The Fake Bride

“Tybalt is the Chief Physician of the palace,” he said as they arrived at the office.

The thick aroma of different spices and herbs in the air hit her and filled her belly with familiarity. It smelled very much like the apothecary office in Netriasi, where she spent most of her free time when not with the princess studying medicine. Jars and bottles stacked on shelves and books piled high along the table, parchments and dry quill in disarray.

“You’re ogling,” he laughed.

She snapped out of her awe and smiled meekly. He wouldn’t understand but she spoke anyways, “It reminds me of home.”

“Do you miss your home very much?” he asked conversationally as he examined a basket of dry leaves.

Nostalgia tugged at her heart. He looked at her; her eyes were downcast and her voice restrained by memories.

“I’m sorry, I truly am, for the terrible fate you have to endure. But believe me, the king isn’t who you might believe him to be.”

She stared back at him, but he only smiled and turned toward the stairs. “Stay here. He is probably up there.”

He disappeared at the top of the stairs and Trinity entertained herself looking around the room. Trinity examined a bottle full of curious brown liquid.

“Well, well, well, what...cha lit’…lady doin’ here?”a grumbling voice startled Trinity.

Leaning against the doorframe was a middle aged man, poorly dressed in a stained trouser. Unkempt gray hair frizzled wildly around his head like a lion’s mane, wrapping around his unshaved face. His droopy, red eyes wandered to her, twitching time after time as if he had trouble concentrating. The bottle in his hand made her uneasy. Frowning, he began gulping down from the bottle; as it happened, red liquid streamed down his face, his neck, and finally his shirt. Drowsily, he wiped his face on his sleeves, panting heavily.

“Well, answer…me. Who…you?” he slurred, narrowing his eyes.

With a gulp, she replied, “H…Hello…I’m here for a visit.

“Heh…what visit?” Raising the bottle to his lips, the man attempted to take another sip. He waited but nothing came flowing down his throat. Groaning, he shook the empty bottle. Grunting, he threw the bottle and it shattered on the ground. He wobbled forward, his arms swaying for balance. Before she could remove herself, he cornered her. The stench of his breath was so sickening that she wanted to puke.

He grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her roughly. “Ye and ye pretty dress. A princess, are ye?” he spat. “Why are you here? You sick? I don’t care! I won’t help you! You can all die! Die! Die!”

In his rage, his body trembled, tears rolled down his face. Even with the throbbing of her heart in her ear, she felt pity. Before she could speak, the prince pulled him back.

“Tybalt! What do you think you are doing?”

Master Tybalt, now reduced to a miserable drunk, didn’t even notice the prince. He curled up on the ground and moaned, “Why are you here living like you have not a care in the world while they’re dead? They’re dead, dead and cold, and all alone.”

“He…what’s wrong with him?”

A younger man helped him to his feet and said, “Please go, my Lord and Lady. I will tend to Master Tybalt and send for a physician.”

Prince Fayre nodded. “Thank you, George. Come Farsiris.”

With one last look at the man, Trinity pushed herself up only to stagger. She hadn’t noticed her legs were trembling; in fact every muscle in her body tingled with weakness.

The prince took her hand and eased her to her feet. “Come. There’s nothing to fear.”

He took her to his palace. Rather than a palace, it was a humble quarter with a small garden and few servants in sight. The ones she had seen on the way were kind and soft-spoken, inquiring attentively to her well-being. When she asked him to take her to Serian, he only smiled and said she was the one needed most attention right now.

A servant brought tea to the parlor while she sat on the couch in utter misery. She didn’t mean to be so ungracious, but the previous encounter had left her confused and concerned.

At first it was the flood of memories. She was never good with men, especially intoxicated men. They were the people that plagued the nightmares of her childhood. When she closed her eyes, she could hear their growls like hungry wolves, smell the dirty streets strewn with garbage and human waste, and saw the putrefied bodies in shallow graves. Everything she wanted to forget. She swallowed her tea.

“What happened to Master Tybalt?”

The prince watched her, and said carefully, “He wasn’t always like that. He was such an accomplished man. But even great men fall, I suppose. His daughter died of an illness three years ago; his wife, out of grief, passed away just a few months ago. He was held in high esteem by the previous king so no one bothers him as long as he does the occasional work, but at this rate, even the king won’t overlook it anymore.”

“To lose people he loves, how much heartache he must have had to suffer. I truly wish I could help him somehow.”

He looked at her quizzically. “You are too kind. But it’s all up to him whether he wants to change his life or waste it away.”

“I suppose,” she dejectedly said, gazing out the window at the garden.

“Would you like to visit my garden?”

She nodded. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

As he rose to his feet, the serious prince reverted back to the jaunty, beautiful man she first met. Full of life and play in his eyes. He grabbed a lute in the corner and balanced the tray of cups and pot in the other hand. As they headed for the gazebo, he hummed a tune; the lyrics were very strange.

Oh, my loon,
Come to me soon.
Eat not my rose,
Right under her nose.
The flowers will bloom,
Far away a boom.
A sight not so rare,
My mother’s eyes will flare.

“What were you singing?” she asked once they had sat themselves.

“Ah, a tribute to my mother. Do you like it?”

“Your mother? What would she say if she heard it?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “She already had, many times over actually. It became so popular that sometimes children would sing it. Do you know they call me the Prince of Loon? There’s even a song just about me.” He laughed but Trinity couldn’t bring herself to.

“Would you like to know why they call me that?”

He didn’t need her permission to. “My mother was never happy with me, you know” He shrugged and chuckled when concern showed on her face. “It’s all right. I like who I am. A prince or a fool, I couldn’t care less.

“As I’ve said, I was still young, eleven or twelve. One day, I went hunting. I had good aim, you know. Could have brought home a tiger or two. But I caught a loon! You should have seen her face when I brought him home. Alive!

“It was unintentional, but later, my loon was up all night, crying in this high pitched voice. It was so incredibly disturbing and noisy.” He laughed again. A smile crept onto Trinity’s lips.

“Everyone was tired the next morning, to my joy.” He shook his head. “My mother decided it was enough and went on a rampage. She ordered the cooks, everyone to chase down my loon and have him skinned. You know what they did? They were carrying these big knives and sticks, chasing my loon. My Lord, the sight was comical. They chased him up and down and still couldn't grab him. That day, the palace was a rowdy farm itself.” At this point, the prince was hysterical. He had trouble breathing from using all his energy to laugh. Trinity surrendered and laughed along.

“You finally laughed.”

Trinity blushed and smiled. Such a kind prince, if only the rumored king was the same.

“Want to know the best part? When my mother came back to her room, there was a pile of excrement on her throne. She was furious. I wish you could have seen her face, red as a baboon’s bottom.”

“Afterward, what happened to your loon?”

Prince Fayre scratched his head like he didn't know what the right thing to say was. “He became dinner.”

Trinity’s face fell in horror. She had not seen it coming, nor had she seen the mischievous look in his eyes. “I’m just joking, relax.”

She sighed then chuckled. Prince Fayre had such charisma and amiability about himself. He was eccentric, yes, but not at all frivolous. The way she enjoyed his company so much made it feel like they had known each other for years. In a way, he resembled Lord Detles—without the flightiness, fortunately. She couldn’t contain a small laugh at the thought.

“What is so funny?”

“No, it’s not you. I only remembered something from my homeland.” She missed the princess, the earl, the kind king and queen. She even missed Lorena a little.

“Netriasi, is it? I heard it’s a small country, but warm and friendly.”

“Yes, very,” she agreed eagerly.

“As a gift, why don’t I sing you a song? I promise my voice will not disappoint.”

He poised his lute in his lap and his fingers picked adeptly at each string, producing notes that swayed and bounced like water flowing down a creek. His voice soothed her heart when he sang of a land with green fields, of flowers that bloom year-round, of fruits that taste as sweet as nectar, of a princess fair as the sun, and of her loyal servant girl.