Cinderelena (part 1)
Storyteller
He tightened his fist and slammed it into the nearest wall of his apartments. "Damn him!" he cursed, then repeated various expletives insulting his father's doubtful ancestry and sexual exploits in different languages. How dare he subject him, the Crown Prince, to the humility of being paraded before hungry female wolves and thieving political vultures outside as if he was some piece of choice meat to be auctioned out.
"Brother!" a light tenor voice called in greeting.
Crown Prince Heero turned around in surprise to note his younger by one year brother grinning at him from the bed. He had drawn his dagger out in reflex but sheathed it upon realizing who the uninvited person was.
"Would you like something to drink? Tea? Or maybe coffee? You look pretty worn out," Prince Quatre offered. Heero narrowed his eyes and studied his brother carefully. He had only been seven when he last saw Quatre, who was six then. There had never been any sibling rivalry between the both of them and of all Quatre was probably the only who knew him the best. Now a boy on the verge of leaving the childhood behind, Quatre still looked like a little angel on earth and his smile was as sincere as it was when he was a child. Woe betide the person who underestimated him however.
But there was something wrong, he could feel it. His informants at the Palace had reported that Quatre had had an argument with the King, a thing unheard of for the loving, sweet-tempered youth, some time ago.
"What’s wrong, Quatre?" he asked shortly, sinking down opposite him. Quatre blinked his wide eyes in mock astonishment but he wasn't deceived.
"Wrong? What do you mean, Heero?"
"You can’t lie to me. I know something is wrong with you and Father. What is it?"
"You know what happened?" Quatre asked softly, looking down at his twined hands. Locks of hair fell forward to obscure his suddenly troubled features.
"No, I only know something happened. Father is very good as hushing things up."
"Well.." his head sunk down low and now only gleaming hair filled his vision. Heero waited patiently for Quatre to continue on.
"It's about me." The voice which delivered it was carefully without emotion but Heero could sense the tension in those few words. A youth slightly taller than him with brown hair swept to one side of his face and obscuring it stepped into view from the balcony outside. Green orbs, or orb rather since one was hidden, stared steadily at the Crown Prince while he carefully came in and placed a possessive hand on Quatre’s shoulder. The youth was dressed in the palace guards’ uniform. "Or us rather."
"Trowa!" Quatre smiled and glanced up as he scooted to one side of the bed to make way for the youth. Heero was beginning to see the picture as he watched the tiny almost unseen constant interaction between the two. Quatre loved Trowa and the guard loved him too. No doubt about that at all.
Quatre looked back almost in challenge to his brother, a thing he almost never done before in Heero’s memory. He had never been one for direct confrontation; seems like things had changed. "Father disapproves of us being together."
Heero ignored his little brother for the moment and turned to Trowa. "Name?"
"Trowa Barton, your Highness. Red Guard."
Well, at least he was qualified in terms of being able to safeguard Quatre. The Red Guards are the elite of the kingdom’s army and happened to be personal bodyguards of the Royal family. Which would account for how Quatre and Trowa met. He let a small smile creep in. "Good job, Trowa. First time ever my brother showed some spine."
"Heero!" the blond boy cried indignantly and flung a pillow at him. Heero grinned, a rare moment, and ducked then returned fire. After a moment’s hesitation, Trowa joined in the assault.
Outside, passing servants and guards wondered what all the ensuing shouting and laughter were about. They were hesitant to enter, though, for Crown Prince Heero was well known for his incendiary tendencies. And none of them had a wish to die early.
