The Coquette and the Thane

PART I | Chapter II

1:2 | The Glass Prince

Colony of Ire, Merseille Estate

Shhwp, shhhwp, shhhhwp…

For long moments, only the sound of soft, horsehair bristles dragging through long-since completely untangled waves of hair filled the spacious, sunlit second-story bedroom of the Merseille estate. Baisyl, the room's only inhabitant save for the single maid standing behind him, sat still as a doll, his fingers folded in his lap, his legs tucked neatly together, and his murky, grey-green eyes distant and unfocussed.

"You know you needn't be concerned, milady," the servant spoke up. "I'm sure His Lordship has found you a fine man. Lord Merseille wouldn't do you wrong in that regard, not for his only daughter, and…"

As she tittered on, Baisyl stopped listening. The last thing he wanted to think about was his "betrothed," and the chattery, nonsensical reassurances and condolences of an ignorant little handmaiden were not about to help. She knew nothing.

Of course, that was why she was hired. How could the great Lord Merseille bear to let the result of his foolishness be revealed to the world? Let everyone know that he'd let his son—his first born son and the original heir to his grand estate, fortune, and legacy—be cursed, all thanks to his own selfish pride and stupidity?

No. Better to lock away the proof of his mistakes. Better to teach Baisyl to sing and dance and play the harp and wave a fan as if he'd been born a woman, and then marry him off to the first wealthy fool who would take him.

Under the rigidly disciplined, unreadable mask of apathy he held in place at all times, a sneer lurked, but Baisyl kept it well beneath the surface. It did no good to fight, no good to pout, no good to scream; only his youngest brother ever heard of his woes, and only because he was the only sole on this earth that Baisyl trusted well enough never to repeat his words.

"…if you ever feel you want a listening ear, though-"

The door creaked, faintly, and the brush froze mid stroke, her words clipping to a halt; Baisyl didn't turn.

"Master Myles, good evening, sir. I was just-"

"If I could have a moment with my sister, please?"

Baisyl drew a breath, his shoulders barely tensing under his dress and fingers tightening within his gloves.

"Oh, of course sir, of course sir…" Her skirts rustled as she bent her head and curtsied, already heading towards the door, "…take as long as you like, Master Myles…" and Baisyl listened with trepidation to the shuffle of her departure. He prided himself on not budging when the door clicked shut.

"My, my, my," his brother clicked his tongue approvingly, "don't you look lovely this evening…dear sister…"

With the maid gone, Baisyl allowed his sneer to surface, and he turned a narrowed, warning glare on the elder of his two younger brothers. "You…know perfectly well that I am not-"

"Ah, tut-tut!" Myles cut in, his smile cutting and vindictive. "Did I give you permission to speak?" he asked, and Baisyl's gut coiled, his eyes narrowing further. "Such poor, poor manners for a lady of your age and stature…to interrupt a man, your better, in the midst of-"

Baisyl jerked to a stand, skirts swirling to catch at his ankles when he spun to face his brother, "If you think-" but he never finished his sentence, the whole of his body going rigid in an instant when Myles snatched his outstretched hand, shackling his wrist like a toothpick in a vice.

"I think a lot of things, Baisyl…" Myles purred, abruptly deathly serious and far too close for Baisyl's comfort. When his brother leaned in, shrinking what little distance lay between them until the heat of his breath was skittering up the length of his neck, Baisyl's heart threw itself against the walls of his throat, panic and fury tripping over one another clumsily as untrained dancers. The question, "Do you want to know what I'm thinking now?" was soft, teasing, amused, and Baisyl shut his eyes, gritting his teeth as his stomach roiled.

"Unhand me…now-"

"I'm thinking I like you much better this way…sister…" Myles continued, heedless of his objections, and Baisyl half-tripped in his retreat when Myles pushed to advance. "I'm thinking you make a very…beautiful…woman, where you were once only a selfish, bothersome obstacle of a man…"

"Let…me—nn," Baisyl let out a startled breath when his back hit wall and his free hand jumped instantly to his brother's chest, pushing; how he hated being the smaller one so suddenly, so unfairly. "You cannot possibly expect to-"

"I don't see why you're struggling so…" Myles mused aloud, dropping the hand still caging Baisyl's wrist to the wall and drawing the other slowly up, tracing the generous curve of Baisyl's hip and then dipping in along waist, "…you're to be married, Baisyl…don't you think your new husband will have worse things to do with your pretty new body? You will have to get accustomed to this…"

Baisyl jerked, but fighting the pin only earned him more weight, trapping him down, and he hissed, "I will castrate you-"

"I don't think you will."

"If I do not bleed on my wedding bed," Baisyl snarled, "father will hear of it, and I will see to it that the blame comes back to you…"

"Mm…" Myles hummed thoughtfully, "…see, now…" His fingers continued their trek up, and Baisyl had to bite his lip to keep back the sharp, undignified sound that threatened to escape, "…I don't believe that's much of a concern either, seeing as…" When Myles' hand found the base of his breast, cupping, Baisyl swung, whipping his body as best he could—and halfway dislodging himself in the process—in an attempt to at least bury an elbow in the other's nose, but his brother reacted too fast, Baisyl's dress limiting virtually every form of movement and in seconds he found himself shoved, hard, back against the wall again. "Why, you-"

The bedroom door creaked, and the two froze like thieves under the light of a lantern.

By the time Rhyan entered, he found the two of his brothers stock still, Baisyl tense, standing straight as a rail with his back flat to the wall and eyes burning metaphorical holes into Myles, who was a half foot away, arms at his sides and lips tightly pursed, chin high. Rhyan frowned.

"Myles," he announced warily, "father wishes to speak with you…but if you're bus-"

"I'll see him," Myles clipped, already making his way to the door, his steps fast and heavy. "Oh, and I'd suggest you do a little thinking, sister," he added on his way out without turning back, "and remember…you aren't who you used to be." He shut the door harder than necessary.

A dry, uncomfortable pause filled the room, hanging between them. At long last, Rhyan lifted a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck as he eyed the door. "Was I…imagining…that he was in an even more pleasant mood than usual?" he asked. Baisyl meant to smile, or laugh, but at the last moment, the sound came out cracked, far too thin to be natural, and Rhyan stepped forward. "Baisyl…"

"It's…fine, he's…" Baisyl lifted a hand to his mouth, glancing away and straightening himself, pushing up off the wall. At last, he nodded. "Yes, he…was in a…very 'good'…mood, actually," he said, finally meeting Rhyan's gaze, but his younger brother's frown lingered, persistent.

"Baisyl…did he hurt—?"

"He's just rather enjoying his promotion to the position of favored, firstborn son, heir to the family fortune and future ruler of worlds," Baisyl explained, barely neutral, but he didn't object when Rhyan caught his wrist, and watched with passive interest as the furrows in his brother's brow deepened when he drew a thumb over the red marks there.

"Baisyl…he shouldn't do this, you can't let him-"

"You think I let him?" Baisyl burst out, abruptly angry, and he snatched his hand back. "He was—I—if you hadn't…" At Rhyan's look, Baisyl's words trailed, and at long last, he swallowed, turning his head sharply away. "If you hadn't arrived when you did…" A hand at his shoulder startled him—enough to make him turn back.

"I apologize, brother, I didn't mean to imply…" Rhyan pursed his lips, turning over his words, reworking them. Eventually, he sighed. "I am just…not used to seeing you like…this," he said, letting a vague, sweeping wave of the hand indicating Baisyl's body cover everything—from slim waist and petite figure to ass-length hair and protruding chest—in a single go. "Forgive me for getting rather accustomed to you being more than capable of taking caring of yourself all your life-"

"I can still-" Baisyl started to object, but at Rhyan's quirked eyebrow, his words stalled.

"I'm taller than you, Baisyl…" Rhyan said to make his point, and Baisyl's lips pursed. "If you want, you may sleep with me." Apparently, Baisyl's expression made immediately clear his interpretation of that offer, and heat swept Rhyan's face. "That is, to share my—to sleep in my room," he clarified anxiously, "…so that…in case he…if he came to you in the night…"

"Ah," Baisyl acknowledged, "yes, of course. That…does sound wise."

"Yes," said Rhyan, "I thought so…and in any case, it is only for a night…"

'Oh, don't remind me.' Baisyl shut his eyes. The ship to take him away set sail tomorrow, leaving him one night. One night…

"You know…he is only acting out of spite," Rhyan said softly, and Baisyl looked up again. "He has always been jealous of you…always feeling that father…" Rhyan frowned, "…always knowing how much father favored you…over either of us…"

Baisyl released a sigh and reached up, catching his brother's cheek. "And always knowing how much I favored you, hm?" he added. "Yes, I see your point…I suppose it's only natural that after years out of favor he would resort to molesting me to exert his power over me and exact his revenge the moment the opportunity came about…"

Rhyan's lips pursed. "You know that is anything but what I meant."

Baisyl smiled. "Yes, I know." He dropped his hand, folded his arms, and turned, stepping away unhurriedly, towards the open balcony. "What will you do…when he seizes the assets?"

He listened to Rhyan's shuffle, behind him. "I am hoping I'll have several more summers before I have to face that…father is not old, yet, and…well, I'll also admit that I had hoped, perhaps, you might…eventually…"

Hand resting on the balcony's threshold now, Baisyl glanced back, an eyebrow raised. "That I would what? Overcome this? That our gypsies and shamans might find a cure? I can't very well conjure a rainstorm and stand in it every time I wish to appear in public…"

"No, of course not, but-"

"…and besides," Baisyl turned his eyes back to the outside, drawing his gaze over the sweeping estate, past the delicate, light burgundy curtains to the winding gardens, the great, towering gates that had kept them in as children and beyond, to the endless, rolling hills far beyond, "…father has already chosen my fate for me…" These were the lands he'd grown up on, the ones he'd been promised, the ones he'd called home and the ones tied to every one of his waking memories. "We wouldn't want to let down my…betrothed…"

Behind him, Rhyan scoffed, all the disgust Baisyl felt himself laced into it, and he found it surprisingly comforting to hear. "Speaking of that…I saw to it to hire you an escort."

Baisyl tensed, briefly, thrown. "An escort?" He turned. "Whatever for? It's only a brief-"

"I've never been rewarded for trusting in the good of men's hearts…think of him as a handmaiden, if you prefer."

"Rhyan-"

"It's only one man, you needn't worry you'll have a parade at your heels. I only thought…" he hesitated. "It's just…surely you can't blame me for looking out for your honor?"

Some of Baisyl's tension eased, but his frown remained. "Rhyan…"

"I only wish to look out for you…as you have always looked out for me. I-"

"Rhyan," Baisyl put more force behind the name this time, but swallowed on a knot of guilt in his throat, debating whether to voice his long-since established decision.

"Yes?"

"I…" Baisyl drew a breath, startled at how much the thought hurt to admit, aloud. "Brother, I never…intended to land at port, in Brittaney…"

Rhyan frowned, confused. "You plan to run away?" He shook his head. "There will be few, if any stops, between here and shore, when did you plan…"

Unable to watch the comprehension dawn, Baisyl looked back to the window, leaning his weight on the archway, suddenly achingly tired. "I thought I would finally try my hand at swimming…high time I learned, hm?"

There were five, aching seconds of stillness. Then, "Baisyl!" heavy footsteps approached, rapidly, and Baisyl turned, but not fast enough to avoid his brother's snatching grab, catching his arm.

"Rhyan, let me-"

"No!" It was so rare, to see his brother truly angry, but this was a hurt, panicked anger, and it tore at Baisyl's heart to face it. "You can't—" His brother choked on the words, "—I won't let you, I'll come with you! I'll follow you, I'll take you anywhere, just…just don't…don't…surely, there is some other way…"

The breath Baisyl drew was ragged, far coarser in his throat than he intended, and he shook his head. "I can't…live…like this, Rhyan…I can't…be someone's…wife, I won't…"

"Baisyl-"

"I'm not marrying myself," Baisyl's voice rose with each step of his rebuttal, "to some strange," He spat the words, "foreign, boy child a sea's journey away and spending my life sitting on pretty cushions," His fists clenched, "weaving tapestries, playing music, forcing out tittery, awful laughter at terrible jokes, entertaining guests and spreading my legs," His voice went louder still, "…like a good…" slowing as he stomped out each word for emphasis, "well-bred, whore-"

"Baisyl!"

"I was born Master Baisyl Lucerik Merseille of Ire," he growled, "firstborn son of our father; I spent twenty-two years growing up very comfortable in my skin, thank you kindly. I planned to marry one day, rule this estate, further our family's crooked business, but oh—what? No. Six months ago, everything that was ever promised to me was taken from me! I have…no…future. Do you understand that? I'm a wench! I'm useless! I can't-"

"Then run away!" Rhyan insisted. "Go…anywhere! Just-"

"And do what, hm?" Baisyl retaliated, bitter. "Sell myself? How am I to make a living like this? As a runaway girl with no name and no fortune to speak of? I am rather fetching, I'll admit…"

"Baisyl…"

"…but in case you haven't guessed, I am not about to go hiking up my skirts for a bunch of filthy, good-for-nothing tramps and vagabonds-"

"Then I'll run away with you," Rhyan offered. "We can go far away, where no one will recognize us – heaven protect – I will marry you, if I have to…"

"You'd do that…go celibate, your entire life?" Baisyl asked, his tone flat, disbelieving.

"We could take lovers…"

"It would never work. We look too much alike; anyone could tell we're related."

Rhyan sighed. "Look, Baisyl…tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it, but…I love you. You're the only member of our twisted family that I can honestly say I would much rather see alive than dead. You can't expect to tell me you don't plan on living to see the other shore once you step on that ship and then still have me let you get on it?"

Baisyl eyed his brother. "So…what would you have me say? Would you believe me if I promised you I'd make my best effort not to accidentally trip over the rail in the middle of the night? Or should I submit to having myself bound to the mast and-"

"Baisyl-"

"There are two functions a woman can perform in this world, Rhyan: a wife, and a prostitute. I am unwilling to perform either. So unless you've conjured up some brilliant scheme over the course of the past five minutes-"

"We need to lift your curse, Baisyl! That is all-"

"Oh, yes, that is all, seeing as that has proven so simple so far-"

"It's magic!" his brother snapped. "All magic has a means of being reversed. We just have to find it…"

"With father already having given up on me? He's stopped funding the shamans, Rhyan, months ago. Our best mages could do nothing. He found me a husband. He wants rid of me." Baisyl shook his head. "He's ashamed of everything to do with it, and the stars know Myles isn't about to help the competition…"

Rhyan glowered. "But it was by no fault of your own! It's father's problem that he can't stay away from dark magic and he didn't keep his deal-"

"He didn't think she'd would go through with her promise to-"

"But she did! And now he doesn't even have the decency to set you straight-"

"Father never prided himself on his decency, Rhyan…it's cheaper this way." Baisyl snorted. "Actually, I believe he makes a profit. Wedding our families…binding fortunes…"

"He won't make a profit if you die," Rhyan clipped out, angry.

"Mm…that part, I can't say I regret," Baisyl observed, and his brother groaned.

"Baisyl…please…"

"Are my things together?"

Rhyan sighed. "I believe the servants finished packing the last of them this afternoon…"

"And of Cecil and Rye?"

"I can see to it that they're amongst your bags before you depart."

"See that you do."

"Baisyl-"

Baisyl leaned up, catching behind his brother's neck and pushing onto his toes to place a kiss on his cheek. "I will think about it," he promised. "I did rather enjoy living, after all…once upon a time."