studied them back. The furrowing of the brow as they sketched the shape and the carefully applied colour. They would be back painting tomorrow, but all Andhera knew was that it would be painting the background, so he would not see them unless he sought them out.
Of course they were going to seek them out.
All this to say, Andhera almost choked on their soup.
“What did I think of Binx?” He repeated, “I am unsure of what you mean.”
“Do you like her, brother?” His sister asked. Again, he choked on his soup.
“Yes. They seemed kind.” He said, “Focused.” He hoped the blush on his face was not as obvious as it felt. Binx was beautiful, and entirely inappropriate. “Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking of hiring her as a full-time artist in residence here. Do you have objections?” His Mother asked. He hoped he didn’t look too eager when he responded.
“No. No, no objections. It would be great. Fantastic, even.” He said, planning a letter to his married and engaged friends, Chirp and Squawk, in his mind. He’d have to ask them what they thought of this situation.
He had already thought that it was a tricky situation to be in, he had one conversation with Binx and had observed her ever since. There was more to her than just the eyebrows and slow focus on their face, it was the way she muttered to herself during the painting, and the way she had touched his face.
When people, ladies of the courts and what not, normally touched Andhera, they did so gently, softly, like they were afraid they’d break under delicate hands. Binx had grabbed his face and started squishing it all around, as if testing him, as if playing with him like a toy. It felt nice, the pressure on their cheeks. Binx didn’t seem shy. It was an interesting change.
“Mother?” He asked, knowing what the response was likely to be. She glared at him from across the table. Good start. “I was simply going to ask if this would be an immediate effect sort of…thing. Will Binx be staying here in the castle or-” Their question was cut off by a sharp laugh from his sister, Suntar.
“Staying here in the castle?” She asked, “Baby Brother, no. They can have a space to occupy, of course, but they are still not us. She will have a studio, but not a room don’t be ridiculous, Brother.” Andhera dipped his spoon into his soup and sighed, drinking it again.
“Of course. Silly question.”
That night, when Andhera went to bed, he would have dreams of the worse-than-a-musician artist.