Page 64 of Downfall of a Princess

I opened my mouth to ask whathepreferred but quickly closed it, realizing he might not know the answer to that question.

Father was betrothed to my mother when he was sixteen and she was thirty. They got married two years later, the day after he turned eighteen. He spent his childhood striving to please his parents by being the perfect son. Since the wedding, he’d been pleasing his wife by being the perfect husband. He’d learned all aboutherpreferences, but never really had a chance to figure out his own. He’d been a son, a husband, and a father, but never had a chance to be a man outside of these roles.

We finished our trip through the market with Father acquiring a pair of kid-skin gloves for himself and a silver-tipped writing quill as a gift for Mother.

As he climbed back into the carriage, I paused by the open door.

“I’m so sorry, I almost forgot,” I said. “Do you mind waiting for just a minute while I run to get something?”

Leaving my father in the care of the guards, I dashed back to the market stalls. I returned a few minutes later with a fabric bundle in my hands.

“Here, I got something for you,” I said, taking my place in the carriage next to Father. “I thought you’d like it.” I pulled a book out of the bundle and handed it to him. “It’s an illustrated commentary to the eleventh volume of the Complete Political History of Rorrim by Lady Arima. She’s lauded as the most insightful historian of the current century. I found her commentary very helpful.”

Father stared at me in alarm, as if expecting me to either ridicule him or threaten to expose his reading habits to the world. His skin turned paler than marble. A ripple ran over it, matching the burgundy upholstery inside the carriage, before he all but blended in with it. His body, hair, and clothes appeared transparent, reflecting the panels and cushions of the carriage. Fear prompted him into hiding with the reflex that people in Rorrim had little control over.

My heart ached for him.

“Oh, Father.” I lunged forward and grabbed him into a tight hug. “Please, don’t be scared. I promise I’ll never tell anyone what you’re reading.”

I knew my father was content with the way his life had turned out. He even considered himself lucky. Until now, I had wholeheartedly agreed with him. But it no longer felt that way. How lucky could one really be if he had to read in secret?

He released a long breath as I petted his back soothingly. The fabric of his suit slowly returned to its original ivory color. I waited until hisreflectionhad passed completely before releasing him from my hug.

“Are you alright?” I asked softly.

He clasped his hands in his lap.

“It’s not a crime, dearest. I haven’t broken any laws by reading those books.” He sounded as if trying to convince himself more than me. “It’s simply in bad taste. Some study subjects are just not suitable for men. Learning advanced mathematics, for example, dries the male brain out and makes us bitter and aggressive. History has many difficult topics that may upset us. And politics... Well, it’s best for men to stay out of politics—”

I placed a hand on his, stopping his words that parroted what he’d been told probably all his life.

“You’re right, it’s not a crime wanting to learn the history of the country you’ve lived in for two decades now. And history is messy. It’s filled with wars and political games, with suffering and hatred. If you learn it, you can’t pick and choose. You need to know it all—good, bad, and outright disturbing. And if it upsets you... Well, you are a grown man. I’ve seen you control your emotions in public better than many people I know. I’m pretty sure you’re capable of deciding for yourself what you want to read and how much you can handle being upset.”

He placed the book onto his lap, running his fingers over the embossed leather. I waited for him to say something, but he just stared at it, seemingly lost for words.

“Look.” I opened the cover for him. “It has detailed maps of territories affected by each major treaty, which gives a good visual of the reasoning behind all those agreements.”

He gasped, poring over the maps with growing enthusiasm.

“This is wonderful. Thank you so much, Ari.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, hiding the rest of my bundle behind a seat cushion. I had another present there, but it wasn’t for my father, it was for someone else.

“Ari?” Father asked, lifting his gaze from the book. “Do you think there is a place anywhere in the universe where boys are allowed to study history and politics freely?”

His question rendered me speechless. Father had never talked to me about the world I’d come from before.

Mother had spotted me on her way from Father’s chambers one dark night. She held a candle in her hand to light her way back to her rooms. The candle flame reflected in the large, ancient mirror hanging in the throne room. Only instead of her reflection, she saw my face in it. That happened the night I stared into the mirror corridor, the very same night I ran away from that wretched house I used to call home.

Since then, Mother had stood in front of the ancient mirror often, trying to catch a glimpse of me. She’d seen me in the orphanage from time to time. But I’d never stopped to stare in the mirror long enough to see her again.

She had watched me for years, wishing she could talk to me, wondering who I was and why she could see me but no one else unless they were with me.

The night I was attacked, she heard me scream. She said my pleas for help rolled through the entire palace, instantly raisingher from sleep. She ran downstairs and into the throne room just in time to grab me and pull me into the safety of her arms.

She didn’t know the details of what happened to me in the first sixteen years of my life. But she gathered enough from what I told her that night while crying and sobbing as she held me, sitting with me on the floor in front of the mirror.

Father knew even less. I didn’t meet him until the following morning, and I was too scared to speak to him for weeks. But with time, he won my heart. He’d read children's books to me, without shaming me that I was too old for them. They were light, simple kids’ stories that always ended happily, and I liked to hear them at that time. He took me for walks with his dogs and let me teach them tricks. He was the one who made me smile for the first time since that horrible night.

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