Questioning

Poppy’s blood trickled into the palm of her hand. After eyeing it for a moment and deciding it was a good amount, she squeezed her hand shut and murmured old words into her fist, similar to a lullaby or nursery rhyme.

The warmth of her breath turned the blood ice-cold for a moment. Then it changed what she’d been gripping into fine grains of copper sand. What had dripped between her knuckles and ran down the length of her arm remained liquid, but up toward her palm it’d become dust. Pixie dust.

The prince blinked at her, his expression one of awe and horror. The two emotions appeared to be chasing each other across his face as he couldn’t decide how to feel.

“Magic,” Poppy explained, lifting her hand up in salute. Some dust fell onto the pages and gave the paper a sparkling effect.

“What was that?” the prince finally asked.

She shrugged. “I just told you. This is pixie dust. Some call it a fairy dust off-brand.” She observed the shimmering sand in her hand with confidence. This was some of the best pixie dust she’d made in a long while. The color was rich and had multiple layers of golden and amber hues. It felt slightly warm in her hand, like it was its own living entity. This was bound to make some powerful spells.

“Is it worth harming yourself over?” the prince asked, his face a ghostly pallor. Maybe he wasn’t particularly good with seeing blood. And Poppy thought she was queasy.

“Wait and see,” she said with a small smirk. Poppy stood barefoot on the page and observed the text before her, mouthing out the syllables one more time. Then, as if flicked by a switch, she pinched a small amount of dust between her fingers and breathed, “AK-RE-FRUH.”

Nothing happened. Poppy frowned and looked down at the paper. Skimmed the instructions once more. “Ah.” She snapped her fingers.

A spout of golden fire streamed out her index finger with the power of a firehose. Although she was tiny, the fire was enough in quantity to reach the sofa two feet away and singe it. “Holy--!” the prince exclaimed, leaning backward. The glowing flame reflected light in his green eyes.

“Ahh--” Poppy scrambled to remember the incantation for nulling a spell. She could smell the piece of furniture cooking as she ransacked her memories. “Nive! Nive!” she shouted while imagining the flame dying out.

A moment of hesitation, as if the fire didn’t particularly want to extinguish itself, but it quickly guttered out. A flash of movement and the prince was beating the corner of his sofa with a pillow. The fire which had slowly begun eating away at the luxurious suede was now reduced to darkened char and smoke.

Poppy swallowed and smiled widely when the prince jerked his attention towards her. “What the hell?” he said with a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.

She laughed awkwardly.

“Magic works in mysterious ways. You never know what you’ll get.”

He grimaced and squatted before her. “Listen, Fairy. You cannot set my furniture on fire. I thought that was a given,” he leant his head down to scratch the back of his neck, “but apparently I wasn’t thorough enough with explaining the rules of living here.”

“I never wanted to live here in the first place,” she helpfully pointed out.

Something flashed across the prince’s features and it looked akin to pain, but it was gone so quickly that Poppy wasn’t sure if she read it correctly. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “Now I’m going to have to call someone to come and replace this.” He observed the couch with a frown.

“Oh, I might be able to find a spell for fixing fabric--”

“No!” the prince shot out, then cleared his throat. “I wanted to change the space up a bit anyway. Just, please, no more magic. At least not without extra precautions. That fire looked like it could have eaten you whole.” Indeed, the flames had been much larger than Poppy expected. Last time when she used pixie dust made from her sweat, the flames had been mere sparks compared to that.

This was understandable now that she thought about it. Using blood would obviously make the spell much more powerful. Poppy hadn’t prepared like she’d normally would; she’d been too excited to find a book full of spells. Her eagerness overtook her.

Her face heated in embarrassment. She felt like some sort of novice.

“Shouldn’t you know how to control it before you start casting enchantments?” the prince went on, “And I can hardly see how this was worth biting your own arm. You’re still bleeding, for saints’ sake.”

The prince went to find some bandages. “Spells,” Poppy corrected with no one to hear. Enchantments were completely different; they could add a desired effect to an object, but they weren’t like spells which were more physical.

She groaned and gazed at the book. Poppy was behind on her studies.

The problem wasn’t with her necessarily, but her lack of access to books. Since her family left, all her studying had come from self-teaching and experience. Although even way back then, she’d never been taught much by her family. It was considered unlucky for pixies to practice magic, at least to fairies it was.

“What are you pouting about?” the prince asked, having returned. He sat down once more and laid out a bandage. He began cutting it to size with a pair of shears.

Poppy eyed him. He’d know nothing about being an outcast. If anything, the prince was the center of attention. People vied for a moment of his time, and he was practically drowned with gifts. She’d seen the flowers and small, colorfully wrapped boxes he’d bring in. It repulsed her, the way people ran after him like sheep.

“Hey,” he said, his gaze focused on her. Sometimes his eyes were as clear as quartz, like they were now. This somehow ticked Poppy off further. “I didn’t say you couldn’t practice magic at all. Next time we’ll just have to take some precautions, like, say, having a fire extinguisher nearby. A nice fireproof tarp would be good too…” He tapped the shears on the floor.

“Does it feel good?” Poppy asked.

“Huh?” She broke him out of his reverie of safety precautions.

“Being born with everything you want,” she explained with a puff of air. Poppy fell back and lay on the book’s opened page. “It must be nice to have anything you could ever possibly wish for. Although I suppose it would get boring after a while, never struggling for anything. That’s why I’m here, right?” She stared at the ornate, coffered ceiling.

“To ease your boredom,” she finished.

She realized she was throwing a tantrum but at the same time couldn't bring herself to care. It was like some of her bottled frustrations were finally being set free, into the air.

The prince was quiet for a moment. Then, “Is that what you think? That you’re here to entertain me?”

Poppy shrugged. “Isn’t it?” How’d they keep the ceiling so immaculate? The maids must have had some sort of duster on a pole to reach all those grooves.

Something sounded strange and Poppy realized it was because the room was quiet. The shearing of cotton bandages had stopped. She peered over to glance at the prince.

His expression was one of frustration--an emotion she’d yet to see on his face. “I--” he struggled to find the right wording, “never intended to come off that way. I promise you my intentions were sincere when I said I wished to help you.”

Poppy clambered into a sitting position. “I didn’t mean what I just said--”

“No, you did,” the prince stopped her. “Please don’t try to spare my feelings; I’ve been sparing myself enough as it is. Anyway, what I mean is that I took you in out of kindness and, yes, curiosity. I also had fun teasing you, but I never meant to do you harm! After you injured yourself, I was worried you’d venture back out and be found. I couldn’t let you get yourself captured or worse. I wouldn’t forgive myself, not when I had you right here.”

He gripped his hands above his lap, knuckles white from the pressure. “The reason I chased after you in the kitchen was because there are mouse traps, and I feared you might get caught in one. I didn’t realize until later that you probably had been dealing with them for some time. I always just wanted to help you.”

They looked at each other then and Poppy could feel his sincerity. However, there was something off-putting about the whole thing. Whether this was the fact that a prince was apologizing to her, or that he was perhaps not telling the entire truth, she couldn’t be too sure. She believed there was a part to the story he wasn’t relaying.

“So I can presume you’ll let me go on my merry way after my ankle heals?” she questioned slowly.

The prince blinked once. Twice. “Of course,” he grinned. “After all, I’m only helping you out. Once you no longer need my help, you’re free to do as you please.”

Poppy nodded but said nothing. He had hesitated too long before answering.

She wanted to ask about why the guest rooms were being cleaned out, but if that had nothing to do with her, then she didn’t want to let on where her base was. There was a sneaking suspicion in her that he’d ordered the rooms deep-cleaned in order to snake her out.

Make sure to come to me with anything suspicious, no matter how small.

Poppy shook this memory from her head. He’d probably made the order because he was expecting his proposal to be passed this upcoming week, and if his proposal passed then it would hopefully lead to foreigners frequenting the castle once again. Of course he'd want the guest rooms cleaned up.

She just hoped this latter reason was his true reason. Because Poppy didn’t wish to know why else he’d want to find her so badly. After all, if there was indeed another reason behind him wanting her here, then he was a terribly good liar. And that in itself was something to be wary of.