Count On Me

by Abigail Graham

  I blink a few times. His private quarters are a castle unto itself, within the main fortress, right down to its own walls and courtyard.

  “I have been instructed to ask you to wait in the hall. You will know when you see it. Straight ahead.”

  I nod and nervously walk across the yard. It’s small, at least compared to the rest of this place, maybe twenty feet by twenty. Another set of oak doors banded with wrought iron stand open, and inside must be the hall, a huge room with a high ceiling and a hearth at one end that stands cold, unlit.

  There’s nowhere to sit but a pair of old chairs at the far end. When I say old chairs I mean they look like they were carved hundreds of years ago, not that they are anything less than impressive. The bigger one, sitting in the middle of the room with its facing away from the hearth, has a back taller than I am, carved with the phoenix coat of arms. A smaller chair sits next to it.

  I take that one, figuring the big one is for the prince. If the penalty for slapping is chopping off my hands, I don’t want to know what the penalty for putting my butt in the wrong place is.

  So, I wait.

  Wait.

  Wait some more.

  Finally he walks into the room, and after all that waiting I cross my legs and fold my arms as he slips out of his black uniform jacket, revealing a cream-colored shirt beneath. He folds the jacket over the arm of the big chair and flops into it, leaning heavily over the arm.

  “You would choose the princess’s seat, wouldn’t you?”

  I sit upright. “Oh. I should have realized.”

  “Stay, it suits you. I like the idea of having you at my right hand.

  “My ancestor was an odd man. The first prince to rule these lands. He married a local woman, and decreed that all his sons that would come after him would marry a local woman, never a member of the nobility, native or foreign.”

  “He sounds like a smart guy.”

  “Speaking of the native nobility, he invited them all to dinner, left the hall where they’d gathered, and burned them all alive inside.”

  I stare straight ahead for a minute then clear my throat. “Is everyone in your family nuts?”

  “I like to think I am not,” he says, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands, “but I wonder if perhaps I am.”

  “I’m ready to talk to you. Calmly.”

  “You anger me,” he says, lifting his head to sit up straight and lean back into the seat. “Yet it pleases me, and I don’t know why.”

  “Your life is too easy.”

  He looks at me sharply. “You presume too much. This is not easy.”

  “When was the last time someone told you no?”

  “Not since I was a child.”

  “You want to tell me something. I know when someone is feeling guilty. I’m here with you and we’re alone. You can take the armor off.”

  “I’m not wearing any armor.”

  “Yes you are,” I say, and touch his shoulder. “I can’t see it or touch it, but I can feel it.”

  He flinches when I touch him but quickly turns and rests his cheek on my hand.

  “Your skin is always so warm.”

  “My prince.”

  “My name is Kristoff. Call me Kristoff, Penny.”

  “I understand the pomegranate, now.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. You were trying to tell me.”

  “I have no words for the way you make me feel. I sound like a superstitious peasant. Grown men do not believe in things of fairy tales, that they can fall in love with a woman just by laying eyes upon her. Yet I have, and every word that falls from your lips brings me to love you more.”

  “Kristoff.”

  “I have built a clockwork hell,” he says softly. “I have hidden myself behind machines, and tried to turn my people into machine men with machine minds. You are right. It is easy to tell myself I am right when I am alone, when I do not see what I am doing to my people. They are afraid of me. When your friend was frightened by my presence I told myself it was the trauma or the propaganda you’ve heard about my country and my leadership, but that terror was well earned. Yet it was not her fear that swayed me.”

  “What was it?”

  “I did not want to build a world to make little girls afraid of me. Hate me. Don’t you understand? I designed those schools to make sure no one would be left behind. Everyone would have a place, no one would want or suffer. I wanted parents to be relieved of the burdens of child rearing and enjoy their children. I wanted the sick to be healed, the weak to be cared for. I wanted everyone to be happy, but they’re not and I don’t know why.”

  “You can’t shove happiness down someone’s throat,” I tell him, rubbing his arm. “They have to want it, to choose it. Some people choose hardship. You have to guide people, show them the way, not lock them in chains and drag them with you.”

  “There is a poetry to your words I never thought I could see. Lesser men have thrown such sentiments in my face ever since I took the throne.”

  He looks up and gazes intently at me. “What do you want me to do? Ask and you will have it. Tell me how to prove to you that I am not the monster you are so afraid of. Tell me what I need to do to make you stay with me.”

  “You can’t,” I say, and watch him look away in fury and disappointment.

  “You can’t make me stay,” I add quickly, squeezing his hand. “I have to choose it. You’re beginning to understand, I can feel it.”

  “I want you to stay. I want to crown you. You were made for one.”

  “I don’t want a crown, and I don’t want to be a replacement for your lost princess.”

  “There is a history there you do not understand.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Follow me.”

  He stands and waits for me to rise alongside him, and I walk.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The torture chamber.”

  I stop in my tracks. “This isn’t a time for jokes.”

  “I’m not going to torture you. I’m not joking, either. Please, Penny. I’m not ordering you. I’m asking you. There are things about me and my family that you need to understand.”

  As I walk with him he says, “My forebears were always of two minds, two warring natures. My ancient ancestor wanted to preserve the rights of the people. This was a barbaric land, and the local lords were little more than petty chieftains. They practiced the right of the first night… When a woman of their lands married, they would rape her before her husband was allowed to consummate the marriage and steal the child if one was born. The soil of this valley is stained with the blood of women who slit their own throats rather than bear a bastard born of a monster’s lust. To free them, he gathered those men together and roasted them alive. Always there has been such madness in my family.”

  He sighs. “Except with us. Me and my brother. We were born together, and nearly killed my mother in the process. She always told me that in us, the greatness and madness were divided between myself and my twin brother.”

  “There were two of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You both loved the same girl?”

  “No. You misunderstand.” He stops, sighing. “It pained me but it was our way. Cassandra was betrothed to me when we were both thirteen. I was the eldest…by three minutes. That made me the heir.”

  “Your brother…”

  “There was a festival, the May festival when we came of age. That is when the bride was chosen. She was beautiful in her flowing gown, flowers in her hair…and I looked at her and felt nothing. It was Kristien who loved her, madly and totally, the way only a boy can. They spent every hour together. They carved their initials into the wall in the library. My father would have had their hides if they were anyone else.”

  He turns and walks again, stopping where a staircase meets the corridor. He throws a switch and harsh lights thump to life, illuminating the narrow passage.

  “Follow me.”

  The steps are
narrow and steeply sloped.

  “My ancestors would roll their defeated enemy down the steps first,” he sighs, all the pride gone from his voice.

  At the bottom is a heavy door with hammered iron bands. He draws a key from his pocket and opens it, holding it for me to pass. I step inside.

  It’s well lit, and that makes it worse. The things in here turn my stomach just to look at them. I tell myself it’s rust on the iron spikes and chains, not something else. It doesn’t look like some sideshow museum’s house of horrors or something like that. It’s somehow worse in the simple utility of the devices I see before me. Irons ready to be heated, knives and surgical tools laid out on tables.

  “Tell me you’ve never used this. Please.”

  “The madness is in me, too. I dip into it every time I put on that armor and unsheathe that sword. It’s like a tiger stalking behind me. I can never forget it is there, or it will devour me and there will be no one left to hold it back. No, I don’t use this room. I have my own. The techniques have…evolved since the time this room was created. It serves another purpose now.”

  Why am I surprised? He pushes one of the stone blocks that makes up the wall and it slides inward easily, with the lightest pressure, until it clicks. There is a steady hiss and a section of the wall pulls inward, sliding along a track in the floor beyond. It opens just enough for him to wedge through, and I have to turn to follow.

  Once we’re past it he throws a lever and the wall closes behind me again. I’m entombed with him now.

  “This way,” he says, perhaps to reassure me. There’s only one way to go: down.

  “You didn’t tell me what happened to your brother. Is he still—”

  “No. He’s dead.”

  I stop on the stairs. “How?”

  “Come.”

  I follow him around and around, spiraling so far down we must be inside the mountain now. It keeps going, the same tight turn, until we finally reach the bottom.

  There’s a door, but nothing medieval about it. The prince rests his hand on a glass plate, it scans his palm, and the door opens.

  “I killed my brother,” he says, his voice breaking. “Because of this.”

  I step inside and freeze with a gasp.

  There’s armor in here.

  Lots of it.

  There must be hundreds of those suits. The prince steps in behind me and rests his hand lightly on my shoulder, as if testing whether I will accept it.

  “My great grandfather preached a dream to his children after the second world war. An iron dream. He looked beyond the borders of his tiny domain and saw the great wide world and what happened in it. He saw what the future could be: the industrialization of warfare. Murder by assembly line.

  “After the war he toured the Nazi camps. He came back and took an oath from his son, that one day our family would rise up and make sure nothing like that ever happened again.”

  “That’s not such a terrible dream,” I say, trying to comfort him. “Many people have said…”

  “Remember the burning nobles,” he says softly. “This was how he meant to achieve it. My great grandfather, my grandfather, and my father refined the designs…and built, built, built like mad. They hollowed out the mountain, built the factories. I learned later what it cost them.”

  I turn around to face him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The engineers that oversaw the construction down here were all murdered to ensure it remained secret. Anyone who knew about it was killed. The factory is self-sustaining. All it needs is materials to be fed into hoppers above the castle. All I have to do is turn it on and fifty suits a day roll off the assembly line.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathe, “this is crazy. You can’t mean…”

  “My grandfather’s dream was a war. The last war, to cover all the world in our shadow. What you have seen from my suit is a paltry demonstration of what they are capable of. The ones down here have flight capabilities, advanced weapons… They turn a simple soldier into a walking tank, or a fighter jet so tiny and maneuverable yet so deadly that no other on Earth can possibly match it.”

  I swallow, hard.

  The prince takes my hand, holding tightly, and pulls me with him.

  “Once it started it could never stop. The war would never end. What even my father, what my brother did not realize, was that it is insane to even try. No one man can rule the world. Once we unleashed this army, the whole planet would turn against us…and in the end, they would use nuclear weapons. It’s suicide, absolute madness.”

  “I understand what you meant now about the walls keeping you in,” I say, so softly. I squeeze his hand back. “What about your brother?”

  “Our situation was never kind to him. From when he was old enough to speak it was made clear to him that I would rule here and he would not. Cassandra would be mine and not his, and he knew, damn him, damn her, he knew that I did not want her. I never wanted any of this.” His voice rises. “This is insane, all of it. Look around you. As you said, a noble goal. Not worth murdering millions, not worth another war. There has to be another way.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She seduced Kristien and turned him against me. Whispered lies in his ear, told him I was weak and would lead the country to ruin. The worst part is, she was right. I knew the moment my father brought me down here and explained what all this was for that I would never be part of something like this. I will not murder the world to save it.”

  “My prince,” I whisper, saying the words with real respect for the first time. “I’m so sorry.”

  “She meant for him to usurp me. Their plan was to murder me and for Kristien to take my place. The people would never know. We were identical except for a small scar on his chin, from a riding accident when we were children. He hurt his head.

  “She tried to convince him to kill me in my sleep. Instead he put on one of these suits and went on a rampage through the castle. I donned my father’s armor for the first time that day. My suit was more advanced. He was always stronger but I’m faster, and the suit gave me the edge I needed. I killed him. I ran a sword through my own brother’s heart.”

  He lets go of my hand and sinks to his knees. “I never wanted any of this to happen. Don’t you understand? I don’t want anyone else to die. I don’t want anyone else to suffer. I wanted to take away all the pain and worry.”

  “You did.” I kneel beside him and put my arms around him. “I believe you now. You did want to help, but you were wrong. You gave everyone in your land safety and security, but you took away the most beautiful parts of life. Freedom. Choice. Art. Music. Risk. It’s a very safe prison, but it’s a prison. You have to let them go.”

  “How? How can I undo what generation after generation of my fathers and their fathers have done? You tell me to give them freedom, but how can I lay such a burden on them after they’ve lived their whole lives like this?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not a philosopher, Kristoff. I’m not even really a teacher. I didn’t finish my degree. They’ll hire anybody to teach English abroad.”

  The prince rises to face me and rests his palm against my cheek.

  “I don’t want to be the king of Tartarus anymore, Penny. You are a light shining into this hell. Do what you have already been doing. Show me the way.”

  I sigh. “You can’t do this all at once. It’s going to take time. It’s going to be difficult. You have to change everything about this place. One day you or maybe your son or grandson is going to have to give up the power.”

  “My line ends with me, unless you stay with me. I won’t have anyone else.”

  “I don’t want that burden.”

  “I don’t want mine. No one asked me to shoulder it. I’m giving you that choice, though. Stay with me until the end of the week, fly with me to America. If you leave me I will let you go. I fear I will die but I will let you go, and I will spend the rest of my life turning this land into a garden to await your return
.”

  “I… I might stay,” I admit. “I don’t know. I can’t think. I hate this place. I hate feeling the castle over my head, like it’s going to fall on us.”

  “So do I. Come, I’ll take you back to your room.”

  “I don’t want to stay there anymore,” I say as he pulls me to my feet. “I want to go with you.”

  “You…do?”

  “Don’t you want me to come?”

  “Yes. In every sense of the word.”

  Shocked, I flinch in his arms. He leans down and lightly sniffs my hair, and rests his hand on my shoulder. I slip my arms around him.

  I don’t look at the torture chamber as I pass through it again.I look at him instead. He doesn’t lead me back to the hall. Instead we wind around another circular staircase around the inside of one of the towers to a private dining room, barely bigger than one you would find in any house.

  “This is my solar,” he says, showing me.

  There’s a desk in the corner strewn with papers…and an iPad, clashing weirdly with the medieval ambiance.

  “I had the cooks prepare something for you,” he says as he pushes in my chair. “A surprise. Close your eyes.”

  I eye him then squeeze my eyes tightly shut. When I open them, I find on the table in front of me…

  A cheeseburger. A triple, no less, huge and steaming, the yellowy American cheese running molten over the edges of the patties. Kristoff has one, too. He prods it with his finger before he takes a knife and fork and cuts a sliver of it to eat, lifting it to his mouth with gentlemanly taste.

  After chewing and swallowing he says, “I can see the appeal. Be careful, it’s hot.”

  He barely finishes speaking before I scoop it up and take a big bite. My God, it’s good.

  “You do not want ketchup? I am told a burger has ketchup.”

  “Blrphermy,” I choke out, then swallow. “Blasphemy. On a burger this good? No way.”

  “It pleases you?”

  “Tremendously. Let me eat. I need to savor this.”

  I eat slowly, closing my eyes half the time.

  “So good,” I moan. “I could eat five of these. I want a milkshake.”

  “I can get you four more if you would like.”