The Exiled Gem

One Assassin Down

After seeing the portrait of his adolescence, Alexandra had come to regard Liam as a little less than he was. She had expected to see everything similar - and even in that, slightly child-like - after having seen the portrait. Her own innocence stupefied her, because Liam didn't look a lot like before, and didn't look anything like in the painting.

Perhaps it was not because of the features, but because of the way he was carrying himself. His golden eyes shone brighter, his dark hair was longer and unrulier and he appeared all the more alluring. Despite all of that, it was the end of a working day, and he looked what he was: tired. One look at him, and Alexandra knew Mark Fannel was not the only one who hadn't had a wink of sleep last night. And in his hand was a long, naked sword, its end glinting maliciously. Presently, he sheathed the blade and walked up to her.

Alexandra didn't know what to say to him. "Good evening"? Or something more sarcastic like, "nice to meet you"? Or something bitter like, "so, somebody finally found time"? Perhaps, something obnoxious like, "I didn't do that for you, I just didn't want Olivia to win,". Otherwise, the blatant truth and the most obvious thing under the sun, "my ribs ache."?

None suited. None fitted. None described what she was feeling and so, she chose to remain quiet. And perhaps similar things were going on in Liam's mind, for he chose silence as well. But when he had come near enough, and she could see him better than before, she realized he was more than tired. His jaw was firmer and his eyes were harder than what she remembered them to be. But he was more than tired; he was worried - and his eyes softened when they gazed at her - and it gave Alexandra an unexpected lurch of pleasure at the realization that he had been worried for her. 

She knew he was noting the changes in appearance - but it was taking him longer than it had taken her. The only logical explanation for which, was that she had changed more than Liam had. Perhaps a minute more of silence, a minute in which Alexandra spotted the Nurse peeping at them through her cabin window. It didn't bother her, because it wouldn't have bothered Liam, who perhaps spent his life being spied at by different personalities of the Palace. Nothing they would talk would be top secret and private: as much was clear. For right now, the one with the broken ribs was no spy and the one with the glowing eyes was no king - there was only an "infirm" and a "concerned".

And that minute soon passed, at the end of which, Alexandra hoped Liam had decided upon something to start with. He had, and it was completely unexpected. In what she knew was the most affectionate gesture of her life, Liam put a hand to her forehead and knelt down by the bed. Silent warmth seeped through her, and the simple gesture, when compared to Olivia's ways set all the forgettable memories of Olivia on a roll. True, she hadn't known Alexandra was present there all along. And still, if that was the kind of a person Olivia had chose to become, then Alexandra was glad she had been exiled. Alexandra was glad she was related to Liam and no longer to Olivia. If she had to betray her sister a thousand more times for this man, she would not hesitate for a second before doing so.

'I know,' Liam almost whispered, though there was no need to do so. 'I know. Olivia.'

That summed it up. Olivia.

'I don't know when and how she changed so much,' Alexandra replied, her voice constricted with emotions. Her chest ached, not because of the broken ribs, it was because the weight of the past four months finally falling upon her - not part by part, but entirely at once. 'I didn't know she could stoop that low. Try to get someone...' But the sentence was best left hanging there. Not everything could be put to words. And regardless of whether they knew it or not, everybody carried a sword within their mouths - that sword which gave the most painful of scars, that sword which needed not a hand to lift it. 

He hadn't asked for it, and perhaps he would have been content without the recollection, but Alexandra launched into a second retelling of her first trial. And though it was a repetition, here, the absence of the need to call Olivia, "the Akwandian Queen" and the absence of the need to hide her truest emotion, served the real purpose of sharing a tale. It lifted the weight off her chest. But the void it created was just as much unbearable - just as much helpless. She felt the closest to breaking down she had felt in years, even stronger than the time she had leaked a drop or two before Mark Fannel had wiped them off. It could be that Liam understood, because he lifted his hand off her forehead and weaved it into her scalp - exactly the way Mark tousled his hair - but in a far gentler and relaxing massage. It didn't occur to her until years and years later, as to why a king would do that, why Liam didn't consider it beneath him - and when, from the swift movement of his eyes she could see, he knew a Nurse was watching them. For all she knew, it was soothing enough to make her forget about crying, to make her realize that a few people were not worth crying for.