Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Ch. 40: Threads

I’m a sucker for horror movies even though they always scare the crap out of me. I’d stuck my head out of a mound of blankets in my dark bedroom, ducking under with a squeal whenever there was a jump scare. But if it’s truly fear-inducing, then I brave the short run to the light switch and breath out a sigh of relief that I’m just witnessing the horror rather than actually being a part of it.

That same relief is coursing through my veins as I look at my chuckling half-brother with an expression as if I’ve swallowed something distasteful. It is hard to stop myself from exclaiming with joy at meeting someone who isn’t from this strange webnovel world, but I keenly remember something important before bursting out a million questions. Whether Julian is from Austin, Texas or not, he is still Empress Katya’s son in this world. He could still be acting in her interests even though he isn’t originally from here. After all, aren’t I trying to do the same?

“Hmmm... where is that?” I ask naively as if I’m confused.

Julian cocks his head to the side, his expression playful. It is the first time he has truly appeared his age since we just met.

“Don’t try to play this game with me. You already said you’re from Earth, and from the US at that. Playing dumb now won’t achieve anything.”

I pout at his light-hearted mockery. “Well, how am I supposed to trust you? You realize you’re the son of the person who wants to kill me the most, right?” I say empathically, drawing my hand across my throat in a knife-like manner.

“Kill you?” Julian scoffed, “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

I raise an eyebrow in suspicion. “Worrying about my death is extreme? I’m kind of doubting whether or not you are actually from my world or if this is some elaborate trick,” I tell my brother.

.....

Julian chuckles disbelievingly. “How can this be a trick? How many people here know about the US in this world?”

I rub my chin, further taken with my idea. This could be Peppermint trying to get me to lower my guard. “Fine. If it seems stupid to you then you won’t mind answering a few questions. Let’s start easy. Sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

From outside the shrine, the young manservant Felix furrows his brow at the sound of his young master warbly singing. The prince had chased him outside of listening range but Empress Katya had ordered Felix to report any encounters Prince Julian had with suspicious individuals. As an arrogant, stubborn young lad, Julian was not keen on singing or indulging other people. Felix felt a vein of concern at his master’s unusual behavior and vowed to send a secret letter to Empress Katya as soon as Prince Julian freed himself from his unfated encounter with Princess Winter.

The young boy thinks of the stunning new maid that he must report to, Janice, and heat tingles under his stiff collar. In his years of working for the Empress, he had never thought there would be another woman to rival her beauty but Janice is a worthy contender in his mind. Felix can hardly wait for his master to exit the dingy shrine so he can run off to report to his real master.

Within the shrine and unknowing of Felix’s true alliance, I nod with satisfaction after Julian’s performance, the slight redness on his cheeks bringing me some satisfaction.

“Ok, not bad,” I say, swallowing down my smile and opting for a more serious expression. “Who was the 44th president of the United States?”

“Obama.”

“Who made the song, Thriller?”

“The king of pop, MJ.”

“What is your usual Starbucks order?”

“Black coffee, no sugar or milk.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Ew, seriously? I can already tell you were old before you came here.”

“Middle-aged isn’t old,” Julian replies indignantly.

“Hmph! Yes, it is!” I cross my arms over my chest and glare back.

“So can I assume that you are still schooling?” Julian asked suddenly, inferring my age from my response.

“No! I mean, what’s it to you?” I say quickly. I want to whack my head on the table, for my answer all but confirms what he just asked.

“You’re still a student. But you are more astute than your average teenager. Can I assume you’re in college then?” Julian says smoothly, making rapid inferences from our short conversation.

A healthy dose of fear chills me to the bone within the muggy shrine. What an opponent I’ve met! I vow not to speak to him any longer, sealing my lips tightly and looking at him with unfriendly eyes.

“Ah, no more? I thought we were getting along so well,” Julian says with a laugh. It gets under my skin and I stand from the table, the wooden chair scraping across the stone floor as I do. The height from the ground is high and I nearly stumble, but I still manage to pin Julian with a glare.

“I’m leaving,” I say sullenly, ready to beat a retreat. I believe that Julian is also a transmigrated soul, but his astuteness makes him dangerous, especially since I no longer have the advantage of my modern knowledge. It is better to live to fight another day.

I march towards the open door but Julian’s next words freeze me in my path.

“But we haven’t even gotten to the interesting part of the conversation. Or am I wrong and you don’t care to learn what the threads are,” he drawls slowly, his childish voice at odds with his tone.

I throw a venomous look over my shoulder, one that is rewarded with yet another carefree smile. Julian knows he has me and I’m in an even worse mood when I trudge back to the chair I just vacated. I feel like a fish attached to the bait of a fisherman, subject to the whims of the one who has caught me.

Julian’s face appears as if he wants to tease me some more, but thankfully he launches into the meat of the subject.

“So how long have you been here?” he starts out.

“Obviously not as long as you,” I grumble under my breath. I could’ve been tossed into Victoria’s body, the duke’s daughter who happily plays sidekick to Clara. Or an insignificant noble with a comfortable life and loving parents. But no, I’m tossed into the body of an unwanted royal bastard who slated for an early death and is currently being tortured by the author.

“You have no control over your story, right?” Julian says knowingly at my dark expression.

My silence all but confirms it, but I don’t want to contribute to his youthful smugness any further.

“Tell me, have you started learning embroidery yet? Has my mother given you a decent teacher?” Julian says, suddenly branching off into another topic.

“Stay on topic!” I say in an exasperated voice.

Julian continues as if I haven’t said anything. “It’s funny. No one does that in our time anymore, embroidery that is. But here, it’s an actual pastime. I tried it once, damn near took out my eye. I’d wager it’s even more dangerous than when I learned how to wield a sword. You see, I was watching my mother embroider a handkerchief. And she’s quite good at it. Within minutes you can already see the picture coming together.”

I scowl at the mention of the Empress, but I don’t interrupt again as I can feel the seeds of something important lying within his seemingly innocuous story. It’s fascinating hearing about the bane of my existence from another, more favorable perspective. Julian is getting into his story, his hands starting to move as he pantomimes moving a needle through cloth.

“The needle kept going in and out, and in and out. It’s almost hypnotizing, especially with the speed she uses. Beside her, she’s got this whole basket full of different colored threads. And when I was younger and wet behind the ears when I came into this world, much like you right now, I ask her why she needed so much thread for one little handkerchief.”

He takes a break with a laugh, his eyes starry from the memory. It leaves a sick, but heartwarming feeling as I watch him reminisce. So that woman is capable of showing another creature kindness.

“And she told me, ‘Julian, every thread serves a purpose. If I were missing a single one, this picture would be incomplete.’ And then a few minutes later she had sewn a large rose right onto the handkerchief. And she hates roses, too! But that’s beside the point. And I think that best describes your current situation.”

“You see, Winter. Can I call you Winter? I don’t know what you were called in your past life but you must be used to your new name by now.” Julian has a bad habit of interrupting himself. I wonder to myself if my half-brother has ADHD, seeing how he already forgot the dumb nickname he gave me.

“I am,” I answer simply. My previous hostility is in slumber as I am wrapped up in his story.

“In this world, Winter, everything is connected. The air we breathe, the ground we walk upon, these uncomfortable chairs, everything is one. We are all made and created from mana, a pure form of energy from which Helios crafted the world. According to legend, of course. I was kind of an atheist in my past life and still am,” Julian adds with a grin.

“This mana is what powers the Holy Church. Anytime you see anyone doing ‘magic'” he says, putting magic in air quotes, “They are manipulating the mana around them. And mana is the fabric of this world that holds everything together.”

“The threads...” I murmur softly, understanding the purpose of his story.

“Yes. Everything is connected with threads. But you see, people like us, people who aren’t originally from this world, we are the threads sitting in the basket. Unused. Not part of the picture. And since we aren’t part of the tapestry of this world, we can be manipulated by outside forces,” Julian says seriously.

“Do-Do people like us have a name? How did we even end up here? Please tell me there’s a way to leave.” I ask heatedly, my little brows furrowed.

“We’re called Travelers. And as for the rest, that’s a mystery even to me. I don’t know how we ended up in this world but I’m certain of two things: you read about the world before you fall into it and at whatever age you die in the story is when you die in this world, no matter how much you change the original plot.”