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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Pride - 8. Chapter 8: Laurel

Truth wrapped in a lie.

Pride

Chapter Eight: Laurel

Hawk stood with his back to the room. In front of him was a large embrasure with three mullioned windows. Glass. Master Augur had taught a blacksmith the art of glass making over 250 years ago, when this tower was being constructed. Glass was still difficult to make and expensive. But it was a growing luxury trade item. That was his next interview, Master Augur. Already he had listen to six tales. During the telling Cat had sat on the window seat of the embrasure. Never speaking, only looking out the window. None of the stories were kind. The girl was a hostage and for three years her ransom was paid by her family. But the ransom was not paid the fourth year, so the girl was put to work as a courtesan. The King of course was her first sponsor. The girl was shared around. Often by two are three different men in one night. Her pregnancy was not a surprise and no one gave a thought to who the father could be. The girl earned her keep and was kept well, her and her bastard both. She was finally strangled to death by a jealous soldier, who was killed by the Captain of the Guard, Hart. That was the story in a nut shell. Well it was his edited version of the six tales. He left the words wanton, whore, and witch out of his version. The two men spoke of great beauty and generosity. The four women spoke of vileness and depravity. Hawk still did not have his answers. Hawk’s gaze lingered on Cat.

Cat sat calmly thru out the stories of his mother. He had heard all of them before. He knew more versions of the story. He could have told the Prince all of this himself. It was nothing new. He only half listened. He was too busy wondering about other things. Like how the slippers on his feet felt. Like how the new clothes felt. The Prince’s valet had flung open an armoire and pulled out one item after another. They were the Prince’s cast offs from when he was fourteen or fifteen. He was dressed in red and black. The royal colors. A quilted and embroidered red tunic over black hose and leggings. And under this he was wearing drawers and a undershirt for the first time since his mother died. He vaguely remembered he worn clothes like this once. He felt a little too warm all wrapped up like this. The Prince insisted on combing his hair, but listened to the valet’s suggestions. Most of his hair was pulled into a pony tail, except for one small tight braid in front of his left ear. When the job was done, the Prince had kissed his forehead. “I’m about to starve Cat. Let’s go have breakfast.” In Cat’s tunic pocket was a napkin wrapped around three sweet rolls.

Now he wondered why he snuck the rolls. The Prince had said they were late so they were going to eat in the breakfast room where a buffet awaited any member of the royal family or member of court who did not wish a tray delivered to their apartments. Cat felt a little like a lamb following his dam. The Prince served himself and Cat. Eggs and bacon, porridge and honey, and sweet rolls. The amount and variety of food had Cat stunned. He knew about this difference in rank and privilege. But it wasn’t his world so why think about it. But now it was in his face at every turn. He sat down with the Prince and wondered about Dod, he would have already eaten a half loaf of hard bread covered in a stew made from yesterdays leftovers. And yet this was the best breakfast he could remember having. His stomach didn’t care about weird feelings. Cat had sat in the window seat all morning while the Prince spoke with his secretary and an endless line of courtiers and petitioners. All of these people avoided looking at Cat. During a lull in the comings and goings, Cat stood and scanned a small bookshelf of books. “Can you read Cat?” Cat nodded to the Prince. His mother had taught him. The only possession of hers he still had was a small book of verse. “You may have any book you see there little brother.”

The Prince had changed his plans for the afternoon. “Cat I want to get out of here. I am going to speak with Master Augur and then you and I are going to go riding. We can carry our midday meal with us and eat later down near the river.”

“Your Highness Master Augur has arrived.” The secretary informed the Prince. “Show him in Scott. This is to be a private meeting. No interruptions.”

“Good day Prince Hawkwing. Good day Prince Pride.” Cat about jumped off the window seat. He found himself standing. No one had addressed him this way before. He looked to the Prince and then to Master Augur. How to respond? But there behind Old Sight was Dod, he was carrying a small chest and he was kneeling with his eyes on the floor. It wasn’t a thought or a decision that propelled him across the room to Dod, it was his heart that had him on his knees too in front of Dod. Cat gestured with his hands and arms wanting to hug Dod, but the chest was in the way. “Dod give the Prince the chest. It belongs to him after all.”

“Prince Hawkwing as you know I am here at the King’s will. He has given me permission to tell you the truth about Princess Laurel.”

Held together by rumor.

Copyright © Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original art, characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.<br /><br />This story was originally written in early 2010.<br /><br />Transfer to new system on: 12/20/2010<br /><br />© Copyright 2010 by Bugeye. All Rights Reserved.<br /><br /><br /><br />
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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