James

I'm pregnant James..

"James.."

Y-you can't have a child..

"James.."

L-life has changed so quickly..

"JAMES"

I jump high off my chair as if I've been electrocuted by the sudden pulses of the weary voice. I look up to see Father giving me a hard look as he stands in front of the council.
They are discussing latest reports of trade and terrorist attacks in nearby countries, a weird combination but it's better than thinking about yesterday and its tribulations.

"James, do you agree to the following terms?" A man with a clean shaven face who sits across from me nudges me back to reality. I can only mumble "Um, excuse me?"

Father rolls his eyes."Do you agree to the policy of providing grain to the boreal land due to the latest threats"

I am hesitant to answer. Our country seems to be starving, especially after the actions at the bakery, but then again this would boast our moral...

"Yes I agree-"

Straight away a gavel bangs. "That settles it, now on to our final notice- the wedding"

I rise from my slumped position as my ears pick up what is said.

Father clears his throat before he proceeds "Yes, tomorrow is the big day, the whole day is planned perfectly thanks to our stylists and the community. Now tomorrow will be hectic, there will be reporters around the place, hence the need for more guards..."

We have conscripted guards just for this?!

".. we have catering all prepared and the venue is all set up. We have guards placed everywhere that may cause concern, especially near the gardens. So far we are fortunate to say we have had no problems with any rebels and tomorrow there will be top security all day long. As the bride and groom are at their separate ways preparing for tomorrow, we must finalise a few final proceedings"

He turns to me and starts "James do you have your speech prepared?"

Ah yes. This wonderful speech I was assigned to write. I am required to stand beside Nicolai during the ceremony as his best man as he is an only child. Because of this perk, I must also write a speech for afterwards.

It takes me a few seconds of silence and glaring eyes all around me to finally found the piece of paper I had stuffed into my pocket. Father is not impressed when I pass over the crumbled paper. At first he glares, before putting on his reading glasses to read my sentimental piece.

Everyone awaits his reaction at separate times as he nods at certain parts and frown at others. My clammy hands fumble together as I await his reaction. He could easily rip it all apart and embarrass me even further in front of the whole council or act sensible and wait afterwards to punish me, just like he did at the last incident. To think he would even treat me like that after I stood up for him.

Suddenly he grunts and passes me back the paper. "Well done, a wonderful speech" he seats back to his seat. I embrace his affection until he makes a comment "If only he could make all his speeches like that"

The whole council erupt into laughter as I slide down my chair. Father must have noticed my reaction. He pauses before saying calmly, "James, you dismissed from the council. Rewrite your speech on proper paper and prepare for tomorrow" and for once, I see his lips genuinely lift upwards. Startled, I mumble a brief "thank you" before I rush out. Once I reach outside, I can't help but let out a long awaited exhale of breath.

The chamber room is a stuffy place to be in, but not a great place when your head is bombarded with so many thoughts. After Odessa's announcement, I just don't know what to think. She can't be pregnant, she just can't be. This is all a sick twisted joke, I'm sure of it. Just a sick twisted joke to ruin us all...

I don't know how it happened but in my state of bemused dreaded thoughts, I have made it down towards the kitchen.

My head must be more focussed on grabbing a drink than doing anything else profoundly normal. The antique styled kitchen has distinctive features from its previous period of history. It brings a sense of age and beauty with its old wood kitchen cabinets, all craved with elegant carvings. Vintage appliances surround each corner; the only thing that stands out is the modern fridge in the right corner.

The place is quiet, probably due to lunch break or something like that.
I walk over and grab a compressed can of beer. I open the tab and start to gulp it down feverishly.
The cold fresh taste hits my taste buds from the first sip and I yearn for more. I chug it all back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

Then something catches my eye. The door down to the servant headquarters is wide open. Intrigued and with nothing else to do, I only roll up my shirt sleeves and head towards the door.

I notice an odd smell in the air as I walk down the dilapidated stairs. The scent is out of place. Freshly dried paint, the aroma of it seeps through the servants headquarters.
I follow the trial down towards the right hallway of the corridor. Once I get to the corner, there is a painting hanging over the ruined fireplace in the servant's living space, something I haven't seen the last time I was here.

I walk closer to the image, curious as to what it might be. Under the smell of paint I detect the familiar scent of Xavier.
Light catches the painting, adding something surreal to its quality. I blink at how detailed the image is. On the canvas there is an idealized replication of the castle. Sunlight glints off the windows; for a second I can see shapes of all sizes behind the glass panes. There is an impression that the castle is bustling with activity.

The garden surrounding the castle is riot of flowers all different shades of colour. The trees are fruitful and the limbs are full of leaves that look ready to fall to the ground, to cover it in a brilliant autumn carpet.
On the bottom of the painting there is a engraving that says 'A place of serenity'

I listen for a second and I hear the stifling of moment. I can only turn away and walk out, edging towards the far room on the left.

The confining room with pale whitewashed walls is decorated with three paintings.

A small worn bed is squashed to the side with a small sink to the right along with a single rotting chest of drawers.

An easel sits in the corner along with a small desk. Paint brushes rest in a can of water; jars and cans of paint are spread along the furniture in the room covering the almost every available surface. A long plastic tarp has been spread over the bare floor in the corner to keep it safe and eye wrenching splatters of multicoloured paint coats the white surface.

Recovering from the shock of the unkempt conditions of the room, I walk over to the closet painting; it has a similar engraving to the one on the painting above the mantel.
It reads 'As radiant as the stars'

I study the details in the image. A radiant girl with fiery red hair in an immaculate gown of flowing midnight black is perched on the side of a chair. What stands out is the tiny detail of gold sparkling through the end of her dress, which starts to trail down and soon become a wide paradox of a galaxy as stars shine through the end of the canvas. When I look at her face I can see every detail such as her round face and small dimples and her brown eyes radiate through.

I close my mouth that has fallen in slack from the shock of how easily Xavier has captured Odessa's beauty in the painting.

I move to where I can see the next painting, titled ' Unconditionally'

I am stunned. Before me is not only one of the photos from that blasted photo shoot with Fabio ages ago with that blonde model Daisy, but a spectacular black and white painting in such immense detail.

I can see the detail of every single water droplet on our bare skin as Daisy is wrapped around me, her lips pressed up against my neck. My bare chest is exposed but Xavier makes it look like a true master piece.

I shake my head in amazement, step over a can of water with several brushes sticking out of it, causing it to fall to the side.
Cursing, I fumble to pick it up and retain it to its previous position. As soon as I look up, something catches my eye. A white cloth is places over a pile of canvases underneath the easel. I can only bend down and gingerly grab them. When I notice what the image is, I am truly baffled.

It isn't just one painting of me but about dozens. All perfect in every detail of my stubbly chin and my deep chocolate eyes as I strike a pose each time again and again.

He has painted every single photo from that photo shoot.

Caught in the moment of admiration, I hear a door creak.
I panic and rush out of the room. I rush behind the door, using all my force to keep myself undiscoverable. I hear gentle humming get closer and closer by the second.

He enters the room and takes off his suit jacket and place an old flannel shirt over his white vest top.
He has a palette resting on one arm, a paint brush in his mouth as he settles himself. He smears various pigments together with his finger on his free hand. From where I can see him I could tell Xavier already has multiple spatters of paint on his shirt and face.

Something is different about Xavier. Usually Xavier is a living expression of nervous energy, tightly wound. He normally flitters about; tongue constantly brushing his lips, eyes darting here and there, his voice endlessly babbling about one thing or another, in here, right at this moment, he is different.

Xavier finishes mixing his paints, pulling the brush from his mouth.
He gently dips it into the colour he has created. He glances dead straight at the canvas, probably conjuring up the image he is imagining in his head, his deep brown eyes scanning briefly.

Then he does something I've never seen him do before; he is still, like the placid surface of a lake untouched by wind or rain.

There is a deep abiding sense of peace about him as he closes his eyes, pausing with his brush inches away from the canvas. The person in the room, the Xavier shaped creature that is perfectly content in its stillness before an artist's easel is not someone I have ever seen before. I wouldn't have believed Xavier could exist like this if I hadn't witnessed it myself.

Soon Xavier starts making slow but sure strokes of the brush across the canvas. His eyes squint against the light occasionally to assess his progress. He moves with an effortless grace that looks natural on his normally awkward body.

The brush drops into a can of water next to him, another is taken from the ground. New colours mix, joining with others already on the palette and becomes something else entirely.

I am awe by it, my mouth hangs open as I watch, trying to make myself believe I am really seeing Xavier painting. A brush of Xavier's arm against his face adds a deep blue green smudge on his forehead. The colour matches the water in the pond on the canvas.

Tongue out in concentration; he slowly moves his brush again.
More lines appear on the canvas. A perfect scenery of a lake begins to appear, but not just any lake, the lake out in the forest. It is a perfect replica. The lines and colours didn't make sense to me as they were first applied. Xavier clearly sees something I can't. I watch contently as he draws the lines, shapes and colours together into something I can see, something I can understand.

Xavier lets out a satisfied breath, drops his current brush into the can that holds the other used ones at his feet. He adds another smear of paint to his face as he wipes sweat from his brow. The new smear is the same mossy green of the rocks at the water's edge.

I am floored by what Xavier is able to express with his paint and brushes.

Suddenly Xavier stands up, gathering his paint brushes. I back away slowly, still watching him as he starts to clean his brushes in the nearby sink. As he cleans his brushes I can only stare at the easel, grasping all the detail that appears on the canvas.

Sunlight drifts lazily through the trees, glittering rays dance upon ad are reflected back from the pool of water. Moss covered rocks line the banks; one housed a brilliant green frog basking in the light of the sun. Birds launch themselves into flight from the trees. I strain harder to see butterflies alighting on flowers. Glittering orange and indigo wings stretch out to reveal their magnificence to the world around them. The detail of the water is incredible, concentric ripples have been painted into the pond's surface flowing out.

I am brought back to Xavier as he rotates his head and stretches his neck. Paint covers his cheek and forehead, greens, blues, a dash of purple on his nose. His hands are identifiable swirl of primary and secondary colours, paint is smeared everywhere.

The young man then pulls up his paint stained t-shirt over his head. He tries to use it to wipe at his face but it adds more smudges rather than cleaning it. I lean forward intently; noticing the colours that had stained his shirt has created dots and smudges all along his chest and stomach by soaking through the fabric.

Little patches of bright colours in some spots, dark patches smeared across others. I am unable to look away.

I now glance up at Xavier's eyes, eyes that are staring directly at mine. I swallow again. His stares directly at me and lifts up his shirt to cover his bare stomach.

With raised eyebrows he asks "What are you doing here?"

I can only rub the back of my neck and mumble at the ground "I needed to get away..-"

"And come here and invade my personal space, eh?" He squares his jaw at me. There is definitely something off about Xavier's voice. His heartbeat is racing.

I can only stare at the canvas. "What's this one called?" I gesture towards it.

He glances to the painting and then back to me, nervousness and fury wafts from him, his heart picks up like a rabbit being chased.
The smell of the paint permeates the area; I resist flaring my nostrils to suck more of the scent in.
"Stop changing the topic"

"Oh?" I arch an eyebrow at him.

"You heard me, you can't just waltz in here and expect me to take off my clothes and start making out again, especially not after last time"

I twitch nervously in place, awaiting more of his anger and fury but there is nothing. He just stares and waits for my response.
I wrinkle my nose again before replying, "Look I'm sorry, but honestly my head is all over the place"

"That's not a good excuse" He folds his arms, his vest still covering most of his bare skin. I struggle with his reaction.
"I-I'm sorry alright, what else do you want me to do? Give you roses and chocolates and hope for the best?"

"You know what James, you don't have to be a jerk" He snarls.

He turns back to his paints and he tries to tidy up, but instead he spills paint onto his pants and down his stomach in his haste to pack up. He is practically shaking in the process.

"Hey, calm down" I reach out, grabbing his arm.

Xavier twists around, shocked and afraid. He accidently tips the palette of mixed paint against the side of my chest, my shirt soaking up the greens and blues, the purples and yellows too.

I can only sigh; it is going to be hell to get the paint off this shirt. At least I wasn't wearing my favourite jacket.

Xavier struggles to pull away from me. "Let go! You can't just manhandle people whenever you want. It doesn't matter if you're the next heir to the throne! It's not okay to just push people around!"

I blink at the anger in Xavier's voice. I let go of the arm I had a grip on and take a step back.

"You think you're the only person who ever lost someone? The only person who's ever been sad? Here's a news flash for you: Everyone's been hurt, it doesn't give you the right to walk all over people. I've lost peole too, I've dealt with tragic events, I've been terrified, I've been hurt but I don't go around treating people like they're things"

I open my mouth to protest. I wasn't always this person. I use to be happy, before everything I loved has been taken away from me.

I can detect a pin dropping in the silence that follows. Xavier twitches nervously before he says, "I use to be afraid of you, but then I realised that you weren't a stuck up prince that spends all day bullying people around. I began to realise you were someone slowly crumbling under the wall you built to protect yourself around others, someone too afraid to let others see the real you. I saw a glimpse of it that night and I swear you were someone completely different"

I swallow against the pain that bubbles up my throat.

Xavier is right, I am afraid.

I am afraid to let myself be exposed, especially to Father. The pressure of becoming the next ruler has me uptight and made me out to be someone I am not.

"Why do you care? What does it matter to you?"

Xavier has a can of paint brushes in one hand, the palette he had tipped against me in the other. His brown eyes look up at me, too many emotions for me to sort out.

"You're so stupid" He pushes me back.

"You're the one resorting to pushing people now"

Xavier shifts nervously. "I..."

I take a deep breath. How has it gotten to this point? How has Xavier gone from being terrified of him to caring about why he has turned into the person he has?

"Why didn't I see this?" I ask.

"S-see what?"

"How much you care about people" my voice is soft, little more than a whisper.

"Sometimes when something is so overwhelmingingly large, in this case, you don't have any perspective. You can't see it if you are too close or too far. You have to be in the right place at the right time"

There is stillness in the room as I gather my thoughts. Xavier moves forward and without thinking straight, he's reaching out to cup my chin, watching my eyes as if he can see the stain of my soul.

"Xavier what are you-"

I'm not even sure what I'm doing myself,  just closing the space that's too much and not enough, then he closes his mouth over mine.
He's kissing me, he's actually kissing me.

Clanking and clattering fills the room as Xavier goes boneless against me. He drops the palette and the can full of brushes.

And there's a moment when I place my hands on his shoulders to push him away like I should, but instead there's a breath, a puff against his mouth.

Slowly after a few moments of hesitation I release his lip and glance into his eyes. Shock, desire and need cloud the umber brown irises.

"We shouldn't" My voice is quiet, but it's less calm now, more breathless.

Xavier ties to step forward, to get closer. In any other terrain, at any other time, he would have bounced off me like a mouse running headlong into a skyscraper.
He pushes close to me and starts kissing again, like there's not enough air in his lungs. I feel the same way too and there's a part of me that is suddenly aware that my hands are moving to Xavier's shoulders- a reflection of before- and my fingers are curling into his shirt.

There's a moment, a heartbeat, where we're pressed completely together with no air and too much air, but then my fingers are sliding down to his wrist and tightening. I can feel the small bones in his wrist, the powerful muscles there and suddenly, they're reversed.

On the slippery floor covered in paint, distracted and caught off guard, I lose my balance. I grunt as my back hit the hard floor, wind rushing out of my lungs. I look up to make sure Xavier is alright but all I can see is a blur of colours as Xavier presses against me for another kiss. Feverish hands pull me, unsure what to do.

My only reaction is to roll again, pinning Xavier under his weight. He stares up at me and I can't resist more but it's too soon. "I can't do this" I pant, slowly grumbling as I launch myself upwards.

He stares up confused. "James-"

"We shouldn't" I say forcefully. Xavier doesn't say anything.

"Look Xavier I'm sorry but I have to go"

"Look if you don't want to apologise I understand-"

Then I snap. "No Xavier, god dammnit this is nothing to do with you"

He just stares hard with his elbows propped on the floor.

"You know you are right about me, this wall I've built around myself has crumbled and it's gotten to the point that anyone I get close to will suffer consequences, I mean look at Gerard and Odessa and even the others, they all face my wrath and even one of them is dead because of me.."

"Don't say that-"

"It's the truth!" I roar at him. For a second he recoils back as if my traumatic projection has startled him to the core.

I take a deep breath before I begin again. "Look, I can't do this, I just can't, you'll thank me soon enough"

"But James you can't act like this-"

"Oh trust me, I can" I say before storming off, not letting myheart rule over my head. 

Gah so this is the final chapter of James' POV for Shattered Affection, thank you all so much for the support, I greatly appreciate it! :D
I hope you enjoy! Xxx