Work Text:
Sit.
Head up.
Make eye contact.
Smile back.
Listen.
Eret sits on the edge of the throne as the court was held, hair curled and pinned with their crown. Their shoulders rolled to keep their back straight, arms in their lap and ankles crossed. The court was more of a show than anything. But no one else in the damn room seemed to notice or care.
Requests to the king were only made so they could pretend to be heard, gifts presented only to show how adored they supposedly were. All the while the king sat dressed like a beautiful porcelain puppet with their strings pulled taut to act out the scene on the brightly lit stage.
The stage lights finally burn out and the puppet slumps over at the end of the show, the day’s events weighing more than the gold on their head and around their neck.
“Your crown is off-center.”
They sit up straight again, adjusting the crown appropriately.
“Your glasses.”
The glasses are pushed up their nose, hiding their eyes behind dark lenses.
“Your expression.”
A smile stretches on their face, the picture of a graceful monarch.
The doll is still, now made of marble as they are frozen in time. Marble does not move as the voice approaches it’s sculpted ear.
“Good.”
Relief does not come to stone. It remains as it had been placed, a carved piece on a checkerboard set down by an artful hand that was so clever with a chisel.
“It’s getting late, your highness. Look, the sun is already setting. You should get some rest.” The strings are pulled to bring the doll back to action. “You did good today, a king using their power with wisdom and justice is well-liked.
“Goodnight.”
Click of shoes on stone floors and carpets.
Click of heavy wooden doors opened and closed.
Click of locks as they settled in for the night.
Eret stares up at the draped velvet of their bed, it did well to keep out the chill of cold stone and wind when they slept. They were always so cold in bed despite the good materials used. They were trying to think, while pushing each thought away whenever they came to them.
The day had been foggy and filled with haze, despite the clear sunny skies. The bed is cold, the room too bright in the dark.
They stand up and walk gracefully to the fire, picking up their skirts from the floor before kicking in the burning log. Ash and coals scatter on their boots, threatening to burn whatever it could find to be flammable.
The coals are picked up and dropped back into the flames to be consumed, their fingers are cold and numb. And burnt, they suppose, would be correct to say in this case.
Today was okay. That much was obvious from how little they recollect, and how they didn’t notice the color green so much. A sigh wanted to escape their chest from what they considered was likely relief. It didn’t escape. That wouldn’t be right.
It went well. It went too well. Something must have been wrong, they turn around frantically and their skirt drags away coals from the hungry fire.
What did they say and do? Why do they never know? Why aren’t they just told what they did wrong?
What were they told?
Justice. Did they perform a trial in court? An execution?
Wisdom. Did they solve a dispute? Stabilize a trade route?
Did they sit there? Back straight, crown on, smile wide?
Did they look at him too long? One word said that was too many? Did they try to cry in front of him?
Last they checked their room was dimly lit by blue moonlight. Why was the light so warm? So orange?
Why?
There’s a laugh, a scream.
Oh.
That’s their voice. Why?
“Well-liked.”
The scream rings out again. Then laughs at the joke. Hilarious.
Tear of fabric as it is cast to the ground.
Splash of water as it is thrown.
Wailing as their arm is held to keep them back.
“Are you alright? You were screaming your highness, there was a fire spreading on your skirts.” The voice is new, familiar. Gentle and female. Servant in their room.
They nod, something is said by them. The servant is backed away and cleans up now.
They lift their arms, ribbon is tied to fix their nightgown and they lay back down. The servant moves her mouth, and bows out the room.
Click of the door as they settle in for the night.
What was it that they were thinking about?
————————————————————————
Chess pieces sit in neat rows, centered on their respective squares when placed on the board to start the game. Eret did not appreciate it, their lips curved downwards. Nose wrinkling to help adjust their glasses, they hide their emotion poorly in their expression.
It was simple to spot, a pull of a muscle here, tension there. Eret was tense and afraid, they wanted him gone. They were considering 20 different ways to leave this conversation and all 20 were dead ends.
Resigned, they sat down in the seat across from him, smoothing their skirts. Nervous.
He couldn’t resist a smile under his mask. Here was the fun to be had, now in front of him.
“I’ve never been much for chess, why ask me?”
“It’s a fun game. Besides, most people learn the rules fairly young. It’s mastery of it that’s difficult.” They didn’t like his words, because they understood. Good, very good.
Pawn.
“Sorry, perhaps I should have asked if you liked to play white or black.”
“It’s okay,” they tuck a curl back behind their ear, moving one of their own pawns.
“Do you like being second? I hear there’s an advantage to it.”
They shake their head and smile, “Not really,” they hated it. Being second, being the afterthought, “But you like playing white, don’t you?”
“It suits my style of play better, important to consider that in this game. Right?”
Red painted lips thin into a line, they were bothered by his words now. They would let him be white, of course. They didn’t even consider the option to ask when they sat down. “Right.”
The game moves on, Eret fidgets. Crossing and uncrossing their ankles, anxious now. They were expecting something to be said by him.
He would wait instead.
“Dream?”
He sets his knight down and looks up. Eyes rolling up behind his mask. “Yes?”
“Is something wrong?” They glance down at the board and move quickly. Not considering their moves or words now.
“Why do you ask that?” What has you so worried today, your highness? Eyes move up and down and understand now, their hands were in their lap. Retreating away from him.
“You never just want to sit and play a game.” They knew that was a lie, there was always a game being played. They sat on the board themselves, never the player.
“I had spare time today, and I haven’t seen you.”
Pawn.
They finally study the board, fear dawns on their face. Pure, realized fear. “You made a queen. I didn’t see that.”
Of course they wouldn’t, they’re not meant to. “That’s checkmate as well, your highness. With that white queen sat there.” He picks up the black king and moves to pocket it.
“Dream, that belongs to this board. It’s one of the castle’s, it’s not yours.”
“I just won it,” he holds the king, thumb on the base and forefinger on the top. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
“You’re right.”
“Hey Eret?” They look back at him, dreading it. It was obvious his next words were going to hurt. Their head turned slightly, they were looking at the chess piece in his hand now. Scared for it’s life.
“Yes?”
“How’s Wilbur?”
They’re taken aback, breathing unsteady for a moment too long. It was so obvious to him now.
Queen.