Chapter Text
"Highness, the Queen calls for you to join her at the dining room for breakfast," the servant bowed.
He continued to stare at his reflection in the mirror, nodding slightly as confirmation.
With another respective tilt of his head, the servant exited the room.
Thick lashes curled as he blinked at himself, raven colored locks falling into his eyes. Zayn inhaled sharply, trying to ready himself so as to gain his mother's approval. Maybe today will be different, he whispers.
"Mother," Zayn greeted smoothly as he slid into the chair across from her.
The Queen looked up at him, her intense gaze chilling him. Her essence could be described in one word: white. She wore a pristine white dress outlining her curves before falling gracefully to her feet. She glowed with the authority and confidence that only came with being royalty. In that case, Zayn should give off the same aura. But, as he heard the servants whispering, he was rougher. His black hair and angry eyes nothing like the purity and silent authority of the Queen.
They weren't like mother and son at all.
The Queen placed her fork back down on the table, dainty fingers folding themselves together in front of her. She looked at Zayn, who struggled to hold her cold gaze.
"I have some matters to attend to with the Council today. Please, content yourself with the professors and books at your disposal," she rose with a sweep of her arm.
Zayn looked down at his plate and tried not to scream. "Yes Mother."
Two hours later, he sat on the banister of the balcony, legs swinging and sun beating into him harshly.
"Your Majesty," the same servant boy said softly. "Do be careful."
Zayn smirked and leaned backwards further, relishing in the fear that rushed through him.
Looking down, he could see the entire Kingdom of Nye below him. Young children whooped and giggled as they sprayed each other with water in the streets. Adults argued about politics under umbrella shielded cafes, their voices only adding to the joyful din of the Kingdom.
Not that it mattered what the peasants thought, Zayn thought with a sneer. In the end, all power lay solely in the hand of the Queen. Traces of her power could be found throughout the kingdom, from the shimmering statue of her in the public square to the little girls placing plastic crowns on their heads and emulating her every word.
The perfect queen, people whispered. Generous, beautiful and oh so pure.
Zayn's gaze hardened and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to scream out for the people to listen, and really see what kind of person the Queen was.
"Happy birthday," a voice blurted behind him, drawing him back to reality.
"What?" Zayn whipped around, throwing himself back on solid ground.
The boy blinked his head and immediately lowered his head. "Happy birthday," he repeated, voice a bit shaky.
A small spark ignited inside of him then, and he wanted so badly to keep it burning because it's been so long since anyone had that effect on him. But instead he was devoured by pure anger, rage at her for not realizing while this servant boy did.
Inexplicably, he found himself in front of her room minutes later, chest heaving. The servant had not followed.
Pushing the double wooden doors open, he was greeted with pure light. The walls were entirely glass, cold and hard and glaring as they reflected the sun's light back to him. So fucking pure, he growled. Just like the rest of the castle, it was glass and light and frankly, he was so sick of it.
He scoured the room with his eyes, trying to find something out of place, a speck of dust, anything! But of course, there was only the light and her immaculate furniture placement and the same fucking silence he'd dealt with ever since his father died.
Eyes burning, Zayn turned and made his way back to the doors before the tears started leaking out. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught a speck of color hidden beneath her pillows and his breath hitched.
Running over, he shoved his hand under the cold fabric to withdraw a framed photograph. The tears ran now, hot and angry and scalding. It was a picture of his parents, before his mother's coronation. His mother smiled broadly, eyes bright and shining, completely devoid of the stiffness she had now. His father pressed his face against hers, warm brown eyes crinkling at the edges. Their hands met in a badly shaped heart and Zayn traced their faces, crying over the drastic change from current reality.
Anger overtook him again and he shouted as he thrust the photograph onto the floor, glass shards flying. He hated her.
The Queen, his fucking mother. She took that away from him.
Sobbing uncontrollably now, Zayn curled up on the ground. He envisioned his fathers arms around him again, crooning with his deep voice as he said happy birthday. He imagined his father's warm eyes in this goddamn castle and he cried.
Zayn flashed back to her eyes that morning and her smooth voice and how she drifted away in that white dress without any indication that she realized what day it was. He looked up to her glassed room, everything bitter and cold and he knew.
He couldn't stay here any longer. Not with this purity, her iced eyes, sharp glass shards piercing him whenever he thought about the father he would never get to see again.
His body running on adrenaline alone, he threw open one of the grandiose windows and threw a foot out before he realized the person standing in the doorway. Despair overtook him as he saw the servant boy, his eyes wide in surprise. He would never leave. The entire country was full of the Queen's servants--
"Leave," the soft voice interrupted.
Zayn gaped at the boy, who smiled slightly in response. "You never belonged here," his eyes crinkled at the edges and his face seemed to radiate the soft gentleness of a candle.
The eyes, Zayn realized with a start. The eyes were the same as his father's.
"Wait!" Zayn called out as the servant made to close the doors.
The boy turned around, puzzled.
"What's your name?" Zayn asked.
There was a beat of silence. "Liam."
"Liam," Zayn repeated. He suddenly felt disappointed with himself for not learning the boy's name until now. "Liam, come with me."
The boy's eyes widened. "Y-Your Majesty, I serve the castle--"
"You serve me," Zayn said firmly. "And you don't belong here either."
Liam furrowed his brows, obviously conflicted. Finally, he raised his head and looked straight at Zayn. "Yes."
With a smile, Zayn threw himself out, falling and landing with a sharp pain shooting through his left leg. Hobbling, he got back up and found himself in the gardens at the back of the castle. Liam landed gracefully next to him.
"We can get into the woods from here and if we go around we would be able to get to the streets," Liam said.
Zayn blinked. "How did you know--"
Liam faltered. "Sorry! I just assumed--"
"It's alright," Zayn said. "You were right."
She would still be able to find me, Zayn realized. His lips raised in a triumphant smile. But she wouldn't try.
He knew this with a profund certainty running through him.
With that, the two of them made their way into the woods.
It's been days and Zayn growled as he palmed his restless stomach. His princely robes were long since torn to shreds by the branches and twigs. Having being pampered all his life, he had no idea how to survive. Annoyance flared up at him as he glared another squirrel away.
Meanwhile, Liam seemed happier than Zayn had ever seen him be at the castle. He tilted his head to listen to the birds' songs and though it took a few days, he finally stopped addressing Zayn as Majesty.
He seemed free, Zayn realized. He couldn't help but smile at that.
Over the span of a few days, Zayn learned more about Liam than he had in years. Liam was born into a poor family and became an orphan at thirteen. In the end, he ended up working for the castle and had been serving Zayn ever since.
"I have a friend we can go to," Liam said one night. "He's very caring, he'll let us both in without a doubt."
Zayn simply nodded, too desperate for shelter and food to care.
Suddenly, a dull noise manifested. It was a soft chatter at first, rising in volume when Liam and Zayn rushed towards it. Zayn's blood pounded as he ran with full speed towards the signs of civilization, adrenaline coursing through him. Gasping, he pushed himself past a large smattering of trees and found himself at the edge of a bustling street.
He did it. He found his way out, he was now far away from that glass castle.
Grinning broadly, Zayn spun around, unable to take in all the new sights: the merchants shouting out prices at their carts, the children having water fights, the bustling markets and shouts of pure joy.
It was chaotic, beautiful, the complete opposite of Zayn's glass prison.
He immediately sought out one of the carts that sold food, stomach rumbling as he practically drooled at the warm bread. Reaching out for one, his eyes widened as his hand was swatted away.
"Pay first," the old man behind the counter grumbled, grubbing hand outstretched.
Zayn's face fell. He whipped around, eyes searching for Liam.
"I'm sorry, Yo--Zayn," the boy said. "I don't have any money on me."
Zayn's temper flared and he turned back around to the old man. "Do you know who I am--" he growled.
"Stop," Liam shook his head softly and dragged Zayn into a back alley.
"It's just bread!" Zayn protested.
"You left the castle," Liam said. "With that, you leave your title and your privileges. Right now, you are no different from everyone else on the street."
Zayn stared for a moment, taken aback by Liam's sudden show of boldness. "Fine," he finally huffed.
"I'm going to ask around since I don't quite remember his address," Liam said. "Wait here alright? This street can get crowded at this time and I don't want you--"
"Yes, I get it," Zayn snapped. He was hungry and tired and cranky as hell. Liam being a protective hen didn't help much.
With a frown, Liam left, leaving Zayn alone in the alley.
What is taking him so long? Zayn grumped as he leaned against the wall. It was then that he realized just how badly he smelled. He had never liked the pampering and grooming his mother instructed for him back at the castle but body odor was always something he held in high regard.
A hum rose in the air suddenly and Zayn tried to trace the sound. Following the alley, he realized it led to a public bathtub. There was a feather haired boy singing, eyes closed as he leaned onto the edge of the pool. There were only a few other people in it now and though Zayn knew just how dirty the water was, he was desperate. Zayn tossed his dirt matted clothes on the rack and let himself sink into the water.
It rushed against his skin, washing away the layers of dirt that had gathered on his skin. By the time Zayn felt clean, his fingers were wrinkly and the pool was almost empty.
He couldn't put those dirty robes back on, Zayn thought. Looking around, his gaze fell on a simple peasant outfit laying on the rack near him.
They're just clothes, he thought to himself. Not worth much, I'm sure whoever it belongs to won't even notice. With that assurance, Zayn rose and quickly dressed, trying not to grimace at the coarse material.
Looking around, he realized he didn't know how to get back to the alley where Liam told him to wait. He pushed his way through the people to an exit and found himself on a different street.
Once again, he was taken aback by how disorganized everything was. The din around him rose, with shouts of prices between women and merchants, yelps of children.
"Hey!" A voice shouted.
Zayn twirled around, too caught up in the sights to remember that he should be looking for Liam.
"Hey! You!"
A hand landed roughly on his shoulder and Zayn whipped around to find the feather haired boy from the bath. He had electric blue eyes, ones that were currently sparking with anger.
Annoyed, Zayn brushed the hand off. "May I help you?" He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the boy's obvious lack of clothes. He didn't seem too embarrassed by it though.
"Funny you should say that," the boy snarled and brushed the fringe out of his eyes. "Give me back my fucking clothes."