The Raven

Fourteen

"I have been in the tower for my entire life," confesses Caleb, leaning back against the wall as he sits beside Prince Henry on the narrow bed. "Honestly, until recently, I had never even had the courage to venture out of this room," he says, his voice trailing off toward the end of his sentence, his emotions somehow choking him as he struggles to keep his voice steady. The raven has never had anyone to talk to before, never had anyone to share his burdens with; he has never voiced the pain of his childhood aloud. Something about opening up to Henry makes the raven feel warm and fuzzy, and he latches onto the feeling, holding it securely within his heart.

Henry wonders quietly, his mind overrun with thoughts at Caleb's admission; he could not even imagine being locked in a single room for so many years. His heart aches for the boy beside him, the overwhelming desire to comfort him and assure him that he no longer has to be alone practically devouring him whole. Glancing around the small space, the prince asks, "So you were born in this room?"

"Hmm... not born, but created," the raven corrects, his head falling back against the wall behind him and his eyes falling closed. As much as it pains him to think about it, Caleb cannot help the immense feeling of relief that swarms him as he explains, "Mother used a combination of dark magic and raven feathers to create me. I do not know how, exactly, as she does not like to talk about it much. But it is the summary of my creation."

"Created from magic and feathers...?" Henry repeats quietly to himself. He turns on the bed to gaze at the boy with the enrapturing red eyes, only to find those glowing crimson orbs already looking at him and filled with what Henry can only describe as longing. The prince's cheeks flush pink, and he fumbles his hands on the blanket-covered mattress, his fingers accidentally brushing Caleb's leg. A visible shiver travels through the raven at the touch, catching Henry's attention instantly and sending an electric shock straight to his groin. In a rush to conceal the tenting in his pants, the prince quickly returns to his original position. He takes a deep breath before asking, "Do you know how old you are?" The question itself is not entirely important, as Henry has already figured out that Caleb is indeed the so-called weapon created by the witch eighteen years ago. However, it serves adequately as a distraction, allowing the offending appendage in his pants the opportunity to calm down.

The raven nods in confirmation and replies, "It was eighteen years ago, I do know that. Obviously, I do not remember much of anything from my earliest days; however, Mother began teaching me to use my magic in this very room not long after I had learned to walk and talk. She has always said that I must perfect my skills as soon as possible because I have a purpose to fulfill, and I need to be thoroughly prepared."

"Do you know what the purpose is?" Henry asks curiously, this time only his head turning in the other boy's direction; he would not want to risk the same bodily reaction again. How embarrassing it might be for Caleb to know just how powerful an effect he has over the prince.

"I am not entirely sure; Mother refuses to talk much about it. All she has said is that it is a matter of life and death and that I would not want to be the cause of someone losing their life if I neglected to hone my powers," Caleb answers quietly. Guilt fills the cracks of his heart; he has not spent much of his free time practicing lately, regardless of the lies he feeds his mother. While his skills have progressed to be far more superior than he lets on, the idea of risking an innocent person's life has the raven feeling significantly inadequate.

Henry simply nods in response, noting the similarities between the raven's story and the information given to him by Ella; however, he is wholly baffled by the understanding that this supposed "weapon" is the seemingly sweet, charming, and incredibly beautiful boy sitting beside him. Sure, he possesses magic, but could Caleb really willingly cause someone harm? The prince finds this extremely doubtful. How, then, could he be used as a weapon? And why? Henry's mind is flooded with questions he has yet to find answers to, and with every new unanswered question, another one seems to pop up directly behind it. And what exactly is this "war" that is coming? How is Caleb supposed to single-handedly stop it from causing havoc in the kingdom? If Caleb knows he is meant to be used as a weapon, why has no one informed him what he will be fighting for or who against?

"Have you ever thought about leaving the tower?" asks Henry, deciding to start with a much simpler of his many questions. He watches as the raven's eyes grow wide at his words, yet he holds his tongue. As much as he wants to retract the question after seeing Caleb's almost fearful reaction, the invisible force connecting the two will not allow it; it is insistent that they get to know each other as much as possible.

"I have," Caleb carefully replies, "but Mother would never allow it, not even for a moment." He swallows back the growing lump in his throat that threatens to constrict his airway, desperately trying to convince his body not to show any weakness; he does not want Prince Henry to see him like that. The silence between them stretches on for several moments as Henry waits for Caleb to collect himself, his eyes worriedly traveling over the other boy in his evidently distressed state. The heat of Henry's body as their legs brush against each other seeps into Caleb, soothing him slightly. After a shuddering breath, he continues, "I managed to get out of this room once, not long ago, but it did not last long. And I know that if Mother ever found out, I would be punished severely." The sadness in his voice has the prince's heart squeezing.

Henry leans closer to the dark-haired boy, looking deeply into his eyes, and promises, "I will get you out of here, Caleb. You deserve so much more than being locked away in a tower." His arms twitch with the desire to hold him, to press Caleb against his chest and offer him endless comfort. The thought occurs to him that such unexpected actions from someone he barely knows may startle the raven or make him uncomfortable. Instead, Henry gently places his hand atop Caleb's, sweetly tracing his thumb over the back of his fingers.

A well of tears forms behind the raven's eyes as he soaks in the current situation, a warmth hastily spreading through him. Could Henry really get him out of the tower? Is it possible he could actually be his knight in shining armor coming to rescue him? Could Caleb dare to dream just this once? Only time will tell, he supposes.