Checkmate

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

So, the Prince is out to make a new name for himself. 

Aaron can tell by the way he walks.  The proud leonine stalk, the way the Prince’s eyes rake the building crowd, the way he sets his feet upon the ground.  Sunlight gleams golden off his bronze skin.  The tilt of his head quivers, as though the Prince is at last conscious of body language but unable to discern which position is deemed best for the situation.  To an amateur eye, one would say he is nervous as he faces the crowd due to the constant motion of the Prince’s fingers.  So much more than mere nerves froth beneath the surface of Nathiel.  He is not nervous, not nervous in the slightest.  He is curious, and he is determined to get whatever his objective may be right.  The way he bites his lower lip indicates that Nathiel feels he is under pressure, though. 

Aaron cannot determine why exactly the Prince sense pressure, however.  This is not his first speech to a crowd of dirty rats; far from it.  He has seen both more disgusting and more wretched.  And yet the signs are clear as day.  The Prince is clearly expecting something anxiously. 

Sunlight kisses Aaron’s forehead.  The heat is likely the last of its kind until spring returns.  The steps of the courthouse are cautioned off, creating a pathway for the Prince.  People clothed solely in rags gather, whispering, all hoping to catch the barest espy of the despised royalty.  Women with hair still primped from the previous night’s ballroom excursion seem hopeful at the sight of the dashing Prince, whereas the exigent men are displeased by his appearance.  Sunken eyes watch him from their lifeless pits, skin of even those of not exclusive age wrinkled by the sun and lined by pain.  The officers seem healthy and beefy.  These people are thin and gnarled as branches plucked from willow trees.

Aaron’s own eyes gnaw at his superior’s state, though.  Elocution has always been a strong point for the Prince.  Words come easy to Nathiel, a familial trait that Aaron finds himself envying.  Perhaps it is the expression of ease on Nathiel’s face, or the dominant way he steals control of the situation, but his charisma affects even Aaron.  The Prince is likeable.  If he had not been on the opposite side of a mounting war, Aaron would’ve enjoyed Nathiel’s company very much. 

At last, Nathiel addresses the people.  His voice is proud, strong.  The way his dark eyes rove the crowd sends chills through the simpleton.  “I understand,” announces Nathiel, his voice lacking the fatuous tones of an inexperienced youth, “that many of you have been deceived by royalty.  I understand that many of you must hate me, even as I stand before you.  I understand why.  I do not blame you for a thing.  It is all rightfully placed.  Why should I lounge about when you grovel away at my feet?  Very recently, I have come to ask myself the same questions.”

An uneasy pang rolls in Aaron’s gut.  Though perhaps favorable to Nathiel, any positive attention will cause the citizens to hesitate in any act of rebellion and create uncertainty in the ranks of the Phoenix Resistance.  His sudden friendliness could have a negative effect on Aaron’s plans, and that simply won’t work. 

Plans.  Plans are always the most difficult of things.  Fragile as a feather in a tempest, they are susceptible to even the slightest change in winds.  Balancing precariously on the edge of a knife, reeling constantly in one direction or another.  A plan is a loom, as intricate as a spider's web.  Each of the delicate strands are bound and wrapped together, packaged like a gift.  However, it only takes one idiot with with a large enough stick to smash a web to bits.  

All of Aaron's plans rest upon the dislike of the Prince and his family.  The cruel accusations and indictments whispered on the streets had never given him so much as a single worry before.  It makes this new development is unsettling.  There must've been a reason for Nathiel's sudden care for the wellbeing of the men slaving away for him.  Aaron's mind falls upon an illusory girl with blue eyes and a flame-licked dress.  His discontent grows.