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Finally, the second one rose from his chair and put his video game on the seat. His brown hair was buzzed on the sides and kept high at the top. He had two small black birthmarks, one by his right eye and other over his left lip.
“I’m Gunner, short for Guthrie, full name Jerome Guthrie. If it shoots, I can shoot it, and I don’t miss. I’m seventeen,” he looked Sebastian. “I’m not kid. Don’t like being called a kid.” He looked back at me. “Behind me is Loïc Landry, they found him in a ditch in De La Fontaine, so I don’t know if that’s his real name but you can call him either Loïc or Landry. If you need something or someone, he’ll find them and get it. Nice to meet you, Sir… We look forward to working for you.”
He said the last part with no emotion, as if he were reading off a cue card.
It was quite funny. I put my hands-on Sebastian’s shoulder as I moved them forward. “Teach them the rules and don’t call them kids…at least to not their faces.”
I didn’t hear whatever else was said between them as I walked to the cockpit of the plane. The steward there bowed once, taking his leave. I knocked once right over the keyhole and the door slid open.
Stepping inside, the door slid closed behind me as I sat in the seat closest to the door.
“Don’t you think the two of you are being quite bold?” I asked, leaning back in the chair.
“You obviously don’t know us very well, Gabriel,” he replied coldly, looking over his shoulder to ask, “How is our princess?”
I glared into his green eyes, the spitting image of hers. “How in the name of God can you both sit here so comfortably, knowing your daughter spent the morning putting flowers on your grave?”
He got up, taking off his hat and running his hands through his dark brown and gray hair. He walked the two steps it took to get to me then bent down and smacked the side of my leg.
“I sit the same way you’re sitting; the same way you will continue to sit knowing full well you’ve been lying to her face. That your father didn’t give you any letter. He didn’t tell you to go to England for school. You were exiled by your step-mother. When we found you, you were waiting to die, not planning revenge. You haven’t been speaking to Evelyn but to us. Lie after lie after lie and now you want to take the moral high ground with us? Us, who saved you from hopelessness. We spent the last ten months teaching you everything you needed to know about our children and walk out alive. We picked up that crown, dusted it off, and put it back on your handsome little head. We did this not for you. I couldn’t care less about you. We did this for her. It’s her country, her throne; we’re just letting her share it with you. Have you forgotten?”
How could anyone forget selling their souls?
GABRIEL - TEN MONTHS AGO
“What do you think? Could I be the next Monet?” I asked Sebastian, looking up from the painting back at him only to see his old brown face frowning at me. “What? It’s good!”
“It's a bowl of fruit,” he stated.
“It's a painting of a bowl of fruit,” I corrected, wiping the red paint off the tip of my brush.
“Yes, another painting of a bowl of fruit to add to the world’s never-ending collection of painted bowls of fruits.”
I didn't say anything, gently cleaning off the paint, which made my hands look like they were covered in blood.
“But yes, sir, your painting is nice.”
“No point flattering me now,” I snickered and looked to him again as he walked over to the kitchen sink. “Tell me, Sebastian, what is an exiled prince supposed to do with his time?"
He paused for only a brief moment before slipping the dishwashing gloves on to his hands. “One of two things. Option one, forget he was ever a prince at all and live as all normal men live.”
“Option two?” I asked, rising from my stool and moving to the sink beside him.
“Be a prince, take back your birthright.”
“Two impossible options, thank you,” I said bitterly, washing my hands before reaching to take the second pair of gloves but he stopped me. His brown hand on my wrist. His brown eyes serious as he said, “Only one of those things is impossible and it’s not taking back your country. Don’t wash the dishes; it's beneath you.”
“It’s beneath you too, and yet here you are.”
“I know it’s beneath me.” he replied, snatching the gloves from my hands. “So, let’s just think of it as an investment.”
“In what?” I turned around to watch him complete the task that he thought was beneath me.
“One day when you return, when you are crowned sovereign, you will remember my many long years of suffering beside you and you shall drape me in honors so high even my great-grandchildren will brag.”
I laughed at that. At least one of us still dreamed. Putting my hand on his shoulder, I told him the hard truth. "For you to have great-grandchildren… You’re going to need children, and I don't know how you are going to do that when you've decided to spend the rest of your life hovering over me."
“You must be a prince; you have to have the last words on everything.”
