The Masked Princess Bound To The King She Hates

The room was even smaller than it used to be. Or perhaps it was just him.

Queen Ella was on the verge of the bed, and her hands were loosely gripping the stuff of her dress as she looked around the room. The candles were dimmed previously, and a soft light was cast, which projected shadows on the walls.

It was too quiet. Too intimate.

She felt him at her back. Not to touch, not to speak--just there. Always there.

You are not going to bed, he said, his voice cutting through the quiet, deep and monotonous.

She didn't turn immediately.

I like it here, I said, trying to make my voice even.

It was a moment of silence.

It is not an option. he said.

Her hold was a little tighter. Of course it wasn't. Nothing here seemed to her decision.

Slowly, she turned to face him. King Augustine was only a few steps away, and his eyes were fixed upon her--not cold, not warm, but probing, as though he were attempting to read something which would not reveal itself.

I shall not sleep with you, I said firmly.

The words were suspended in the air, bold and dangerous. But she didn't retract them.

King Augustine raised his head a little, and looked at her. Not sleep together? he repeated.

Queen Ella lifted her chin defiantly. "You heard me."

Silence enveloped them, thick and heavy. Then he came a step nearer.

Her breath caught.

Thou art my queen, said he. "Not a guest."

Another step. She instinctively shrank to the verge of the bed, against which the back of her knees was pushed. Trapped.

Her heart was beginning to beat, but she would not show it. King Augustine halted in front of her, too close for comfort.

You oppose all, he said to himself.

And you ask too many questions, she replied, and tried to keep her cool.

Something flashed through his face--interest, not anger. That made it worse.

His eyes turned to her mask, and lingered there. Naturally Ella noticed, and the distance between them suddenly seemed to narrow.

His hand lifted, slowly, deliberately. Her breath stilled. He was not reaching towards her, he was reaching towards the mask.

No, no, she said hastily, moving away to the bed to make space. It was a spontaneous, unthought movement, yet successful--at least in the short run.

King Augustine didn't follow right away. Instead, he observed her intently.

You keep that mask like you were depending on your life, he said.

It does, she said before she could help herself.

There was a silence, more dangerous this time, as she had told too much. The eyes of King Augustine contracted a little.

"Interesting," he murmured.

The heart of Queen Ella beat. She had made a mistake, and he had caught on. Of course he had.

He made another movement, nearer this time. She had no farther to go; the bed was behind her. Nowhere left to go.

His hand rose again, higher this time, nearer. She choked as his fingers brushed her face, through the mask, only inches away.

What shall I find, I said to myself, should I take this away?

The heart of Queen Ella pounded. Fear--not the sort she might have displayed, but the sort that threatened to bring it all to light.

You will find nothing, she said, her voice even in the tempest within her.

Nothing, nothing, he said, and his fingers came a little nearer. Not touching, yet to make her heart beat faster. "Then why hide?"

The question remained, oppressive and inevitable. Ella held his gaze.

"If you wish to know me," she said slowly, "then you will have to do so without seeing my face."

A challenge. A perilous one.

Both stood still a moment. Then the hand of King Augustine fell--not in defeat, but in command.

Very well, he said, and she was more surprised than she ought to have been.

He stepped back, creating space, breathing room. Queen Ella didn't relax. She could not, as this was not surrender; it was something different--something reckoned.

The room changed without any notice. The light filled the room. Queen Ella swung about.

The servants were back, re-lighting candles, drawing curtains, making the room as bright as possible in an instant, almost blinding. Her breath caught. Too much light. Too much exposure.

Her hand instinctively moved toward her mask. Of course Augustine noticed. His gaze followed the movement, sharp and immediate.

You do not like the light? he said.

Queen Ella made her hand drop. I do not used to it.

Or, he said, you fear what it tells you.

The words were too near. She said nothing. Could say nothing. Since this was the first time she felt observed that night. Not completely, but sufficiently.

The servants went away as soon as they had arrived, and the door was closed behind them. There was a silence, but it was not the same. This one bore a greater burden--consciousness.

King Augustine turned his back to her, and walked toward the window. But she had heard otherwise. He was watching, still thinking, still piecing things together.

You do not behave like a person who is afraid of me, he said.

Queen Ella stood motionless. Should I? she said

"Most do."

I am not the majority.

Another pause.

"No, you are not." he said quietly

The words passed a weird feeling through her--not of comfort, not of fear, but of something. Something she did not wish to call.

The bed towered over her, reminding her where she was to be, what this night was supposed to mean. Ella hesitated, and then sat on the extreme end of the bed--wary, remote, as far off as she could be.

King Augustine looked at her, and, without saying a word, crossed to the other side. Not nearer, not thrusting anything--just. there. The distance between them remained, but the tension didn't dissipate.

Minutes taken, or possibly more. In that room, time was not real. Queen Ella sank down stiffly with her back turned slightly to him, her eyes open although she was still. She didn't trust him.And yet. he had not forcibly taken her, had not touched her, had not taken off the mask. She couldn't. And yet... he hadn't forced her, hadn't touched her, hadn't removed the mask.

Her mind wandered restlessly. Why? Why should a man whom she hated behave in this way?

She heard movement behind her--slow, careful. Her breath stilled.

"You're awake," he said quietly. It wasn't a question.

Queen Ella didn't respond.

"Good," he continued. A stop, and--because I have been thinking.

Her heart began to race again. And what have you been thinking, she said warily.

Silence. Then his voice was nearer, deeper, more definite.

That you are not what you say you are.

Her breath was caught in absolute stillness.

And the more I see you, he said, the more I am sure.

The fingers of Queen Ella clenched on the material of the sheets. Stay calm. Stay composed. Do not react. But her heart was false, and beat quicker, noisier, perilous.

And then he spoke again, right behind her, close enough for her to feel his presence without turning.

So speakest me. A silence, heavy and inevitable. Who are you, Ella?