"Nothing," Arthur said, covering his eye with his hand.

  "No," The Prince whispered, leaning across the chess board. "That was something.”

  “Something really interesting."

  Arthur looked pale.

  The Prince smiled. The world started dissolving. The walls of Frank's apartment melted. The reflections of light twisted and changed.

  The smell of coffee curdled into the scent of wet grass. Gravity flipped. Arthur stumbled, his feet sinking into soft earth.

  Arthur blinked. He wasn't in the apartment. He was in The Park.

  "Who are you, kid?" The Prince asked. His voice echoed in the open air.

  "No one."

  The Prince walked around him. "Arthur... strange name. I had a kid called Arthur. But he died."

  Arthur felt his breath hitch.

  Prince’s eyes darted over Arthur’s frame. "Type 4? Type 5?"

  Arthur tried to deflect. He stepped back. "What are you talking about? You brought me here...So, you were a predator after all!"

  The Prince didn't flinch. "SILENCE."

  The word hit Arthur like a physical blow. The wind in the park stopped. "No lies should be said in my presence," The Prince commanded. "Tell me who you are. Or I will make you talk."

  Arthur looked at his father.

  "I am no one," Arthur whispered. "I am dead."

  "Dead?" the Prince asked, circling him. "Dead... like you are cut in two? Or are you a vessel? Or are you... different?"

  He walked around Arthur. "You always had an interesting presence," the Prince mused. "And you made me more interested with what you told Sam. But now... now, I am sure. That you are different."

  "Powers differ, as you know,"

  "Some of us use the Glass; they have the Royal Mark." He gestured to the sun in the fake sky. "Others use Fire; they are the Sun's Mark." He looked back at Arthur. "And some... don't have a mark. Which of them are you, Arthur?"

  "I'm none."

  "Lies."

  "I don't lie, Prince."

  The Prince stopped circling. He smiled. "'Prince'? Didn't I tell you; you were interesting?"

  "I heard you say that."

  "No," the Prince said, his eyes sharp.

  "You called me 'Prince.' Not 'DP.' Not 'Sir.' So... you know about Daniel, too. Fascinating."

  "Why do you care about me?" Arthur whispered. "Why?"

  "Because," the Prince said, his voice cold, "I know each Threat and Friend that has powers. I don't know you."

  Arthur's eyes started to crack. The white fissures spread. "Then say that I am a friend," Arthur hissed. "And leave me."

  The Prince shook his head. "No. A friend would have a Mark." He leaned in close. "You... don't seem to have one."

  "Don't get close," Arthur warned. The air around him grew heavy.

  The Prince stopped, but he smiled. "You have the power to use pressure. Brilliant. You are a Noble, then."

  "Get away from me." Arthur's eyes cracked further. The white fissures glowed.

  "I won't," the Prince said calmly. "What is your power?"

  "Nothing."

  "Can we move on from that? You have said that three times until now."

  "Okay," the Prince said. "Let's ask another question. Who is your father?"

  "Angel."

  "Angel?" The Prince searched his memory. "Don't know a noble with that name."

  "He isn't a noble."

  "Then his father was."

  "No. He wasn't."

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The Prince tilted his head. "Strange. Did your mother cheat on your father?”

  "No!" Arthur shouted. "And watch your mouth."

  The Prince laughed. "Where are my manners?”

  Arthur started to shake. "You don't say what I do," Arthur hissed.

  "Or you will do... what?" The Prince stepped closer.

  Arthur didn’t answer.

  "Why did you stop talking?" the Prince taunted. "Were you silenced?" He laughed, his voice echoing in the park.

  "So," the Prince said, circling back. "Where was I? Yeah. You said your mother was a good woman. And your father isn't a noble."

  He looked at Arthur.

  “Your father is Angel? An honest man. Not a noble. Yet you have the arrogance of a King and the power of a Highborn. Genetics doesn't lie, kid. You are adopted.”

  Arthur started sweating. The Prince saw it.

  "Bingo." The prince snapped his fingers.

  "So," the Prince asked, "do you remember your real father's name?"

  "Yes."

  "Then what are you waiting for? Say it."

  "I won't."

  The Prince tilted his head. "Why? You hate him?"

  "No."

  "Then say his name."

  "No."

  The Prince rubbed his hair. "Fine. Let's change the question. How was your father?"

  "Was he brave?"

  "Yes."

  "Was he smart?"

  "Yes."

  The Prince narrowed his eyes. "Was he a Type 3?"

  "No."

  "Was he a Type 4?"

  "No."

  "A Type 5?"

  Arthur bit his tongue, looking at the prince. Then... "Yes."

  The Prince stopped. The air in the mindscape went still. "Interesting."

  "Was he... a Royal Hour?"

  "I don't know."

  "Thought so," the Prince whispered. He looked at Arthur.

  Arthur held his breath.

  “That describes me. But that's impossible. My son is dead.”

  "What makes you think," Arthur asked, his voice shaking, "that your son is dead?"

  The Prince looked away, into the distance of the park. "Because I haven't seen him for 16 years. He didn't search for me."

  He looked back at Arthur. “And... I didn't feel his powers. If he was alive, I would have felt him. But there was nothing. Just silence."

  "And why do you care about my son?" The Prince scoffed. "Are you, my son?"

  Arthur's eyes went wide open.

  The Prince laughed. "Just kidding. But... if you are my son... then maybe tell me something that my son knows."

  "You killed a whole army alone," Arthur said.

  "Nope," The Prince waved his hand. "Something I always do. Public knowledge."

  "You took me... Dad... from the depth of the fire."

  "No," The Prince said. "Still not speci—"

  "You got me from under the wall."

  The Prince stopped. "Hm-"

  "You covered me with your coat."

  "Interesting."

  Arthur stepped closer.

  "You told me," Arthur whispered, his voice shaking, "'No one will ever hurt you when I am here'. But I was hurt. And you didn't protect me."

  The Prince stared at him.

  "Why?" Arthur cried, tears finally spilling over. "Why did you leave me, Dad?"

  "Arthur..." The Prince whispered. "You... A-alive?"

  He tried to stand. But his legs betrayed him. The Prince crumpled to the grass.

  Arthur didn't help him; he kept staring in his eyes. The park vanished shattering like dropped glass as the memory forced its way through. "Son," a voice called...

  ***

  "Son," a voice called from the other side of a mahogany door. "You are taking too much time getting ready. The nobles are waiting."

  The Prince stood before a mirror. He brushed his hair. "I am coming now."

  He sighed, looking at his reflection. "Do I have to do this? It's just a birthday. Nothing more. Why did Father have to tell every Noble in the country to come?"

  He walked to the door and opened it. "Brother!" Maryal came running at him.

  He hugged her and patted her head. "They are waiting for you," she beamed. "Then let's not keep them waiting." He took her hand.

  They walked down the hallway. It was decorated in Crystal. The walls were lined with paintings of the Grandfather. The King who unified the worlds with an iron fist and a velvet glove.

  The Prince's eyes lingered on the painting. The Grandfather riding a horse, commanding a battlefield, looking... stable.

  "Daniel." He froze. The King stood there. "Yes, father."

  "Come with me. Everyone wants to meet you. After all, you are the future of the realm."

  They walked out to the crowd. Thousands of people cheered. The King raised his hand. The noise died down instantly.

  "Today!" the King announced. "My son becomes 13 years old!"

  The crowd roared. The King turned to The Prince. He placed a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed. Hard.

  "It is very heartwarming," the King said to the crowd, "to see him growing so fast. I remember when he took his first steps like it was yesterday."

  He wiped a tear from his eye. The crowd cheered louder.

  The Prince stood there, feeling his father’s fingers digging into The Prince’s collarbone,

  "And so," the King announced, "let the night start! As if it's too young for us to sleep now. Let us celebrate until dawn!"

  The crowd cheered. The King stayed for a second, soaking in the applause, then he took the Prince's hand. "Come inside."

  Maryal was following them, until she saw a servant with a tray of ice cream. She drifted away with it. The Prince was alone with his father.

  "Come, son," the King said, his grip tightening. "There is someone who wants to meet you."

  They walked to a noble named Jarl, who was standing with a 13-year-old girl.

  "My King! And the Prince," Jarl said, bowing. "How pleasant it is to see you both."

  "The pleasure is mine, Jarl.," the King said, His eyes drifted to the girl. "Who is she?"

  "Oh, sorry. Mind my manners. She is my daughter, Samly."

  "A pleasure seeing you, King," Samly said, dropping her eyes to the floor. She peeked up at Daniel through her lashes. "A pleasure meeting you... Prince."

  "Nice," the Prince thought. "An actor."

  He looked at the King, who was pushing him with his eyes. "No," the Prince said, his voice flat. "It's my pleasure meeting you, Samly."

  Silence fell. "Oh," the King said, "Daniel, can you get me a glass of wine?"

  The Prince raised an eyebrow. "And you," the King said to the girl. "Go with him, Samly. Show her around, Daniel."

  The Prince sighed. He nodded, walking away.

  They moved three steps away from the King. Immediately, Samly caught the arm of the Prince. She held it tight.

  The Prince stopped. "Can you let go of my arm?"

  Samly smiled. It wasn't a shy smile anymore. "Why? Are you shy?"

  "No," he said, trying to pull away. "Let go of my arm. Unless we’re married and nobody told me?"

  "If you asked m—"

  "I won't," he cut her off. "So don't live in the clouds."

  "And why is that?" she pouted, but her grip didn't loosen.

  The Prince bit his lips, but he looked at his father and he let his lips go.

  "I don't like actors. And I don't like girls who pretend to be shy."

  "But I am not acting."

  "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

  He took her to the balcony, away from the crowd.

  "I want to know... what do you want?" The Prince said, leaning on the railing.

  "I don't get what you mean."

  "Do you want to be the Queen?"

  Her eyes went wide, “No."

  The Prince sighed. "Can we skip this? and you can finally say that truth. or something? It's getting boring, to be honest."

  She didn't answer. She stared at him.

  He raised both hands. "I have done my part." He walked past her, leaving her alone in the dark.

  He went back inside. He found a group of nobles talking about history.

  They were discussing his grandfather’s victories. How great he was. How he could "slay a dragon if it was real." The Prince listened, nodded,

  He waited until the right moment. Then he retreated.

  He opened the door to his room. "Finally," he whispered. "Peace and quiet. What more could I ask for?"

  And then he saw her. Sitting on his bed. "Oh, no," The Prince groaned. "Who got you in?"

  "I have some tricks up my sleeve," Samly said, smiling.

  "Then keep them for yourself, and out before my sister sees you."

  "She won't come."

  "And why is that?"

  "She is currently eating ice cream," Samly said. "And from that much sugar, she will sleep instantly."

  "Nice observation." He pointed to the door. "But still. Get out."

  "Why?"

  "I SAID GET OUT."

  "I won't."

  The Prince looked at her. "Fine," he said. "Then I am out."

  He turned around and walked out of his own room, slamming the door behind him.

  He went to his sister's room. He sat there, in the dark, for six hours. Finally, he checked the clock. "Okay," he whispered. "It's midnight. Surely she went home."

  He walked back to his room. He opened the door. She was there. Sleeping in his bed.

  "What is this madness?" he hissed.

  She stirred, smiling sleepily. "Did you come back, My Prince?"

  "My Prince?" He sneered. "What is going on? For real."

  "I didn't do anything."

  "Except sleeping in a stranger's bed."

  "You are no stranger."

  "You're right. I'm just a stranger you met six hours ago."

  She sat up. She pulled a small bottle from her dress. "Okay. I will make a deal with you. Drink this... and I will go."

  Daniel looked at it. "Yeah. You will tell me that is just juice? Do you think that I am stupid?”

  "I know you would say that," she said, her voice smooth. "But just take one glass. Like... one sip. And I will go."

  "I am not drinking your poison," he said, grabbing the water pitcher from his nightstand.

  She smiled. "Suit yourself." He drank.

  He slammed the glass down. "Can you go now?"

  Samly didn't move. She just pointed at the empty pitcher.

  The Prince froze. "You were in my room for six hours..."

  "Long enough to touch everything," she smiled. "Five," she whispered.

  “Four,”

  The room tilted. The floor rushed up to meet him.

  "Three. Two."

  "It was drugged..." he slurred, his legs giving out. "Wasn't it... you b-b..."

  "One."

  Darkness didn't just take him; it claimed him.

  The last thing he felt was a soft hand stroking his hair, and a whisper close to his ear.

  "Goodnight, my Prince."

  shatter.

  Wednesday, ghosts and ghouls.

  Follow button.