Fourth Gemstone

Feathers fall to the ground, stained with blood.

What little light there is bounces off prism eyes. Horror races across the prince’s face.

“You...,” he barely manages to choke out. “...bastard.”

Ahh, it’s that look again. Crow hates it.

The world feels like its melting around him and he can barely think but he remembers this. He knows this room and its darkness. It’s so cold here. It’s so cold that he can’t feel anything but the blood running down his face. He lunges forward, hand outstretched and the scream that tries to ring through the air is abruptly silenced.

Heat on his shaking hands.

Rubies stain the floor, shining on their own. Isn’t that what it means to have royal blood, he thinks hazily and almost laughs. To shine brighter than everyone else? Of course even their blood would be precious. The prince’s wings are golden and so are his eyes, but what does that matter. They pale in comparison to what Crow sees now.

He sways and he can hear it, the way the prince struggles to breath under the weight of breaking. He’s trying to speak. What was his name again? Ara? Ari? Iren? He knows what it is, he thinks as he falls to his knees with a pained gasp. Why can’t he remember. It’s so hot in here isn’t it? The heat travels from his eyes and down his face. Plink. Plink. Plink.

This is just another dream. Isn’t it? It must be.

None of this is real, he thinks tiredly. And then, what’s the point in saying that. It’s the blood loss that’s getting to him. What a nostalgic feeling.

Crow has never escaped his nightmares.

He’s going to die here.

It’s for the best.

Earlier that day...

The furnishings of the room they keep him in - honored guest or honored prisoner its all the same - looks exactly like the one he has back at the estate. Had. The same curtains, velvet, too heavy to be useful. The same furniture, overly ornate, cold to the touch. The same trappings of luxury: a silk noose around his throat forever tightening. Why couldn’t they have left him alone?

Crow leaves the room easier than he went in. If he listens hard enough, he imagines he can hear the security shields but its all in his head. He’s been hearing it for days now but it’s worse today. They’ve gotten complacent enough that no one follows him around anymore but there’s a festival coming up soon so he waits. It will be easier to disappear into the crowd that night.

The hero’s voice is strong and clear, his voice carrying through the heavy wooden doors. Crow’s hearing has always been too sharp. He wasn’t even trying to eavesdrop really. He just wanted to say hello.

“...look like he did it but…”

Ah. So that’s how it is.

Crow feels numb. A hollow opens up inside of him, swallowing all of his light. He backs away from the door, shaking with something much bigger than fear. More intense than anger. What right do I have, he asked himself. What right do I have to feel betrayed.

But it’s far too late for that.

He feels empty. Crow makes his way back to his room in a daze. Except, he doesn’t quite make it. The whispers that say he looks like the king make him flinch away from the mirrors, avoiding the sight of his black curls and hidden eyes but it’s even worse when they meet in the hallways. The king’s eyes are fire obsidian, the colors melding together dizzily. Crow keeps his head down and his face turned away when they cross paths. The guilt in those eyes as he passes feels like claws down his back.

He never let anyone see his wings, and now he feels his feathers try to rustle anxiously. He holds himself perfectly still. Poised. Ready for the blow. It doesn’t come but Crow knows it won’t be long until it does. He needs to leave before something bad happens. The hero’s words echo inside his head.

“...look like he did it but…”

The smell of blood is so familiar. The slick feeling of it on his hands, burning. Death is calling his name for the second time. He jolts awake and throws the covers off, smothering under their weight. He doesn’t fall back asleep.

He hasn’t slept in so long. It’s getting worse.

The food here tastes the same. Bitter. It makes him slow and heavy, eyes struggling to stay open. One moment its daytime and the next shadows are pouring into the room. He hasn’t even moved. The hallways are filled with tapestries and round lamps, all of it melting the second he looks at them. The light bounces off the princess’ hair, the prince’s knife.

Crow keeps to himself.

They follow him.

This time when he tells himself it could be worse it sounds like a lie.

A stern-faced maid stands outside his door. Her curtsy is perfectly respectful and paired with a cold smile. He’s never seen her before but the silk ribbon tied into her haid is something the ordinary maids could never afford. Her wings are the color of burnished copper, flared in annoyance.

“His Highness requests your presence.”

His eyes hurt.

The prince talks about nothing and Crow watches his knife spin and spin and spin.

He doesn’t let Crow leave until the princess arrives, silken skirts rustling, mockingbird voice. A dismissal for him. A reassessment for them. He readies himself for the second round.

The same maid stands outside his door.

“His Highness requests your presence.”

This time they’re both there. Where the princess blazes, her magic honed and deadly, the prince is subtle. The tea makes his tongue heavy and his mind fuzzes over. Thinks he’s too good to speak with us does he, they scoff, whispering between themselves. Crow doesn't bother explaining to people he knows won’t listen. Blades catch the light and he avoids looking at their eyes. He notices how their rage deepens at the perceived insult. His illusion holds out.

The same maid stands outside his door. 

Again.

“His Highness requests your presence.”

Again.

“His Highness requests your presence.”

A g a i n .

“His Highness requests your presence.”

The cycle continues. The darkness grows heavier. Crow is fraying at the edges. His illusions are becoming sloppy from the exhaustion and his eyes grow bloodshot. He watches the windows longingly and tells himself to hang on. Only a little more left to go. When he blows the candles out at night the hero’s words repeat inside his mind, a never ending loop.

“I know it doesn’t look like he did it but…”

He just doesn’t know how long he can keep this up.

Now.

Crow can feel the vibration of footsteps coming closer.

Victor’s voice rises above the clank of armor and the unsheathing of blades. He sounds enraged. Crow gets up and staggers his way to the windows. The dust covered curtains get tangled in his hands. He rips them down, desperate. So close. He's so close.

The door crashes open.

The illusion over his eyes shatters with a crack everyone can hear.

It’s the first thing they see, the moonlight reflecting in Crow’s gemstone eyes.

The second thing is the blood dripping down his face.

Then he turns around and jumps.