The Emerald-Opal Heir - 15

The Prince

When Beckett finally jerked awake, he was pretty sure that the darkness was ready to consume him again. 

His leg screamed at him where the blade was still embedded in his flesh. He could feel the blood soaking through his clothes, and surprisingly enough, his first thought was to be self-conscious about it. Would Alys laugh at me if she could see me like this? 

The answer was probably no. 

Beckett vaguely remembered trying to slip out of the ballroom with Alys before the inky black smoke poured into the room. The fear woke the power inside of him and for a while he’d been sure that he was going to die with Alys beside him. And then, mere moments later, the room exploded into a burst of chaos and Beckett had done the only thing he could think of - run. He recalled dragging Alys through the crowds of people, ignoring her terrified sobs as he blasted open a door in their path. He knew he probably scared her half to death, especially when he’d yelled at her to run before turning back to the ballroom. 

And running into Clara. 

Goddesses. He hated that his heart thoughts flew out the window when she was around. She hadn’t listened to him when he’d tried to explain his fear of Baelle, his fear that this castle was a poison slowly killing him. No, she was too jealous of Alys and of the fact that she didn’t have Beckett all to herself anymore. 

Beckett’s head groaned in pain, and he reminded himself of more pressing matters - like where exactly he was. 

Surrounded by darkness, the air stifling and thick, Beckett felt as though he could barely breathe. He sat up and held out his hands, feeling the air around him. His fingers grazed something hard and cold - most likely some chunk of wall. 

Clara’s eyes gleaming with tears as he drove the knife into his leg once, and then again. The picture was the only clear image that fought through Beckett’s racing thoughts. 

“I exploded the tower,” he mumbled to himself, trying to stay calm. “I’m probably buried under some of the rubble.” It’s a miracle I didn’t die, he almost added, but was afraid he might jinx himself. 

He grabbed at the large chunks imprisoning him, clawing at the smooth surfaces to find a grip. His fingers finally struck something harsh and unforgiving and he latched on, holding on for dear life as he pulled himself upwards. His muscles trembled with the effort, but Beckett didn’t care. 

A flash of sunlight caught his attention, a golden ray of freedom. He pulled himself onto a pile of rubble and crawled painstakingly through the narrow hole towards the sun. 

His lungs practically cried for joy when he sucked in his first breath of fresh air. 

I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive. 

And … I’m free… 

He could run, couldn’t he? He glanced around, squinting his eyes against the sun that bloomed over the horizon. The silver palace loomed on the other side of him, part of its side crumbling. It was sure to be chaotic inside, and no one would be looking for him right away, except maybe Baelle. 

It would give him ample time to disappear. He was sure that his friends hadn’t made it far, that he could catch up with them within a day or so. The knife, still bloody, lay discarded in the ruins of the tower if he wanted it. 

However, Baelle’s words came flowing back to him, a song he hadn’t wanted to believe. Why are they friends? Are you a tool? A weapon? A sacrifice? 

He thought of the way he’d caught Emmeline’s eye during the dance, how she’d turned away from him, leaving him at the mercy of her enemy. He hadn’t seen Newt or Coral, but surely they’d been watching from the sidelines and neither had offered him help. Forrest had even attacked him, thrown him off of Clara. 

And Clara… 

None of them were there for him. This wasn’t the grand rescue he’d been secretly praying for since his arrival. They were there to take out Baelle, and they were woefully unprepared. 

He couldn’t consider people who didn’t care for him friends. He wouldn’t be a victim of their toxicity any longer. 

One day you will all regret leaving me behind, he thought bitterly. One day, I will be your downfall, and you will not forget me again. 

He was about to turn back to the Silver Palace, to turn back to the one person who saw him for who he was, when something gleamed in the golden sunlight. His attention flickered to the object, wedged between two pieces of rocky ground. Something in his gut twinged. 

Beckett found himself in front of the object, which emitted a soft glow. He was pretty sure it was a sword of some sort, but he could only make out the hilt, and it looked normal enough. The magic that pulsed in his veins reacted, sending sparks through his body. Beckett took that as a good sign. 

He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the weapon and yanked upwards. The metal slid out from the rocks silently and he stumbled backwards, surprised at the lack of effort it took. 

The blade of the sword was pure white, not a scratch or a stain in sight. It definitely had never seen a battle before. He assumed it was just some sort of ceremonial sword until he remembered Baelle hiring the blacksmiths to forge him a sword. The Sacred Blade, she’d explained. A way to tear apart the goddesses. 

Beckett wondered if it worked on Readers too. 

Baelle was furious when she found Beckett wandering the halls of the Silver Palace. 

Her white dress was stained red from a wound on her side - something that struck Beckett as odd since he was pretty sure goddesses couldn’t be injured. He had a general guess of who had done it though, and his knuckles turned white as he clenched them around Sacred Blade. 

He was sure he wasn’t much better off. His jacket was torn, his whole body coated in a layer of dust and blood. The crown that once sat on his head was lost and he knew there would be no recovering it considering all of the common people who’d attended and would sell their souls to own so much as one gemstone off the thing. If only Alys could see him now… she would probably frown with distaste and-

“I thought I was going to have to replace you with that Steel boy,” Baelle sighed, her hands on her hips. “It was a mess, so I’m glad you’re alive. Don’t do that again.” 

Is it sad that this is the most genuine everyone has ever acted? He nodded along, only half listening. He wanted to know where Alys, Steel, and Glass were - just to make sure they were safe. Mostly Alys, but he would feel bad if Steel and Glass died because of him. 

“Did all of the nobles make it?” he asked instead, hoping Baelle would read into his question. 

She was silent for a moment. “I believe the only casualties were some of my personal guards. The nobles are all safe, though our talk of alliances is being moved a week back until the castle is restored to its former glory.” 

Beckett was about to ask how an entire side of a castle could be repaired in one week when he remembered that the kingdoms were “united” now. There was nothing that could really stop the Blessed at this point, and he realized that was exactly what Baelle was going for. The castle was only the beginning of the demonstration of the power and unity of the Blessed. 

“And what of the others?” Beckett asked, keeping his voice flat and emotionless.

Baelle frowned, her eyes locking onto Beckett’s. She didn’t look away as she said, “You should know that better than anyone.” 

Guilt flooded him with ice and he broke eye contact. Baelle would know if he lied, but there was a chance she might let him off the hook if he pretended he knew nothing. For all she knew he was unconscious the whole time-

“I thought you said you would only let the little healer escape once,” she commented drily. 

She knows, Beckett internally groaned. He didn’t dare look at her, didn’t accept her disappointed gaze. There was no denying his actions now, and Beckett desperately hoped that Baelle might let him off the hook… 

“Was I foolish to believe we’d finally come to an agreement?”

Beckett hung his head, heat burning his cheeks. “It … she attacked me first. She knocked me out and I thought maybe I could persuade her to join us…” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? It’s great that you think you can lie to me?” 

The next thing Beckett knew, Baelle had a blade buried in his gut. He stumbled backwards, grasping the knife with clumsy fingers. No. He’d never thought Baelle would actually kill him. 

“This should teach you to never cross a goddess,” Baelle muttered, turning away as Beckett crumpled to the ground. And as darkness closed in around him, Beckett wasn’t sure if he was actually going to wake up this time.  

Beckett was a boat in a sea of agony, the waves of pain roaring in his ears for him to give up and die. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t care where he was. He only wanted the pain to go away. 

It was a white hot poker, constantly burning inside his gut. It twisted and writhed inside him, clawing and tearing and shredding everything in its path. 

He didn’t know how long he laid in the dark room and bled. 

He didn’t know how many times he let unconsciousness welcome him only to wake up from nightmares screaming. 

He didn’t know if he would make it through this alive. 

The only thing keeping him anchored were pictures of people he recognized but didn’t know the names of. Two boys, polar opposites, one pale and the other dark. A girl with strawberry blonde hair that gleamed in the sunlight. And another girl made of fire itself. He focused on their faces, willing them to come to life and save him. 

Sometimes, the pain would fade for a bit and he would soak in momentary peace before someone would crack open the door and lay their hands on his wound and the agony would begin anew. 

The ebb and flow of the agony was like the tides of the ocean, and he was at the mercy of the sea. 

Kill me, he shouted to the water. He wanted to sink to the bottom of it, to fall away and let the pain consume him. 

The illusion of the ocean was enforced even further when he swore he could see boats sailing above him. Some of them passed right over him and when he tried to swim after, they would speed up. Some of them slowed when they saw him but no one tried to jump out and save him. 

Another wave washed over him, forcing him downwards and away from the boat. 

He caught a glimpse of a ginger haired girl floating serenely in the depths below him, her expression blank. His vision caught on the knife in her hands and he swam closer, feeling his lungs seize with the overwhelming torment. Kill me. A stream of bubbles came from his mouth. I know you want to. Put me out of my misery. 

The girl did not react, her eyes only flicking upwards. Fear tingled on his spine as a large shadow passed overhead. 

He risked a glance upward. A golden blur of a shape descended upon him, wrapping him in warmth and dragging him to the surface. His pain returned with a fiery wrath, fighting against the calm, golden heat. They didn’t stop rising. Not after they broke the surface, not after they ascended above the boats below. 

And right as he ascended into the heavens, Beckett woke up. 

“You’re feverish.” A hand pressed against his forehead and Beckett weakly pushed it away. “Beckett, stop. We’re trying to help you.” 

The voice sounded so familiar and Beckett forced open his eyes. 

Fair hair tumbled towards him, catching the sun and turning to beautiful golden light. Beckett almost forgot to breathe. 

Alys hovered right above him, her eyes wide with worry and her lips parted in surprise. 

“You look dead,” commented a voice from the side and Beckett turned to find Steel and Glass sitting on the edge of his huge bed. The room was mostly dark with the exception of the open window that streamed in morning sunlight and a gentle breeze. 

“I should,” Beckett grumbled, amazed to find that his voice worked perfectly, “seeing as I pretty much died and all.” 

Alys’s brow creased and Beckett’s felt a twinge of guilt for stressing her out so much. 

“We can trade stories later,” Steel decided. “Alys has been bothering us for the past week to break in here and see if you were okay. Seems like we made the right choice.” He turned to Glass, who gave a small shrug. 

“You’re breaking me out?” His voice was a whisper. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted? To be free of Baelle and return to… 

No, they weren’t his friends anymore. 

And while maybe Baelle had let him live through this torture for what Steel claimed was a week, Beckett deserved it, didn’t he? He’d endangered his own life and, in turn, his kingdoms, all for the sake of a girl who would never love him. A girl who wanted him dead. Baelle was trying to teach him that being a king meant being cruel and ruthless. 

“That’s great,” he said. “But I don’t want to leave. I have to stay.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alys chided. “Baelle was torturing you, Beck.” He winced at the name. “You can’t believe that this … this madwoman is what’s good for you. She’s killing you!”

“So then maybe I deserve to be killed,” Beckett argued, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand - any of you. But I’m staying here … for the sake of my kingdoms and the people I care about.” 

Steel snorted. “Wow, so noble. You can’t help the kingdoms if you’re dead.” 

Maybe they’d be better off without me… He broke the thought off there and focused on meeting Alys’s stunning eyes. She blinked at him, on the edge of tears. 

She’s killing you. Baelle was indeed killing him - slowly, cautiously, logically. She wouldn’t need him once the kingdoms were united. As long as she could pass off his death as “accidental”... 

When he spoke again, he kept his tone low. “How would you guys feel about overthrowing a tyrant?” 

If Baelle knew that he’d been woken by unnatural means, she said nothing of it. She didn’t mention what Beckett had seen, what she’d done to him. The thought that she didn’t care kept Beckett alert, reminding him of his conversation with Steel, Glass, and Alys. 

“You only managed to take one prisoner?” he found himself saying, plastering on a face that could be taken as mild disgust. 

Wear two faces. 

Baelle glanced over at him, a hint of curiosity glinting in her eyes. “Yes, we took one prisoner, but there were also only ten people involved. We have 10% of their forces, no matter how weak this prisoner is.” 

Beckett’s heart jumped. Baelle had captured one of his friends, and she would take him there to see if he would react. 

He wondered if it was Emmeline or Newt or Coral or Forrest or… 

Shut up, he hissed at himself. He clenched his fist tightly, the pain keeping him distracted from the possibilities of the prisoner’s identity. 

“Here we are,” Baelle announced finally, pulling a key from her robes and inserting it into the thick, metal door. There was a small click and the door opened slightly to a viewing area and a sleeping area separated by metal bars.

Beckett’s pulse was so fast it was practically nonexistent as he spotted a figure in the corner, their face obscured by a dark hood. They were petite like- 

The person looked over, obviously shocked to see Beckett and Baelle standing there. Their hood tumbled down to reveal pale skin and hair, and eyes that reminded Beckett of his own. 

A sigh of relief escaped him. It wasn’t her. 

He didn’t know this girl, not personally. He recalled Clara sending a letter about a possible second heir - this had to be her. 

He almost dismissed it as a coincidence that they looked alike. Surely there were others with the same complexion as Beckett and his family. But then she lifted her arm to brush back a lock of hair and her sleeve dropped a fraction of an inch. 

Beckett caught a glimpse of silver and green markings intertwined with black. 

No way. 

This girl before him - whoever she was - she was a true heir to the throne. 

Baelle was watching him carefully, gauging for any reaction. Beckett wondered if she knew this girl was a true heir or if she assumed that the girl in front of them was just another stray Emmeline picked up. 

“Have you ever seen her before?” Baelle asked softly, her eyes narrowed. 

Beckett shook his head, clamping his mouth shut. The girl’s eyes met his, pleading silently. He was sure Baelle would see it and say something. 

“I assume you notice the similarities between the two of you,” Baelle continued. “And I was wondering if your magic could extend to determining if she is also an heir.” Not a question, a request. 

Beckett knew for a fact that the girl was an heir. 

This is your replacement, he could practically hear Baelle saying once she found out. Would Baelle need Steel and Glass if she had two heirs at her disposal. 

“She’s not an heir,” Beckett said at last. “Trust me, I would know.”