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Alaric

“And just who do you think you are?” Jade said, hands on her hips. “Maybe you could learn to hold your own tongue, but I think your position is irrecoverable. Get yourself out of the glass if you can, princeling. I think you’ll find that your authority is nothing in this place.”

She spun on her heel and stalked off, leaving Alaric standing in a puddle of glass, blood spreading across his palms.

She was right. This wasn’t Reantare, or anything like it. Alaric blinked, once or twice, then started after her. She was already embroiled in a conversation with her friend and didn’t turn as he came up.

“I–I’m Alaric. I’m prince of Reantare, but I suppose that doesn’t matter here. Last I knew I was at home, and I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone but the castle servants. I’m afraid  I made a rather large mistake. Apologies?”

“‘fraid you did.”She turned back to the other girl. Alaric sighed. He had been going to ask her if she had seen where his book landed, but thought better of it. He looked ruefully at his hands and tried to shake the glass bits off. It only stung worse as he moved them.

“Hi, I’m Ophelia! That looks like it hurts.”

Alaric looked up to find himself face-to-face with a pretty girl, almost immaculate. He couldn’t place her in any class: peasant, merchant, nobility, farmer. None of them fit. He wouldn’t have let her touch him in Reantare. Princes are taught not to get too near strangers. But here it was different. He bowed. It was strange to bow before someone whose rank was absolutely a mystery to him, but his encounter with Jade had made him wary. He put his hands behind his back, anxious to hide the ugly spectacle from a woman.

“And I’m Alaric. It’ll be fine.”

Nothing about the fire in his hands would be fine, but he wouldn’t say so.

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