DAY 42-4: MY SHIP SAILS

"We need to run," Leda hisses to Orian as soon as Valentina twirls on her toes and sashays out of the room. "Now."

  "I'll grab Master Ro," Orian whispers. "You head for the window."

Orian rises from her in a fluid movement, taking a bundle of clothes as he does. As soon as Avel's bright eyes shift to her, she's already darting for the door.

"Oh, Leda—"

Orian throws the clothes at his face, enough of it that it muffles his voice and he teeters over. He collides to the ground right as Orian dashes up the spiral staircase at the back of the room to grab Ro.

Once Leda reaches the entrance she swivels her head both ways, paying close attention to the princess's fading footsteps down the hall. Part of her doesn't want to run into an unfamiliar place like an idiot—let alone into company after her very head. But that's the least of her concern when one of said people 'after her head' is none other than the prince of Hearts.

They can't stay here. Whether they try their hand at escaping or staying within this room, they're trapped so long as they're wanted fugitives.

Dammit, she curses. Why does this have to happen right when things were starting to look up?

It's due to her momentary hesitation she barely realizes Avel has circled in front of her. Leda lurches back, heart leaping to her throat, as he tugs the clothes entangling his face. She grits her teeth, readying a defensive stance.

"Master Leda!"

Orian's shrill cry for her well-being mirrors the tremor in her heart.

In only an instant, he teleports back to the main floor, Ro slung gingerly over his back. Though overwhelmed by his weight—proof being how he struggles to keep him upright whilst ensuring he doesn't injure him further—he trudges to Leda's side.

But it's too late. Avel snatches hold of her forearm, at a strength impossible to pry from. Leda's stomach bottoms out. The prospect of squaring off against him—the guy who'd given her so much hope—ebbs at her, she knows she doesn't have the leisure to be reluctant. Solidifying her resolve, she makes the movement to kick him—

"My love."

The gentle call stalls her attack. His meek smile and tender expression that's exposed when he yanks off the last piece of fabric sends shockwaves of surprise through her. There isn't a drop of malice. Nor does he make any indication of wanting to come for them.

"You have nothing to worry about," he continues, softly.

Leda can't muster her voice for a while—merely gawps alongside Orian who's also screeched to a halt.

"Y-you don't care?" Leda stammers, the words practically sticking in her throat.

"Care?" Releasing her arm, Avel knocks his head to the side in confusion.

"That we're your enemy!" she shouts. That if you cross the Queen, you'll die!

The last bit hangs on the tip of her tongue.

"Ene...my?" Avel produces a chuckle. Then positions his hand to his chest. "You, my dear, can never be my enemy. You're the one in possession of my heart. Therefore, use me to your heart's desire. If it means sacrifice, death, treason, I will do anything in my power to keep that dazzling smile upon your lips."

She can't deny that she's been left speechless. Though Orian from beside her has taken guard, her means of caution evaporates as he retreats. He grins, as innocently as he's done since they've met.

Can it... be true? Leda ponders. He doesn't seem to be lying. He can't be. As easy as he is to misinterpret, he's been brutally straightforward since they met. This moment, too...

"You'll still help us?" Leda sputters.

"But of course," he responds, bobbing his head in a brief bow. "The Mond is safe as well. I'm sure Remi, the princess of Dia, will be elated to meet him. It'll get her off my back a bit as well if I want to focus on creating a cure." He pauses, his features suddenly flickering to one of strain. "Though," he says again, "it's the Spade that's the issue."

"Ro?" Leda asks.

Stomach flopping, she settles her gaze onto Orian. His back has somewhat been sullied by Ro's blood, but nonetheless, it takes him a while of scrutinizing to let Avel take over. Once laid on a nearby cloth, Avel gently lifts Ro's body with his means of levitation magic.

"Ro... is the one in most danger," Avel responds. "I can help conceal you and your Mond friend, blend you in like regular citizens of Straeh, but hiding an almost dead man is near to impossible. They'll sniff him out before long. Truthfully, it'd be better for us all if he were dead—"

"Avel, you promised." The near-yell pools from Leda's mouth before she can stop herself.

She immediately recoils once Avel's attention shifts to her. He's quiet for a while—probably stunned her audacity to address a prince in such a manner—until guilt breaches his countenance.

"That I did," he agrees, the corners of his lips tilting up. "So, don't worry, my dear. Instead of having him in the palace infirmary we'll keep him on the second floor in my bedroom. I'll call the quacks I trust most to tend to him there."

"Master," Orian whispers, nudging her arm.

Overwhelmed by relief, Leda steps forward regardless. "Avel, what about our other friend?"

"Friend?" he repeats, perplexed.

"The one your sister brought up," she goes on, disregarding Orian's discontent. "She said he's been 'captured.' That means he's still alive, right? And if they're trying to find the rest of us, I doubt they've killed him yet!"

The hope swells like a ballon in her chest.

Nonetheless, a frown takes the shape of Avel's mouth. One full of remorse. "I... wouldn't be too sure, my dear," he says. She puts on her best puppy-dog pout, and his eyebrows rise. He sheepishly darts his gaze then hangs his head in resignation. "I'm afraid I'll be too tied up for time to assist you with that," he confesses. "The only way for you to find out for certain is if you act alone—"

"We will!" she presses, balling her fists. "We have to save him, Avel. Please."

"Master Leda," Orian hisses.

"You'll be putting yourselves in even more danger," he reminds me.

Relaxation tugs her shoulders down in one fell swoop. Exhaling loudly, she has to resist the urge to hug him. "Thank you, Avel," she says. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Seeing the silliness of her grin, he smiles all the same. "You'll need proper outfits if you're to be snooping around."

"Ooh, about that, what were you thinking—"

"Master!" Orian jerks Leda's arm back with enough force for her to face him. He shimmies them away and in a voice low enough for Avel not to hear, he whispers on, "I'm not too sure if this is a good idea. They said they wanted us captured. Besides, this is going too well. He's the prince. I'm not too sure we should—"

"Who else do we have to trust?" she snaps. Orian silences himself, scrunched up features softening due to surprise. "At most, Ro only has a couple days. Not to mention we have to get Nixon out of there before they can kill him, too—for sure this time. We don't have the leisure of being nitpicky."

She can see it on his face; the despairing reaction Avel previously displayed.

'But how about if he's already dead?'

Leda uses all her might to brush the thought aside. There's a high chance she's misinterpreting Valentina's words. She saw his mangled body right before her eyes, after all. But... But...

She can't lose hope, no matter how little it may be. She hasn't lost it for Ro, and she sure as hell won't for Nixon.

"Please," she begs him.

Orian cracks another frown. Albeit the insurmountable arguments swirling in his head, he produces a polite, yet reluctant bow. "As you wish, Master."

Avel, studying them from where he is, has a hand at his chin. When they properly face him for the second time, he brightens like a light.

"Ah, I know!"

From the nearby craters, plentiful outfits as well as wigs shimmy toward them amid an active hustle. Magic swirls all around them—colours clashing and growing intense, then dimming with the sway of the wind that overtakes them.

Leda peers down at the newfound clothes now in her arms. "A... maid?"

His odd spell has even thrown in a purple wig, which currently rests atop of her head. The curls flutter out just like her own hair—which surely isn't in any presentable shape.

Orian appraises his own servant attire, then reaches for his ears poking through his now purple wig.

"Oh, we should probably cover those up too," Avel interjects. He summons a petite hat. Then, beams in approval. "Perfect."

Though there are frills overtaking the majority of Leda's outfit, the typical white and black uniform is speckled in pink hearts. The leggings contain Heart colours as well—brown, turquoise, and red. The prescriptionless glasses propped onto her face can only seal the deal and mask her identity.

"Even in scrubs, you're lovely," Avel compliments.

Leda, who can't help but snort, performs a mock-curtsy. "Thank you, my prince."

His jaw plummets. She can imagine dramatic heart-eyes popping out in replace of his eyes.

Guess he likes being addressed as that, she surmises.

Avel shakes his head to rid his daze. "I should change my appearance back also."

Now it's her turn to gape. "Wait, that's a disguise?"

"Of course! How else would I be free to roam outside of the palace?"

"W-well, you told me you were the prince so easily, so I assumed..."

He smiles at her assumption. "I may be a prince, but I'm no fake. The Queen didn't raise a liar, but a fool. My lack of judgement and ease to disclose my true identity is my fault and my fault alone."

"You speak like an old man, Avel."

Orian sends Leda a frazzled look, maybe because she's insulted a prince. Avel, likewise, has gained a look of bewilderment.

"Old?" His lips morph into a pout. "I... apologize. I have been practicing some relaxed jargon like other Heart citizens but it always seems to comes out forced..."

She titters. "Yeah, you need a lot more practice."

Instead of taking offence, Avel merely smiles. "Your laugh is like a canary's, my dear. I'd like to hear it forever if I can—"

"Master Avel."

He chuckles to disregard an unimpressed Orian, then brushes strands of his hair from his eyes. He removes his fake earrings, as well as strips from him coat, reverting into the prince he's supposed to look like. Soft, violet bangs rests at his ears. He ties the remainder of his hair into a ponytail lengthy enough to graze his lower back. His attire is classy also. A brown suit with a red handkerchief in place of a tie. Not to mention a red cape decorated in pink hearts. He even finishes off his appearance with a crown that floats onto his head.

"M-master." Orian gnaws his bottom lip. "Y-you are aware that the longer we stay in this castle, the more of a chance we have of getting captured, right?"

"That's why we play the part perfectly," she reminds him. It's something she's used to. Putting on facades—playing the sweet, innocent girl before swiping her victims' clean in order to survive.

This will be a walk in the park, too. Their ship will sail.

"Good luck, my dear."

Leda ends up returning Avel's grin, the first one she's worn in a while. It hurts her cheeks, but she can't help it. The enemy they were most wary of has become their saving grace.