A Changed Man Is A Stranger To Himself: Excerpt 1

Vinson spends the night tossing and turning, his body shaking from shock. It’s late autumn and the air is cool, but he sweats through the sheets, cold and hot at the same time, as though he has a fever. For a moment upon waking he forgets where he is, imagining that his pageboy changed the sheets the night before and adorned his room with exotic flowers, but once he realises he feels a fresh wave of grief for what he knew.

It takes him a minute to realise someone else is in the room with him.

“Who are you?” He doesn’t have a weapon, and it wouldn’t do him much good anyway, but the urge to reach for a knife is present still, as is the urge to break free.

The man steps forward to the end of the bed until Vinson can make out his features more clearly. He’s as tall as Vinson, as tall as the prince, and has the build of a bodyguard or one of the bastards who captured Vinson. “Don’t be afraid, your highness. I’ve been appointed as your attendant, I’m here to serve you.”

Vinson lets go of the sheets balled in his hands. “And do you have a name, attendant? Or shall I just call you ‘boy’?”

“‘Boy’ would not be quite accurate, but my name is Ziho. Can I get you anything?”

Vinson is so taken back by the request he relaxes unconsciously, enough that his needs make themselves apparent.

“Toilet,” he says, and Ziho nods.

“Through here.” He opens a door behind the door to the room that reveals a bathroom nicer than the room itself. Its interior matches the rest of the palace and seems out of place amongst the homely furniture and hand-stitched afghans of his prison cell. Clearly, the bedroom came first between the two of them.

He takes his time to piss and clean himself up, using the sink and a hand towel to wipe himself down. As good as the bathtub looks, it seems prudent that he wait until he’s alone to bathe, but when he leaves the bathroom it becomes clear that being alone is a luxury he won’t be afforded.

“What would you like to do today?” Ziho asks, still standing in the same spot. He has an angled face and bleached hair, and his beauty, along with his tailored clothes, seems fitting for a place that admires aesthetics above all else.

“I’d like to leave,” Vinson says, his tone curt.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave,” Ziho says, somewhat apologetically, as if he cares what happens to Vinson. “However, we have an extensive collective of books, and I can have almost anything you wish brought to you.”

“Then I’d like to be alone.”

Ziho smiles, again apologetically. “I’m afraid I can’t do that either. The prince has expressed that he doesn’t wish for you to be alone at this time. He feels you would do better with, as he puts it, a friendly face.”

“I don’t even know you.” Vinson has already had enough of these games. If they have to keep him here, the least they could do is let him be.

“But you can’t deny I’m friendly.” As far as jokes go, it falls flat, although Ziho seems pleased with himself.

“In my empire, we don’t keep people hostage. We don’t drag them from their homes and enslave them, marry them off, keep them locked away for the rest of their lives.” Despite how lonely and vulnerable he feels right now, being alone can’t be worse than being forced to interact with someone he barely knows. At least if it was the prince here with him, Vinson could try and plead to be let go. A pageboy has no sway over the will of kings.

“I assure you, this situation is only temporary until the proper arrangements can be made.” He doesn’t seem like the kind of salesmen that would come to Vinson’s empire with their bags of oils and charms and their superstitions that had no place in his realm, trying to sell good fortune for the price of freedom, but Vinson still doesn’t trust him. He’s doing the king and queen’s bidding, after all.

“What do you mean, proper arrangements?”

“The prince will decide how much to tell you, when the time comes. As for now, we can keep each other company.” He sounds like he’s reciting a well-rehearsed script, and Vinson has to wonder how many times he’s done this, how often he has to field questions on behalf of the prince, and if he enjoys making Vinson suffer. From what he’s seen of people from this empire, it would align with their values. “What would you like to do?”

“Are you alive?” Vinson asks instead of answering.

Ziho frowns a little, confused. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Are you human or machine?”

Ziho laughs, then, as if the question is ludicrous. “I’m human. We don’t have those kinds of machines in this empire.”

Vinson scoffs. What kind of stone-age empire doesn’t have animatronic servants? “Do you even have ambiscreens?”

“I’m afraid not. Our storytelling comes in the form of books.”

“Then how do you talk to other people?”

Ziho gives him a look like he’s a little slow and slightly endearing. “We walk up to them and start talking.”

Vinson gives him an unimpressed look. “I mean, how do you talk to people you can’t converse face to face with? Do you have dials?”

“No, not in this empire. We have shutes for letters, though I don’t think you’ll be needing them. If you need to talk to the prince you can leave a message with me. If you need to talk to me, you can inform the guards. They’re right outside your door.”

He says this as if Vinson could forget their presence and the shuffling of their armour. “Well, you can inform the prince that I refuse to be treated this way. If he wants anything from me he can talk to me himself.”

“He wants only one thing from you,” Ziho says, and his tone sounds reverent, as though the prince could be worthy of such a tone when he treats Vinson this way. At least Vinson is deserving of this kind of tone from his subjects. “For you to be his husband. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And he had to steal me to do that?”

“I have no opinion on the matters of the court. If the prince is willing, he will talk to you himself. But,” Ziho adds, his tone slipping into conversational, “I wouldn’t count on it.” He’s still standing in one place while Vinson, out of nervous energy, has been moving all around the room, frantically searching for something he can use to escape without seeming to. Ziho’s eyes follow him as he moves, without judgement or even curiosity. If Vinson didn’t know, he would assume Ziho is machine.