Linus Coppers slammed his clenched fist on the table, making Eliott flinch despite being a grown man. A livid glint made the adviser's amber eyes look almost scarlet.

"Consorting with heathens, defending them, and even threatening the villagers," the adviser seethed through the gap in his front teeth. Eliott couldn't bring himself to make fun of that now, though. The adviser's anger made it hard. "It's a miracle the King hasn't appeared in this room himself."

Eliott opened his mouth to reason out but what meager words left in his throat died off with a quiet hiss. Beside him, Sir Geoffer's pillar-like stance was ever so rigid. Unmoving. The affairs manager's shoulders were angled in such a way he could start ramming people out of the way should it come to fight.

"Fae are not heathens," Eliott narrowed his eyes at that pathetic choice of wording to describe a wonderful race with many hidden secrets. "And I defend them because they have done nothing wrong to deserve the treatment we give them."

Another adviser shot up. It was the one who was named Lucel Palvill. Her flat blond hair was the straightest of strands that Eliott has ever seen. "Nothing wrong, Your Grace?" she said, her tone full of apparent disbelief. "They killed hundreds of thousands of us during the war. Do your tutors not teach you that? They slaughtered us. Enslaved our race just because they're powerful. Just because they have magic. Why would you defend creatures like that?"

Eliott shook his head. "That's a long time ago," he said. "Maybe instead of oppressing them in order to protect ourselves, we could have tried to build a more positive relationship with them. Maybe we could have been the bigger people and prevented so much suffering over the years."

Linus's eyes flashed as his main sympathizer, Frances Atwood, took to his side. Eliott drove the point home even before any of them could make him feel small or poke holes into his argument. "If we are doing the same thing you claim they did to us so long ago, then we're no better than them," Eliott snarled. "We're savages through and through."

A chorus of protests rang from the advisers. Voices clattered, each one trying to talk over the other. Points both useless and circular filled the room. Linus raised a hand. Being the one who retained most of the influence among the court members, he was able to calm most of the advisers.

"Would you dare to utter such sacrilege in front of the King?" Adviser Linus challenged. "You just insulted your Empire, your own bloodline. Are you planning something behind the King's back? A coup? Treason? Did you finally let it slip?"

Eliott opened his mouth but Sir Geoffer spread his arm across him. Linus saw this and chuckled, no doubt enjoying the look of betrayal Eliott flashed the affairs manager not long after. "Listen to your secretary, Your Grace," Linus said, a triumphant look already plastered on his face. "Anything you say can and will be used against you, often in a different context than the one you meant. Words hold power, Crown Prince. They will either be your weapons or your destruction."

Linus leveled his gaze on Eliott. "A bit of advice from your lowly servant," he said. It took Eliott a lot of willpower to bite back a claim that the adviser was anything but the Empire's servant. "Think before you run your mouth or do things you will soon regret. I suggest you learn when to hold your tongue and when to turn a blind eye."

Eliott clenched his fists at his sides, the table's rim thankfully shielding his hands from the advisers' view even though he's standing like a criminal on trial. Linus closed his eyes with a sigh and settled back on his seat.

"As a consequence brought about by this latest rumors and scandal, the Crown Prince is hereby sentenced to a month of preventive custody. He will not be able to attend any function requiring him to show his face to any member of the public," Linus recited without stumbling, almost like he had it memorized even before this tribunal happened. Who even gave the court the power to sentence someone of higher rank than him?

Linus then glanced at the piece of parchment containing the edict of Eliott's punishment. "Upon the end of the month-long custody, the Crown Prince will be presented to the public and issue an apology for threatening the townsfolk and for attempting to further the welfare of non-humans."

"That's unfair," Eliott blurted against his better judgment. Again. He really needed to stop doing that. "What's wrong with helping the fae? They're people too and they aren't inferior to us."

"We have come back to the first point, Your Grace," Frances Atwood spoke, beating Linus to it. "Non-humans are beneath us. Don't argue with us on that one."

Eliott stepped forward to do just that but Linus spoke over his henchman. "Remember that we are your people, Your Grace. Not them. Us." he gestured vaguely around the room to mean the entire kingdom of humans. "Don't you ever forget that."

Oh, Eliott wouldn't ever. In fact, he was so aware of that fact to the point he wanted it to not be the truth. If he could change what he was, he wouldn't ever choose to be human. They're selfish. They're so willing to let others suffer just so they could live in comfort. They're the heathens.

And if savages tell Eliott he couldn't fight for people they claimed to be savages, he might as well do it. Maybe it's out of spite or because he was simply told he couldn't do something, but he had never wanted to march straight into his father's office and demand a change of the constitution to finally include the fae in the citizens' charter.

If there was anyone who could do that, it was the King.

To be honest, Eliott still didn't know where the King stood with this whole issue. He hadn't bothered showing up in any of the edict proposals Eliott had passed for consideration. It was always the Advisers or the Court of Commons. That's how Eliott got nowhere in all these months.

He stormed out of the tribunal with half of a mind over Sir Geoffer's silent footsteps at his wake. The look on Belle's face as she hunkered against him the other day was enough to squeeze the blood out of his heart. It was a mixture of fear and disillusionment. Disappointment about nothing changing even with Eliott's presence also joined the basin.

He remembered the whole thing like the back of his hand. From the time Belle stumbled off him as they escaped from the bellowing crowd to the painful trek back to the palace, he remembered it all. Belle's face had changed from that of bewilderment to a painting of betrayal upon learning of who Eliott really was. Eliott would have felt the same if it was suddenly revealed that Belle was a princess of the whole fae race.

Deception had never worked out for anyone, be it sooner or later.

Then again, Eliott had never really deceived Belle. He just....withheld information. Would that count?

The sound of twittering jolted him back to the present. His vision cleared enough to register sprawling metallic rails and the blobs of greens and browns darting in between swaying leaves and branches.

The menagerie.

How in Ouine's Biscuits did Eliott end up here? He looked behind him, expecting to see Sir Geoffer's stern frame standing by the door. There was no one save for the armored soldier with blue tufts shooting out of the tip of his visored helmet.

Eliott pursed his lips and turned back to the birds. Like all the times he visited, the feeding and drinking troughs, the small houses, and the floor were maintained well. The larks burst into song like they always do as soon as they caught a whiff of Eliott or any other passing human. The overlapping but pleasant melodies brought a smile to his otherwise downcast lips.

"You guys are way too happy for your own good, do you know that?" Eliott trudged towards the benches surrounding the foot of the huge, domined cage serving as the larks' home. "But it's fine. If you're happy, then I am too."

He wished the birds gave any indication they knew that was a lie. Happy was the only thing he was not at this point of his life. A heavy sigh flitted off his lips. He needed to do something to cheer himself up. It seemed like he had to think of ways to do just that for the next month too.

He took one last look at the larks gliding in and out of the meager canopies they were provided with. An idea popped into his head. Of course.

Within minutes, he had dashed to his rooms, grabbed the memento he meant to give Belle had their day not gotten so wrong on so many levels, and stomped back to the menagerie. He whistled a low tone and watched another lark answer his call. It slammed into the criss-crossing wires meant to keep them inside. Its talons clamped against the rails reminded Eliott of the sickles farmers use for harvest. Somehow, they were still sharp.

Eliott found the door to the cage and opened it ever so slightly. He whistled again, waiting if the same lark would answer. It didn't. Instead, a mistlark with its bright green mane, staunch body, and long, thin legs flitted down, settling on his open palm like it was just another branch. Before any more birds sensed the open cage, Eliott slammed the door shut.

Then, he stuck his hand into his pocket and drew out a thin necklace. It was a simple chain, adorned with a pendant of how the artist imagined the sun to look like. Just a circle with tons of curving lines around it like fire. It was beautiful and it reminded Eliott of Belle. She was like the sun to his life, no matter how oozy that sounded.

With deft fingers, he tied the necklace to the lark's leg. He glanced down at the crest stitched on the breast pocket of his vest. Since Belle knew who he was now, he would perhaps have some luck when he sent his proof of identity with the bird. Besides, how many men sent stuff through lark mail these days?

He stroked the lark's back feathers as he made way towards the only window in the menagerie. The bird chirped under his touch. When he set it down on the sill, he gave it a little nudge. "Go on, little one," he whispered. "Find the owner of this feather."

He waved the only thing he had left of Belle in front of the lark's beak. He found it when dusting the oversized coat he had given her. Just feathers from her wings falling to his velvet carpet as the only reminder of whatever bliss happened that afternoon.

So, like a fool, he held onto the feathers.

The lark chirped once more, its throat feathers bobbing in rapid rhythms. Then, it spread its wings and launched itself into the sky. There was no magical wind rising up from the ground to brush Eliott's hair off his forehead or kiss his skin. He stood there, leaning against the sill, eyes tracing the fading silhouette of the lark against the bright, afternoon sun.

Just like that night, seemingly a lifetime ago, he was off sending gifts through larks once more. Whatever happened to Edge? Had she moved on with her life and found happiness in some other form? Had she grown tired of his mementos and decided to never have anything to do with him? Had she grown into a beautiful fae, blessing nature with her magic and taking care of what his people were bent on destroying?

Eliottt didn't know how to face Edge if he ever saw her again. What was he going to say? That he's using the same tricks he used with her, just with another girl? The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to call the lark back. Alas, it was too far to hear him even though he killed himself trying to whistle as loud as he could.

He blew a breath and pushed the strands of hair off his face. Then, he peeled away from the window.

He walked back to the cage he had no choice but to call home.