Our Dark Prince (The Scottish Play)

XCIV. Birds of Prey

13 
PRINCE MANOR
Desdemona
Vinci, LA
Catahoula County
November 1st, 2014
Present Day
_____________________________

In Vinci, the pittura infamante died. The fury of Hellʼs Kitchen was a distant memory, replaced by business trips to Milan. The Order of the Dragon was coronating a new king, and Sebastian – the prodigal son, her son – would take the helm. She memorized the moments leading to this. Her strokes were precise, the way she painted this part of his life pristine, from the brush to the canvas. When they returned to Vinci, the dragon homestead had grown sloppy, erratic, like new brushing techniques.

With greedy eyes, she watched the foamy waves sink their teeth into her canvas, the sleepy neighborhoods get swallowed in a sea of red. Watched herself return to her pittura infamante; this picture of infamy, of desecration, this hell on earth that she had grown to hate, was replaced by the sight of her son, sitting next to her in the passenger seat, his heart silenced by a pain of unrequited love, of love he couldn't get back. 

"Youʼre a million miles away, cucciolo."

Heir to the ill-gotten Order throne, Sebastian sat, her prodigal son, flipping through a Milanese newspaper with pensive eyes. Together, they smoked, the fumes flowing from their mouths like ink from the Gods as they took the car to the Prince Manor, her hands weaving through his.

"Iʼm fine, Mom. Just stressed."

"How so?"

"The Pope has surrendered the Faith to the Order, the Israeli and American armies to the Arm, in an effort to build back up our Latin territories, the Plenty have finally given up the Few, generating returns of almost ten percent – stake in those major corporations – and the Muses keep the people entertained with circus and bread. And somehow, the numbers donʼt add up."

"They donʼt?"

"Iʼm bleeding money in the south of France. Dad doesnʼt want to relinquish control of the region nor concede to the Brotherhood. Locals calling it a black dahlia."

He passed his cigarette to her, a peace offering. Desdemona squeezed his hand, watching the cold and opulent Prince Manor appear in the rearview. She too was pensive.

"The Arm, The Faith, The Plenty, The Love, The Muses. The five pillars that keep the world moving on itʼs hamster wheel. Someday, you will learn how to rule it, cucciolo mio."

"Someday is upon us, Mom. He is a senile old man, hiding in the f*cking shadows–"

He closed his eyes, the throbbing pain of his headache swelling between the two of them, as Desdemona stroked his knuckles. In the darkness, he bore his pain, ripe with fresh pain.

"Howʼs the pain, sweetheart? Youʼre working yourself too hard."

"No worse than the anger."

"The pain will fade in time and this will be over soon. Itʼs just a matter of diplomacy. Iʼm vying for you, cucciolo. We will back your play."

A sigh, so many words unspoken.

"Thanks, Mom. Iʼm sorry for this, Iʼm just...trying to figure things out."

"Itʼs ok, sweetheart. Iʼm the one that needs to apologize."

"For what?"

"For Katarina–"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. She stared him down cold, watching hiYou m flinch at the chilliness of her touch.

"Mom, for f*ckʼs sake."

"No, Sebastian, we need to talk about this."

"Talk about what. Robin using me?

"Sheʼs a con artist, Sebastian."

"Sheʼs the mother of my children, Mom. Sheʼs going to be my wife."

"Sheʼs manipulating you, Sebastian."

"Good. She does so you...speak of the devil."

Coming up the lawn, Desdemona flitted her attention briefly to the sleepy, tightly-knit Elizabethan Parlor. The sun briefly sat in the sky, ensnared in the throes of the passion of the moon and the dark rain. With eyes of fiery pink, and a taste for Latin American flair, the sky washed over Robin and her four children as they emerged from the veranda, readying for their arrival. White roses, frosted in a rich creaminess, kissed the neatly trimmed bushes around the Parlor. Trevor, Olivia, Whitney, and Romeo, the four children they had together, beamed at the two of them, curled de Medici ringlets billowing in the wind.

Desdemona choked his wrist in her grasp, fuming.

"I know what a man in love looks like and thatʼs not you, Sebastian."

"And what happened to the man you love? Thatʼs right. Heʼs dead, on your watch."

"How dare you–"

"SHE IS GOING TO BE MY WIFE!"

The wind changed; more angry, more hungry than before. He broke her heart and he ate the bloody shards.

"The punishment fits the crime, Mom. Iʼm going to marry her. Sheʼs going to be my wife, and then, itʼs one more thing that I have to deal with thatʼs out of my way."

"To what, specifically?"

"History is fiction, currency is literature, the pure race is the master race. Iʼm tired of being a Prince. Time the emperor wears new clothes."

"And Robin at your side offers what?"

The ghost of Katarina dʼAragon, Sebastianʼs old flame, came in the fiery day as Robin told her children of the plans she had to host them. When he stepped out of the car, Desdemona let the cigarette smokeʼs wispy arms wrapped around them and the nicotine ate at the sky. The cigaretteʼs toxicity was all-consuming, starting in the gut as it stirred and churned the organs, before rising fast, with volcanic fury. Its breath was made from eyes of fire, and as its wings curled into thin black wreaths with fanciful flair. She smoked with the elegance of a storm and she was determined to rain it all down on him.

"Iʼve done some heinous things in my life, Sebastian, but contrary to popular belief, Iʼfr done it all for you. To protect you. She is a predator. I know the type. She is a predator and you are her prey. She drove you to kill an innocent girl, a girl you were very much in love with, and she will stop at nothing until she rips you apart. I will burn this entire Order to the ground before I let that happen. And not even you, my darling boy, will stand in my way."

Sebastian stepped out of the car, eyes an icy cold.

"Iʼd like to see you try, Mom. Until then, go to hell. "