The
narrative is approaching its climax.
This is a tense time for the story threads, woven in and out of their
hero, tugging but not outright pulling him along. He’s got to pick a direction, and depending
on what he decides to do, the story may end in triumph or tears. This is where early efforts at being
non-traditional when it comes to the roles laid out in the fairy tale might
just rear up and bite. This time, our
hero can’t rely on being pursued back to his home by his handsome prince. He’s got to make all the right connections
himself, he’s got to follow through and then he’s got to have that personal
climax that allows this story to tie itself off, satisfied, and seek out a new
situation.
Taking a
boy like this was a risk, but a story can’t evolve it if never takes
risks. Stories that don’t evolve fade
into nothingness, no more myth or legend to support them, no belief to feed off
of. They may be parasites of the human
condition, but at least they serve a valuable purpose. Humanity has to believe in something, and
fairy tales are better than some of the narratives out there.
It
registers the pounding hooves of its hero’s transformED horse, and waits to see
where they go.
****
Luckily
the mouse-horse seems to know where it’s headed, because it’s all Asher can do
to keep his ass in the saddle. Fuck how
the West was won, Asher way prefers his steel horse to the real version. It bounces weirdly, it smells and it
also…well…fine, so he might be just a little
scared to be up so high on something that lives and breathes and could throw
Asher off at any second and trample him into the ground. Asher hopes that weeks of bread crumbs bought
him some goodwill with the little dude.
Big dude. Whatever.
They ride
at a breakneck pace through a forest, then into more fields on the other side,
fields that steadily give way to buildings on either side of the road. It all looks pretty normal, except where it’s
dark now and there are no street lights, only candles in the windows. Eventually they hit an upward slope and the
horse slows down to a canter, then a trot.
The trot really fucks with Asher’s balance, and by the time he figures
out how to post they’re at the top of the hill, and spread out in front of him
is a castle encircled by an immense stone wall.
It’s like…like something out of a fairy tale, Asher thinks with awe
before his sarcasm catches up. ‘Cause,
yeah. What else would it be like?
There
are…he doesn’t know the words for all of these things, but Asher’s seen
pictures of Notre Dame and Neuschwanstein and he can see aspects that remind
him of both of those, high pointing towers and swooping arches and flying
buttresses, and it would be pretty cool if there were gargoyles too, but he
can’t make any out. The white castle
walls look almost blue in the moonlight, and are well lit with torches. The horse starts to move and Asher lets him,
still a little stunned by the view, and more than a little nervous now that he
can breathe without his lungs bouncing into his chest. Somewhere in that place is Ty. Asher just has to make it to him.
“If you could be anywhere in the world right
now, where would you be?” Ty asked idly one morning, a late morning with no
classes for him and a long night to recover from for Asher. They were sitting together on the couch,
drinking instant coffee and eating potato chips. There was a commercial on TV featuring a
sandy white beach and girls in bikinis windsurfing.
“I mean, like, anywhere,” Ty continued, going
on to answer his own question. “You
don’t have to limit it to Earth. When I
was a kid, I always wanted to visit Hobbiton.”
He flushed slightly. “Which I
know sounds kind of dumb, but it was supposed to be a happy place, right? With animals and farms and people living
under hills and not really worrying about big stuff. I always worried about big stuff as a kid.”
Asher thought for a moment, weighing his
options, before picking up one of Ty’s giant feet and putting it in his
lap. “You’ve got the right kind of feet
for Hobbiton.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hairy.”
“Dude, shut up,” Ty laughed, digging both of
his feet under Asher’s ass.
“No really, I bet you could walk around
without shoes and you’d develop awesome calluses and then you could be one of
those guys who walks over hot coals and doesn’t feel a thing. That’s some shit people would pay to see,
man.”
“Seriously, though.” Ty flexed his feet a little, sending a shiver
up Asher’s spine. “Where would you be?”
Asher lifted a hand and pointed towards the
screen. “There,” he said, but what he
really meant was, “Here.” Ty seemed to get it, giving Asher a smug
half-smile until Asher was forced to wipe it off Ty’s face with one of the
couch cushions.
He rides
in through the main gate, and the closer he gets to the actual castle the more
well-dressed people he has to dodge, mostly women strolling as fast as they can
to the ball when hampered by tiny, fashionable shoes. Carriages were stopped back at the gate, but
Asher makes it almost to the front steps of the place before he’s asked to
dismount. He does so awkwardly, feeling
self-conscious as his slippers hit the ground, but the groom takes his horse
with a little bow. Apparently meeting
the dress code is all it takes to get in through the front door, because
Asher’s not asked to prove that he’s supposed to be here, no need to display an
invitation. He fingers the wax seal he’s
carrying in his jacket, walks in through the high marble doorway and enters an
internal courtyard filled with people wearing every color of the rainbow,
flitting about like exotic birds of prey.
Every person here is on a mission.
Asher
really does fit right in.
Fitting in
isn’t good, though, Asher has to stand out.
First he’s got to find Ty, though.
He hops up onto a decorative but useless little wall, ignoring the
scandalized looks as he scans the crowd.
Nothing promising. Ty is tall in
the present day; among these people he’s gotta be a veritable giant, and there
are no humongous dudes in this crowd.
Maybe inside. Asher jumps down—
A hand on
his arm turns him. Asher’s pulled around
and suddenly is face to face with Pinky.
She looks puzzled. Puzzled is good. If Asher were looking at Envy or his evil
stepmother right now, “puzzled” would not be the look. They’d be more likely to be incensed, maybe
murderous.
“Have we
met?” Pinky asks coquettishly. “You seem
very familiar, sir.”
Don’t recognize me when I’m not covered in mud
and wearing burlap, huh, bitch.
Asher makes an effort to deepen his voice. “No.”
Pinky
smiles, not at all put off by his brevity.
“Then it’s high time we make each other’s acquaintance! Are you a member of the prince’s entourage? I don’t recognize your regalia.”
“Actually…” Asher considers it for a second. He steps closer and lowers his voice and
prepares to bury them both in bullshit.
“I’m here on a mission. I work
for His Majesty’s secret service, and we have intelligence stating that an
assassin has been sent to kill the prince.
It’s a man wearing a—” He mentally casts about for a moment, “a rose in
his…um, cravat.” That’s a real thing,
isn’t it? “Whoever apprehends this
gentleman will have the personal gratitude of the prince. The very, very personal gratitude of the
prince.” Pinky’s eyes light up, and
Asher has to suppress a snicker. “But
please, don’t do anything to endanger yourself,” he adds. Because
I don’t deserve to be that freaking happy in this life.
“Oh,” Pinky
breathes happily, “I shan’t! I, I’m sure
I can help without putting myself in any danger.”
“I’m sure
you can.” Asher squeezes her hand a
little too hard and then pries it off his arm.
He watches her flounce off eagerly, and seeing the back of her is a
beautiful thing. Then he heads up the
steps into the main castle.
He enters
the equivalent of whatever a courtyard with a ceiling is, a great stone hall
with long folds of cloth covering the walls, swaths of blue and red, the
prince’s colors. The crowd is even
denser in here, but dense can’t hide height, and Asher can finally see Ty
now. He’s standing on the other side of
the room and surrounded by his posse, which has taken on the role of screening
the crowd that’s trying to mob the poor dude.
And it’s a big crowd.
A really, really big crowd. Asher tries to press through it, but the
velvet and taffeta is almost suffocating in close quarters. And there are bustles. Who the fuck invented those? Why did someone feel the need to make asses
bigger than they already are? It’s like
giving shoulder pads to people who aren’t playing some sort of impact
sport. Asher tries and tries again,
going at one route or another for more than ten minutes, but it’s pretty much
impossible to do this politely. Hell,
with the corsets these girls are wearing it might even be impossible to do it
impolitely, his elbows will probably just bounce off the whalebone. He grits his teeth and prepares to do his
best to bull his way through.
A shrill
scream of triumph echoes off the stone, and Asher turns just in time to see a
huge puff of pink sail through the air and triumphantly tackle a nearby man. “I have him!” Pinky shrieks. “I found him!
Your Highness, you’re safe now! I
have him!”
Eyes
naturally gravitate towards the display.
Asher takes advantage of the lull to slide through the courtiers,
ducking and dodging and finally making it to the thin red and blue line. He comes face to face with the same man who
delivered the invitation to his former prison, who looks at him with surprise
and some suspicion. “I don’t know you.”
“You
wouldn’t,” Asher says, deciding to play it straight. From what he saw, this man has no love for
any of Asher’s transplanted family. “My
mother and sisters usually keep me in the kitchens. It was sheer chance that I made it this far
tonight.”
“Oh. Them.” Distaste twists his face. “Are you as desperate as they are to meet the
prince?”
Yes, yes, I’m so desperate I could die if you
don’t let me talk to Ty right the fuck now.
“I would like to meet him,” Asher says, “but I don’t want to make him
uncomfortable. If you think I
would…” You better not think I would, let me in, let me in, let me in before I
lose my fucking mind…
“He is
supposed to be socializing tonight,” the man muses. He looks over Asher’s shoulder and his eyes
widen a little. “What in God’s name is
your stepsister doing?” The noise is
coming closer. Apparently Pinky is a lot
better at elbowing her way through these kinds of crowds than Asher, even when
she’s towing a semi-conscious guest behind her.
“She’s
insane,” Asher says with complete certainty.
“I’d lock her up if I were you.”
He brushes past the man and a second later he’s face to face with—
Ty. God, it’s Ty. Not Ty the cartoon character like so many of
the other people here are, not an unnaturally bright creature from some fever
dream. It’s Ty in a weirdly poufy
costume, wearing awkward shoes and an awkward expression as he talks awkwardly
to an obsequious socialite, but he looks real.
Asher doesn’t see any of that, though, all he sees now is the face that
he loves. His mouth dries up and he
doesn’t remember how to speak, but it’s okay, because Ty seems to be in the
same situation. He does that thing where
his mouth opens and closes over and over again, and his big brown eyes go wide. He brushes away the hand curling over his
shoulder and steps a little closer.
“Hello,” he says at last. His voice is…it’s just what it should be. Gorgeous, throaty, a little tentative. Sexy as hell.
“Hi,”
Asher says. He balls up his fists to
keep from reaching out and touching Ty.
He doesn’t want to spook him. Ty
seems to know him in some way, not the immediate recognition Asher was looking
for but something is better than nothing.
He just needs some more time.
“I’m
Prince Tyler.”
Asher
smiles. “I know who you are.”
Ty
blushes. “Of course.” He tilts his head a little. “Have we met?”
Yes, we have, you know me. “I have a familiar face.”
“No,
you’re like no one I’ve ever seen here before.
I would remember knowing you.”
You will.
“Can we talk? Somewhere else?”
“Of
course.” There’s a wooden door behind
them, partitioned off by Ty’s entourage.
They head to it, their escape covered by Pinky’s cacophony. The door takes them into a hall which emerged
on a private balcony. The noise is
distant now, a murmur of voices that seems far away. The moon is out, illuminating both of them,
and Asher can’t look enough. Ty appears
equally captivated.
“What is
your name?” Ty asks.
“Asher
McKellan.” Asher waits for any
additional sign of recognition, but there isn’t one.
“Where do
you come from? Why have I not met you
before?”
“It’s a
long story,” he says after a second, not really wanting to explain the whole
‘servant’ thing.
“Are you a
member of my kingdom?”
“I’m definitely
your loyal subject,” Asher replies earnestly.
Ty looks down for a moment, shy, and it’s so endearing Asher feels like
he might explode with the need to touch him.
“This is
very strange,” Ty says after a beat. “I
feel as though we’re connected, as though we’ve known each other for a long
time. How can I feel such trust for you
without knowing you better?”
Now isn’t
the time to talk about alternate dimensions.
Later, when Ty’s memory is back.
“You should go with your instincts, Ty.”
He almost bit his tongue using the nickname. “I mean, Tyler. Or Highness, whatever you want.”
“I would
rather you not call me Highness, it seems foreign coming from your lips.”
“Would you
like something familiar instead?”
“What do
you have in mind?” Ty asks raptly.
“A
kiss.” Aren’t kisses supposed to break
spells in these things? “One little
kiss.”
His mouth
drops open again, and Asher can tell he’s blushing. “You are very
forward, Asher McKellan.”
Asher
notes that that’s not a no. “I can be,
but only when I know what I want.” He
moves a little closer. “Please. One kiss.”
“That’s
all?”
“That’s
all,” Asher promises. Unless you want more.
“I think I
can grant you a kiss,” Ty says, his voice deeper now, his body drawing in. They close the distance, and before Ty has
the time to reconsider, Asher puts his hands on his hips and kisses him. His lips are warm and soft, and after a
surprised moment they open. Asher tastes
Ty’s mouth, and it’s sweet and hot and…
Wrong. It’s wrong.
The taste is off, and when his tongue explores Ty’s teeth, they’re all
perfect. Asher actually feels a familiar
chip form on the incisor while he’s pressed to it. He draws back, leaving Ty breathless and
beautiful and shaking. Except it isn’t
Ty. He knows now, and he has to leave
fast, before he traps himself in this beautiful lie.
“That was
perfect,” Ty says softly, and Asher nods his head even as he’s readying himself
to run. It was perfect, and that’s a sure sign it isn’t right. Real life isn’t perfect. “Asher McKellan…I wish to know you
better. Will you stay with me?”
“I—Highness,
I—”
“A moment
ago I was Ty,” the copy says sadly, and Asher can’t bring himself to be mean to
any incarnation of the man he loves.
“Ty,
there’s something I have to do. Once I’m
done with that, I’ll come straight to you.”
“Can I not
send a servant to attend to it for you?”
“It’s
something only I can do,” Asher tells him.
“Please. It won’t take long.”
“You swear
to come back to me?”
“You’re
all I want,” Asher promises him, the words ringing hollow even if they are
true.
“I believe
you.” The prince points towards the
slender metal staircase at the end of the balcony. “Take that down. Turn left once you hit the grounds and you’ll
end up by the stables.” He smiles
shyly. “I will leave the door open for
you.”
“Thank
you.” Asher turns and walks away
quickly, needing to be gone from this almost-Ty, close enough to remind Asher
of exactly what he’s been missing this whole time. He feels empty, hopeless. He doesn’t know what to do; he only knows he
can’t stay here. He can’t go back. He walks despondently to the stables and
finds his horse.
“Where did
I go wrong?” he asks it. “What did I
miss?” He hears a bell begin to toll and figures it must be midnight. His horse suddenly hits him in the chest with
its bony jaw. “Ow! What?”
The second bell tolls, and the horse hits him again, and suddenly Asher
remembers that kisses aren’t the only things that can breaks spells in fairy
tales. The stroke of midnight…he needs
to be out of the castle before the change.
Because something’s gonna change. “Shit!”
It takes two
more bells to scramble into the saddle, and another two to get out of the
stables. Asher leans forward and gives
the horse its head, lets it race towards the castle gate. Guests dodge frantically as Asher speeds
towards the spot that might be, just maybe, the portal that he needs. Nine bells.
Ten. Eleven, and they’re so close
he can almost taste it through the tears on his face. On the twelfth bell, they charge through the
gate.
And the
world…changes.
