Page 30 of Beacon

“Marisa?” Prince Owen’s gentle tone tugged my thoughts away from my regret. I was too ashamed to figure out how to express to him that I didn’t have a sign for my own mother, so I simply lowered my eyes and shook my head. He was silent a long moment. “Is she…no longer alive?”

I couldn’t answer that, but he seemed to understand the one I couldn’t give, not even with a nod. He rested his hand over mine, the same comforting gesture I’d given him earlier.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, so different to what I’d grown accustomed to experiencing with the prince. He seemed content to allow it to stretch for as long as it needed to in order for me to calm my whirl of emotions and somehow sensed when I’d had enough time.

“If you don’t already have a sign for your mother, would you like to make one up now?”

I stiffened, almost terrified of the idea…but if Father came home, I wanted things to be different. It was one thing to keep her memory alive through visiting the enchanted pool, I also wanted to be able to talk about her rather than continuing to avoid the subject as I’d done these past ten years.

Rather than shy away from my memories, I allowed myself to carefully take them from the mental box where I’d locked them away. They acted as a ray of light in the sadness that often clouded my past. Unconsciously I lifted my hand to stroke my hair in the way she used to do, a sign I knew the moment I performed it that it belonged to her.

I’d feared the heartache I usually experienced when thinking of Mother would accompany this new sign, but instead it made her feel near, despite her having been gone for so long. It was amazing how just this simple gesture could partly heal the wound inflicting my heart that often felt so permanent.

This sign felt special in a different way than the others—for it had not only been inspired by the prince’s gentle encouragement but it was one that only he and I knew. This fact alone made me feel I’d been able to tell him all about my mother despite being unable to share specific stories or memories.

I lowered my gaze to take in the letters on the parchment, lightly tracing them out one by one. With each stroke I felt a kinship with them. One day I’d be able to arrange these letters into words and use them to express all sorts of thoughts, feelings, and even stories that my current vocabulary of gestures couldn’t convey. The promise provided me the motivation I needed to keep learning.

We resumed the lesson, going letter by letter, until the letter O made the prince pause, his expression almost…shy. “Could we make up a sign for me?”

My brows furrowed, confused why we’d need a sign for him when I could easily just point to him as I’d already been doing in our conversations. I lifted my hands and shoulders to indicate my confusion.

His cheeked pinked. “I just thought…it would be fun, considering we’re comrades—friends—to have something between us, like an inside joke…”

Friends…the word was a unique one in my vocabulary, making it special enough for it to deserve its own sign. Plus I admittedly liked the idea of having a sign for him that only we knew, of being able to express it even when separated in a crowded room and have him sign it back, a connection that only we shared.

I mentally cycled through the signs I’d already created as well as different possibilities for one to use for the prince. I brushed my finger along the side of my mouth in an upward motion, one that seemed fitting considering his cheery disposition, accompanying it with an inquiring look, an invitation for him to offer his opinion on how he liked the sign I’d created for him. By his slow grin he clearly did.

“I want to make one up for you as well.” He considered a moment before brightening. “I know! Because you like the ocean, how about this?” He made a swimming motion with his arms, but he’d no sooner demonstrated his idea than he changed his mind. “Actually, we should probably choose something more subtle. I know!” He moved his arm up and down like the waves of the ocean…only to pause mid-movement. “No, no, too easily misunderstood—it could be mistaken for water rather than your name.” His brow furrowed in concentration before he slowly—almost hypnotically—lifted his finger to trace a M on his chest. “M for Marisa, just above the heart, because you’re always willing to help.”

My emotion swelled. Never had a sign touched me so deeply—while they’d always been a way for me to express myself, this one caused a sentiment I had no words to describe seep within me. I repeated the sign and pressed my hand over my heart, hoping the gesture would convey in part the depth of my emotion.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Apparently making up signs for one another wasn’t enough—the prince wanted to make them up for all sorts of things and I was all too eager to comply, taking great delight in sharing this part of myself with him and creating new bridges in which to better communicate with him.

“We should have a sign for when we’re thinking of one another,” he said.

After some consideration I gave my earlobe a gentle tug. He copied the movement with his own earlobe and slowly grinned. “It’s perfect. Now we can give it whenever we want to get one another’s attention or show that we’re thinking of one another.”

My cheeks warmed at the thought that I’d ever have need to think of the prince so often or be required to admit he was on my mind, though admittedly the notion wasn’t at all unpleasant. But just the fact he’d suggested we’d be thinking of one another—whether in pretend or in reality—made it nearly impossible to think of anything else throughout the remainder of our reading lesson.

It continued for another hour before we were interrupted with the arrival of a footman announcing that the prince’s presence was required to greet the guests who’d just arrived. He heaved a dramatic groan. I mimicked putting a crown on my head before shaping my fingers in the shape of an L to indicate the princess’s name. Rather than answer, his expression soured.

Several minutes later I found myself standing alongside the royal family as they awaited the entrance of their royal guests, whatever courage I’d managed to retain until this point now entirely absent. I’d attempted a variety of creative gestures to express my desires not to be part of the Lycerian royal family’s reception, considering how out of place I felt to stand with the royal family. It hadn’t been an easy idea to communicate, and it was only after much struggle that Prince Owen finally understood.

But once he did, though he was empathetic to my anxieties, he didn’t provide the rescue I so desperately sought. “I hate to ask you to do something that makes you so fiercely uncomfortable, especially considering how much I’m dreading the interaction myself,” he said. “But considering you’re playing the part of my fiancée, it’d be both rude and suspicious for you not to be present to greet our guests.”

Which was how I found myself standing in the parlor when the footman opened the door to the three Lycerian royals. The Queen of Lyceria swept elegantly into the room first, followed by a young man who was introduced as Crown Prince Nolan, with the infamous Princess Lavena bringing up the rear.

She immediately captured my focus, for I was curious about her and what made Prince Owen so averse to the thought of a union that he’d be desperate enough to recruit the help of a mute commoner…only to find nothing. The princess was beautiful, well-mannered, and the epitome of elegance with her regal posture, gown of gold satin, and her silky brown hair twisted in an elegant updo. She greeted each member of the Bytamian royal family with poise and a dazzling smile, yet despite her apparent charm, Prince Owen remained stiff beside me, not exactly glaring at his intended but making no attempt to mask his dislike.

It wasn’t until the princess stepped forward with a strained smile to greet him that her own dignified image faltered. Our proximity allowed me to see the coldness filling her dark brown eyes, an emotion I hadn’t been able to discern from a distance…but there was another, one I recognized all too well from having seen it in Father every day since Mother’s accident: sadness.

“Prince Owen.” Her polite greeting felt forced.

He bowed stiffly. “Princess Lavena.”

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