Trojan Horse || Henry + Eric
As planned, Eric goes to stand trial before the Order. (It does not go to plan.)
[TW: violence, drowning, major character death.]
@charmed-henry
ERIC The sky was overcast. He expected nothing less of London.
It had been some time since he had left Swynlake— last year’s Spring Break felt like a lifetime ago. The world was so different outside of its borders. Dulled to a grey. Or maybe that was just the clouds that didn’t seem to move in the sky, ensuring that the world was as boring to look at as it was to walk through.
Eric had woken up far too early that morning, rubbing at the grit in the corners of his eyes. He’d stayed the night at Grim’s, having not wanted to wake Ollie up with his fumbling about in the wee hours. The man was going to drive Eric up to London. (He had rather insisted when Eric told him what was going on and had refused to allow him to go to the meeting.) He removed himself from the bed after getting his wits about him and began to get ready for the day, knowing he didn’t have time for a lie about. That could come later. When all of this was over and when Tom had his baby back in his arms, where he belonged. This, more than anything, is what made Eric’s usual sluggish movements of the morning more awake and focused. He had a job to do, he had no intention of screwing it up.
Grim had fussed with him when he met Eric in the kitchen, saying he needed to go put on the suit Grim had left out for him. Eric didn’t argue, only laughed. As if he was going to get all dressed up for these people. Instead he wore his usual make up— trainers, a pair of dark trousers, a t-shirt, and a cream knit sweater over it.
Eric placed Max’s bowl down, the both of them eating breakfast in sync. When they’d finished, Eric washed their bowls and let the dog outside. Then it was time to leave. Eric crouched down to give Max a pet and squeezed him tight around the middle. He held the dog’s face in his hands, pushing the hair from his eyes. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
Max licked his face, making him laugh. Soon, the dog agreed.
The drive up was filled with a tension that Eric hated, trying to drown it out with the radio. Grim was on edge and Eric couldn’t blame him. He’d promised he was never going back— yet here he was, doing just that and making Grim take him.
“I feel as though I’m dropping you off for training all over again.” They had pulled up to the curb, two blocks away from where Eric was supposed to be. Eric chuckled, pulling his seatbelt off and putting a hand on the door handle, about to get out when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Be careful, my dear boy.”
Eric reached up to place his hand over Grim’s and squeezed. “Aren’t I always?”
Spring it may have been, but Winter still had its hold of the city. As soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk the wind blew past him, cold and unforgiving. It felt like a relief against his too warm skin from the heater of the car. He gave Grim a wave, watched the man hesitate, then get honked at, and the car pulled away. Eric waited there until he couldn’t see the tail lights any longer.
He followed the sidewalk until a cafe came into his path and ducked inside. The smell of coffee and fresh bread hit the back of his throat as soon as he breathed in (it wasn’t as good as the one back in Swynlake, but familiar in a way he had almost forgotten). He ordered a cup of tea and carried it out with him as he continued on his way.
They were expecting him in fifteen minutes.
Eric showed up in twenty.
“Good morning, Mr. Andersen.” A man greeted him at the front doors. Eric didn’t recognize him, just like he hadn’t known who had turned up at his flat.
“Yeah, alright.” He wasn’t about to have a pleasant conversation with these people or pretend to be anything other than what he was. That part of his life was finished and over with. “Where to then?”
He was led through the hallways of marble floors and high vaulted ceilings. The Order and its old money showing off with the decor, like always. Behind closed doors it hid the blood and betrayal but here? Here was where it tried to hide its wounds— paintings that cost more than the car he had just hopped out of, chandeliers that hung from above like a threat, items from their history that Eric had once seen as marks of their power. Now, he saw it as thieves hanging their stolen goods out for display, knowing their would be no consequences.
“Right this way, Mr. Andersen.”
Through a pair of large, wooden double doors Eric was guided out into their impromptu trial room. In front was a large desk that was higher up, as if on a riser. There the King sat— on his makeshift throne. He was glaring at Eric, no doubt annoyed at his tardiness.
Eric wondered why that stare had once made him cower, now it only made him smile.
On either side of the King were a few other men, all looking equally as cross and displeased. They all wore suits, prim and proper as ever.
He walked down an aisle, like he was headed down to the altar, and on either side of him were rows and rows of seated people. Eric recognized a few of them— people he used to be friends with, people his parents used to know, people who he had only seen in passing. They all stared at him in different measures of judgment.
Just as he was about to turn away, done with trying to see who all had come out to watch the show that morning, he caught sight of a familiar face.
Henry.
HENRY The sky was overcast, and Henry woke up far earlier than he should have. He should have slept better in his own bed at home, with no mara in his bed to plague him with nightmares, but Henry tossed and turned anyway, giving up on sleep altogether as the sky gradually started to lighten. As though the sun, too, wished to postpone this day.
He took a shower. He took Duke for a walk. He sat in the dining room for a long time, not drinking his coffee, watching the painting of his great grandfather go blurry in front of his eyes. He put on a smart white jumper and combed his hair and hoped the dark circles under his eyes weren’t too prominent.
“Father?” Henry appeared in the doorway of his father’s study. “I’m ready.”
Christopher turned around from the notebook he was writing in. Henry wondered if he was planning what he was going to say to the king. If he was going to try and make his bid to be next in line. This would certainly give him some leverage, wouldn’t it? His son, bringing a rogue back to the Order?
Henry’s father smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, a smile Henry had seen before but constantly chased. There was nothing like the feeling of seeing that smile directed at him. As Henry stood in the doorway of the office, Christopher walked past him, but paused to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m really proud of you, son,” he said softly.
But instead of feeling full and loved and content the way he always thought he would feel when his parents said something like that, Henry just felt a little nauseous. Like he had eaten too much candy.
He was silent on the drive over to the new Hall, recently moved due to security concerns after the Huntsclan exposé. He was silent as he walked in, as the beautiful paintings and gilded walls bore down on him in a way that felt, for once, somehow suffering. He was doing the right thing. He was doing the right thing. Father was proud of him. And this was going to be very good for the family. Most of all, of course, Eric was coming back to the Order. The king would find a way to bring him back. He just had to keep telling himself that.
When Eric stepped out onto the floor and met his eyes, Henry felt like something had pierced him right through the heart. How had they gotten here? It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He averted his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. He had nothing to feel guilty or worried about. Jacqueline had promised him, Father had promised him, Henry had to believe them.
So why did he have such a terrible feeling about this?
ERIC As soon as Henry’s head turned Eric wrenched his eyes away, staring down the aisle to the King and his court with unseeing eyes.
Why was Henry here? To gloat? To be able to say I told you so in some fashion? Did he really think so terribly of Eric that he had to come all the way up to London because he wanted to see the Order scold him? It made his stomach tighten up into knots, made him want to whirl around, stalk back down the aisle, just to tell Henry that the only reason Eric had even considered showing up today was for Tom and for the baby that these people had stolen away from him— but that would be counterproductive to this plight.
After. When the baby was back in Tom’s arms and everyone was out of harm's way then maybe he would talk with Henry— that was if he hadn’t been in on the kidnapping. (Surely Henry had not fallen that far from grace, pulled down into the depths by the people he sat amongst.) Then Eric could try to argue against the Order, about why Henry needed to get out of there while he still had the chance. The window was closing and Eric didn’t want to have to watch him from the other side of it.
His escort stopped behind a little desk and chair that sat at the end of the aisle. It was facing the King, away from the audience at its back. The man motioned for Eric to take his seat.
For now, thoughts of Henry would have to wait. If he was going to get through this with his wits about him then he needed to be present, not lost inside his own mind.
Eric pulled the chair out, letting the legs scrape against the marbled floor. The sound echoed off the walls, reverberating against the empty surfaces that littered the room. He made sure to adjust it a bit, ignoring the growing agitation of the faces that stared at him, before finally plopping down into the seat.
“You’re late, Mr. Andersen.” The King’s voice was deep, saturated in the pain of the lack of manners being displayed before him in a room of gentlemen and ladies— and one Eric Andersen.
“Sorry about that! Forgot how hard it is to find a good parking space in the city.” He smiled at the silence that followed.
“Let us begin. We have gathered here today to discuss the crimes committed against the Order by Eric Andersen, the last remainder of the Andersen family bloodline. Up until recently we were under the impression that Mr. Andersen had died in a shipwreck that had been on a mission to help find a creature of unknown species that had been reportedly damaging boats and putting fisherman’s lives in danger.” The King looked up from what Eric assumed was some sort of report and eyed him. “Is that true Mr. Andersen?”
“Yep.”
There was a pause— apparently they had expected him to answer differently. Plead innocence? Try to spin it a different way? Start off by begging for forgiveness? The King cleared his throat.
“And after surviving said shipwreck you told no one of your survival, disappeared, lived in the only town in Great Britain that allows magic to be practiced in public spaces, participated in an unauthorized hunt, and have renounced your position within the Order? Is that correct?”
Eric nodded. “Yes, that seems about right.” (Give or take a few things.)
“Would you care to explain yourself, Mr. Andersen?”
Eric shook his head, shrugging. What was there to say? He felt no need to tell these people of his decisions, if his oldest friend had not been able to understand then no one in this room would. It was pointless. He was there because he had to be, not because he wanted to be and certainly not to plead his case— there was none to be made in either his or the Order’s eyes.
“Very well.”
The proceedings that followed were all very boring, he nearly dozed off ten minutes in as the King recited some sort of piece from the Order’s law or whatever it was they were supposed to have studied but Eric had skimmed and promptly forgotten once he’d gotten through the tests over it. (Ridiculous to think of such things now.)
“We would like to bring someone up to speak to tell his side of the events that we are discussing here today.” The King turned to give a nod to someone, the man who had escorted Eric from the front room was now signaling for someone from the audience to join them. This pulled Eric’s attention back into order on his own snort because who the bloody hell had they—? He turned his head to watch Henry stand up.
Ah.
“Henry Fitzwilliam Charming, thank you for coming today. We would like to acknowledge the bravery and loyalty this young man has displayed throughout this endeavor.” The tone of voice used was much more jovial. It would have made Eric roll his eyes had he not had them trained on Henry. “Mr. Charming, please, if you would be so kind as to give us your side of the story for our records here today.”
HENRY The thing was, Henry didn’t feel very brave or loyal. He felt like a coward.
He knew he was doing this for Eric’s own good. Jacqueline had told him that many times over. If he couldn’t get through to Eric, he needed to call in backup, and someone was going to have to get through to Eric. They couldn’t have an Order defector running around and sabotaging Order plans. That was dangerous for everyone. And if Father got bumped up in the line for the throne, well, that was a nice reward for all the trouble.
So why did he feel so ashamed? Why did he feel like, when he went to sleep tonight, Ashleigh would peel back all the layers of things he had told himself to get to this point and see a weak, scared boy who didn’t know how to tell his family “no”?
It was too late for that at this point, though. There were guards posted at the doors, their gleaming weapons on display. The king’s gaze was piercing. His father patted him on the shoulder and whispered, “Go on, then, son. You can do it.” Shaking, Henry got to his feet.
“Eric Anderson was my best friend,” Henry said, his tone coming out weak and croaky. He cleared his throat. Though he was looking at Eric while he spoke, Henry didn’t dare meet his eyes. “He was my best friend. We were in training together. And when I was at my lowest, he always had my back. He was an extraordinary person. A bit funny at times. Always meant well, though. I was devastated when I thought he had died. I was in denial about it for a while, actually– never really– anyway.”
He gulped, fighting back tears. “I kept Eric’s secret because I thought that is what best friends do. I thought that if I showed him how important our mission was, he would find his way back to the Order on his own. We planned a mission together. To find a mermaid. And when a dangerous aquatic monster started attacking people in the lake– including an innocent Mundus girl who has shown me nothing but friendship– Eric even helped me try to catch it. I thought I was getting somewhere.
“That mission failed. Eric was injured, and I got worried. I had already lost him once. I didn’t want to lose him again. I decided to take matters into my own hands, to do my own research and acquire a trap for this creature. I didn’t tell Eric about this, because by this point he had made it quite clear he wanted nothing to do with the Order. I thought that would be fine. I was… foolish. And weak. I thought we could be friends, I could keep my secrets and he would keep his. And then, one day, Eric threatened that if I didn’t take the trap out of the lake, he was going to go to the authorities. That was when I realized– letting Eric run around with Order secrets and no loyalty to the organization was dangerous. I knew what I had to do. I told my father.”
It was getting harder for Henry to keep it together. He wanted to stop now, to run from that room hide where nobody could see him cry. But he had practiced this speech with his family. He had to do it perfectly. They were all counting on him. Finally, Henry would bring recognition to the Charming family.
“I know I have made many mistakes over the course of events I have just recounted. And I understand the Order may want to extend my probation, or even to strip me of my title. I am prepared for that possibility. I know what I did was wrong. Hubris was my downfall. I believed I could change Eric Anderson, because I loved him– like he was my own brother.” Now, Henry met Eric’s eyes, because he wanted him to know this part was for him. “I still do. And it hurts me to stand here and see him in this position. But I hope you will see that I meant well. That I tried to save him from– from himself.” Something in his tone shifted and became faraway and strange. He had gone a bit off script just then– he had to go back to what he had rehearsed. “And I hope the court will see my participation in this trial as proof of my… unwavering l-loyalty to the Order of the Prince.”
ERIC The urge to hold on to his anger while Henry went on and on (and on) was too hard. His fingers may have clutched to it, knuckles white, but there was no real strength behind it. He had started out sitting there, jaw clenched and glare steady, only to wind up with misty eyes and the tight feeling of emotions caught at the back of his throat.
Henry had told them. Henry was the reason he was here. He had been sold out by his own friend.
It was not a surprise. Betrayal had long since been stabbed into Eric’s heart by the hand of Henry Charming, the wound still open and fresh. There was nothing new here for him to gasp at, to grow angry over.
Eventually, he couldn’t even look at Henry anymore. Pleading his case to the King like he was the one standing trial instead of Eric. It might have been pathetic if he didn’t care about Henry the way he did.
“Mr. Andersen?” He looked up, sniffing. When no one said anything he made a face to ask, yeah? What do you want? The King sighed. “Do you have anything to say in defense of yourself against what Mr. Charming has claimed here today?”
“No.” Eric had never any intention on saying anything, but Then, he sat up a little bit. “Actually yeah, I do.”
He turned in his seat to look at Henry again, ignoring how everyone else was staring at them. “I’m sorry, Henry. I’m sorry I failed you so completely.”
“Mr. Andersen—”
“I’m sorry I let you continue to come back to these people—”
“Mr. Andersen!”
“— and that they’ve made you into this person you’re not supposed to be. If you knew what they had done then you wouldn’t be here—”
“Mr. Andersen, that is quite enough!”
Men had entered the floor, standing on either side of the court’s podium like a threat. Eric kept his eyes on Henry for a moment before looking at the pair of them, wondering if it was worth the risk. Probably not. (After. There was always after.) He turned back around in his seat to show he’d comply.
The room seemed to breathe again.
“Now, Mr. Charming, you have no need to worry. The Order thanks you for what you have done and can see that you were only trying to uphold all that we stand for. You were betrayed by one of our own. We are here to offer forgiveness, not punishment. You have done us a great service in telling the truth. That is the bravest thing any of us can do.” The King smiled down at Henry before turning serious once more. “Mr. Charming, answer us this, do you think Mr. Andersen is a danger to not only himself but the members of the Order?”
HENRY Maybe, under different circumstances, Henry would have thought about the question more. The phrasing of it, the implications. The Princes who were closing in, looking menacing and serious. But all Henry could think about was Eric, acting without thinking as always, failing to see all the ways his bloody reckless stubbornness could get him into trouble. Henry wanted to shush him, to tell him to stop talking before he got himself into more trouble, the idiot he was.
No, it wasn’t just reckless stubbornness. It wasn’t just idiocy, either. Eric knew what he was doing, and he was doing it anyway because that was how much he cared. About the people he had met this year and the freedom he had earned. Maybe even about Henry. Eric wasn’t stupid. He was braver than Henry would ever be. And that thought made Henry hot and angry and defensive and deeply, deeply embarrassed.
The King was telling Henry that he had done the right thing. Forgiveness, not punishment. That had to extend to Eric, too, right? And Henry was going to say that, but now he could feel a painful tightness in his throat, and Eric was turning away from him again and Henry just wanted the King to fix everything, to put things back to the way they were before.
He wanted Eric to be a Prince again. He wanted Eric to be his friend again. And he wanted Eric to stop saying all of these things that made him question the world he had been raised in, that brought those secret thoughts he had late at night about running away with Ashleigh and leaving the Order behind into broad daylight. He wanted all of it to stop, because Eric’s words were ricocheting around in Henry’s brain, I’m sorry I failed you, and Henry wanted to say, No, I’m sorry I failed you.
He hadn’t failed, though, even though the voices in his head were telling him he was. The King was going to help Eric back onto the right track. He was going to demote Eric to a Squire, probably, but that was what would be best for him. He would learn everything over again. He would have a fresh start. That was what Jacqueline had said, anyway, when Henry had fretted that the King might not forgive him.
“Yes,” Henry croaked abruptly. “B-but it’s not his fault, he–”
The King narrowed his eyes, and Henry felt his father’s stare boring into his head. He cut himself off, and tried to imagine how much better things would be when Eric went through his training again, when Henry became his friend again.. “I’m sorry. The answer is yes.”
ERIC “Thank you, Mr. Charming. You may return to your seat.”
Eric’s eyes followed Henry, turning in his seat to watch as the other boy settled back in among the others, trying to think of how to communicate without saying it that they needed to talk— that Henry needed to somehow find him, away from his father and his family and all of these people.
“Mr. Andersen.” He swung back around to face the court, eyebrows raised at the King. “Do you have anything else you wish to say before we give our final verdict?”
He shook his head. No, no he did not.
It wouldn’t have mattered even if he did, Eric knew they had already made their decision as to what they were going to do before he had even stepped foot into the room. It had probably been as soon as Henry told them. He didn’t blame Henry, though— Eric’s fate had been sealed when he had been dragged out of the ocean by Gabriella to wake up on the sands of a very cold beach in Norway, left to figure out what to do all on his own.
“Very well.” The King cleared his throat and Eric gave a sigh. Here we go.
“Eric Andersen, son of Adrien Andersen and Isla Harrington, you have hereby been stripped of your membership on the grounds of crimes committed against the Order, endangering another member’s life, the lives of the innocent people we have sworn to protect, and putting this whole establishment and all that we have worked for, for centuries, at risk. Though you may no longer be a part of the Order, you are still our responsibility, just like all of those we seek to keep from harming others.”
The men who had entered the floor at Eric’s outburst had circled around without him even knowing it, too focused on trying not to burst out laughing at what was being said. They were behind him when they grabbed his arms, one for each of them. Eric looked back and forth between the pair, trying to wrench himself away but to no avail. He pushed himself to his feet, the chair flying back into the aisle behind him, screeching against the floor tile.
Managing to slip out of one of their grips, Eric turned on the other one that still had his arm, using his loose one to land a punch to the bloke’s chest. It made him grunt, stumble back, but he didn’t let go of Eric as he did, making Eric follow where he went. The shift made Eric lose his balance, giving the other Prince enough time to descend.
He grabbed Eric by the collar of his jumper, landing one punch to his nose, the next to his cheek. They landed just right, making his ears ring and vision go white as he fell to the floor. When he regained coherency they had a hold of him again, his feet trying to find purchase as they hauled him around the table out into the center before the court.
He felt their hands on his shoulders, trying to force him down. Eric tried to get away, heels digging into the ground like faulty brakes. One of them swore under his breath and Eric yelled out in pain as he felt his knee get kicked, it going in the wrong direction— the one that hadn’t even had a year to be fully mended. He went down, his good knee hitting the tile with a thunk before the other one followed. He spat, blood pooling in his mouth and from his nostrils. It dirtied the otherwise spotless floor beneath him. A hand clutched the dark curls on his head and yanked back, forcing him to look at the ceiling. The taste of copper at the back of his throat now.
The King continued on.
“You have disappointed all those who came before you in the Andersen bloodline and all that they stood for. You are a danger to everything we have fought to uphold— and for this, your punishment is death.”
The sound of a door opening and closing. Footsteps. Water.
Water?
Eric mustered up enough strength to pull himself forward, the fingers curled in his hair pulling some out as he got out of their grip to watch— two more men had entered the room. They were carrying a large tub between them, every step they took closer to him had the water inside sloshing over the side. A hand caught him again by the hair, tighter this time, and his head was hauled back.
“Let this be a lesson. The Order protects those who cannot protect themselves against the monsters that plague our world. Sometimes it is a heavy burden but we must bear it—”
The tub was set down in front of Eric, he could hear the water splash onto the floor, feel it as it seeped into the fabric of his trousers where his knees were forced to stay.
“—for who else will?”
Eric felt the hand on his head push forward. He tried to resist, and it worked— for a moment. Then another hand was around his neck and he was forced down. He managed to haul in a deep breath before his head hit the water, trying not to panic.
Silence filled his ears.
He tried to think of what to do. The grip on his arms and weight on his legs was never going to let him back up for air, not unless he fought for it and it was a battle he knew he couldn’t win. He was too out of practice and hadn't been in a fight for years now. Eric had never been the strong one, just like he hadn’t been a strategist or great with a weapon— the thing that had made him a worthy Knight had been the fact that he had wanted to be there, wanted to learn and do and be.
He wanted to just be. He wanted to live so badly but that wasn’t enough— the breath was leaking out of him. Bubbles rose to the surface past his face as they escaped out of his mouth. He was running out of time.
Could he play dead? Make them believe it a second time around to be true? Go limp and wait for them to pull him up and then—? No. They wouldn’t take him out until they knew for sure.
His lungs ached, wanting, needing.
The fingers on the back of his neck and in his hair were like pins, nails digging in his skin to ensure that he didn’t get loose ever again.
The pressure in his chest started to become unbearable.
Eric’s body began fighting. He trashed, bucking against the weight and hold. He tried to stop himself, knowing that the movement would only eat up what little air he had left, what little time, but it wasn’t going to listen to him. Why should it listen to the idiot who had put it in this position in the first place? The one who didn’t take care of it, with all of the injuries and careless behavior? It was going to get out of this without him!
His mouth opened, desperation and hope and base instinct. Water rushed in, filling every available space it could take up because that’s what it did. It took. And it was going to take him. After having to let him go twice over now, it was finally going to claim its prize. Gabriella was not there to pluck him from this shallow depth.
There was no way out.
All this time Eric had thought he had escaped the cage. Maybe he had— but they had found him. So long as the cage still stood, heavy and hollow, they would always have come for him. Hands, with their shoving, pulling, restraining. They would never stop until they got what they wanted, but Eric would never give it to them.
Even now.
He thought of Grim, of his pressed shirts and warm mugs of tea. Max barking to be let in from the back garden. Going home to plop on the couch next to Ollie to hear about his day. Mr. Moon’s words of encouragement. How bright Danny’s smile was despite how shy it could be. The way Gabriella’s hand had felt in his and how it had slipped away.
Tom, who he had done this for in the first place. Who he had always wanted to impress and make proud and never disappoint. Here Eric was, failing him all over again. His innocent baby, too.
And Henry—
(Dear, soft, Henry, who was watching all this happen.)
The men continued to hold the boy under the water despite his body having gone lax, no longer holding itself up nor fighting back against them. They waited, their eyes on their King who was watching the boy.
They waited.
Time ticked by. Eric’s body still did not move.
The King nodded after a few more minutes than was necessary, waving a hand. The men pulled the body from the water, letting it slump against the floor, the wet clothes giving an uncomfortable sound as they hit. Blood had mixed in the water from his injury, wiping his skin clean of it but leaving his light jumper stained pink.
One of the men knelt down, fingertips pressed under the body’s jaw, another hand under his now crooked nose. The King (and everyone in the room)’s eyes bore down on him. The man stood and nodded.
“Eric Andersen is dead, your highness.”
They dragged his body from the room, a trail of water left behind. Lines of red ran through it, the blood splitting as it rose to the top.
The doors shut behind them.
HENRY Suddenly, everything was happening very quickly. Suddenly, the men were surrounding Eric, grabbing him, hitting him, pushing him around like this was training again. Henry had never been very good at fighting them off either, back then.
Something about the King’s tone and the way everyone was looking at Eric, now, was giving Henry a feeling of intense dread in the pit of his stomach. But he tried to ignore it. He had done what he needed to do. He had brought Eric back to the Order. And now, once this was over– once the men stopped with this brutal, humiliating punishment– Eric would be back. And Henry could pretend this was all a bad dream.
But they didn’t stop. They kept going. And it slowly dawned on Henry what was really happening here. He had heard whispers of what sometimes happened to traitors but he hadn’t really thought– Eric wasn’t a traitor, he was a kid! Surely they couldn’t– they wouldn’t–
“Your punishment is death,” the King droned, and Henry felt as though he had been plunged into icy water. Everything looked different now, familiar faces swimming in his vision and seeming to turn to strangers before his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest. His jaw fell open. Everyone around Henry was looking directly forward, their faces blank (though Henry’s father seemed to be fighting something under the surface).
Henry tried to scream, but nothing came out. He almost shot out of his seat, but then there was his father’s hand on his shoulder. In the years that followed, Henry would look back on this moment, as he saw Eric’s face for the last time before he was forced into the water, and tell himself he couldn’t have done anything. That he had been lied to, that he had been manipulated, that he might be risking his own life by trying to stop them.
But he knew it wasn’t the truth. His mind would turn over all the different ways he could have stopped the events that unfolded next– or the ways he could have tried, at least, because that would have counted for something, surely.
Once, when Henry was ten, he had told Eric he would proudly die for him if it came down to it.
When had he become such a coward?
Maybe it wouldn’t work, Henry thought as his frantic mind raced. Eric had cheated death twice before. What was a third time? Maybe they were just trying to scare him. Maybe once he learned his lesson, they would let him go… yes, that sounded more likely, because the Order practiced forgiveness. And everyone had promised him, hadn’t they? Nothing was going to happen to Eric. He was going to be fine. He was going to be…
“Eric Andersen is dead.”
And this time, when Henry screamed, a sound did come out. “NO!” he cried, in a strangled, hoarse kind of way. He leapt out of his seat and sprinted for the door that Eric had been dragged through, except it wasn’t Eric anymore it was…
“You can’t do this. Bring him back,” Henry sobbed, pounding on the door and slowly sinking to his knees.
“Charming, please return to your seat.”
“NO!” Henry collapsed on the floor now, the bloodstained water seeping into his white jumper. “No, no, no…”
He was pulled to his feet by a pair of hands, which Henry soon recognized as his father. “My apologies, your highness,” Christopher muttered. “Temporary bout of madness.”
“You’re mad!” Henry gasped, choking on his own tears. “To murder a man and think nothing of it! He was… my best… friend… You murdered him!”
“He needs some air,” Christopher apologized, and the King nodded, looking rather annoyed.
“Go on, then. There is other business to attend to.”
Henry went on, sobbing and sputtering, as he was ushered out the door. Once they were in the garden, Henry looked around wildly, barely giving his father the opportunity to say anything before he took off into the alley, with no sense of where he was going, only knowing that he had to get away from this place.
