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It’s perfectly dark and still in the Swan Palace as Jack Rose trudges somewhat unsteadily down the long, pristine hallway of the royal family’s wing. You’d think there would be less work to do after a full year of 16-hour days trying to rebuild the kingdom his mother had nearly shattered in her obsessive pursuit of perfection. He hadn’t enjoyed being a prince with all the mountains of expectations and responsibilities, but being a king was far, far worse. He’d had to re-restructure the entire government, boost the sagging economy, get foreign victims back to their own danceverses, and help Eternyx citizens, both converted and not, put their shattered lives back together. If it weren’t for Wanderlust’s support and connections, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to hold it all together. He’d called in mental health professionals and magical experts from all over the danceverse to help with the long-term damage and trauma for the victims.
Thank all the gods Jack had been fairly universally loved before his mother’s bid for danceversal domination. His reputation as a celebrity and the good word put in by his new friends had eased a lot of the suspicion many still held for the son of their enslaver. The Traveler and Si’ha Nova had been especially grateful he’d saved their son. He was so thankful no one hated him, but he couldn’t help feeling sick that he’d gotten away scott free after standing by like a coward for so long. As her heir, everyone had expected him to stand by her throne and show a united front, but when she stepped off that dais, he’d scurry out as fast as he could without drawing her notice. He hadn’t had the stomach to watch innocent people hollowed out and left as empty reflections of the Night Swan but the very idea of speaking up against her back then had left him shaking, terrified of those cold eyes turning on him, cutting him to ribbons with only a disdainful gaze and a few sharp words in the way only she ever could.
His dragging feet squeak against the slick marble tile, no doubt leaving scuff marks for the poor staff but bringing him back into the present. He’d have to apologize tomorrow.
Jack sighs in exhausted relief at finally arriving back at his own room. He leans back against the door, eyes sliding shut against the comforting darkness of the familiar space as he fumbles blindly to lock it. Time slides by in a syrupy haze and for a moment he honestly considers just curling up on the damn floor to sleep. If he was lucky, the maid would trip over him on the way to bring him breakfast in the morning and he’d be able to get out of a day of work to nurse the concussion.
But no… he was a king, now. His people depend on him and he damn well owes them his best. Wistfully waving aside that tantalizing daydream of a day off, Jack forces the heavy shutters over his eyes to lift and pushes off from the door to stumble towards his bathroom. On the way, he unbuckles his shoulder cape and tosses first it and then his jacket towards where muscle memory alone dictates the chaise longue stands by the window.
His jaw pops on an enormous yawn as he pulls his phone from his pocket, sets it on the bathroom counter next to the shadowed silhouettes of what he assumes is his face wash, and clicks the bathroom light switch on. He couldn’t help the “Fuck!” that slips out as the multiple high-intensity lights around his vanity try to melt his eyes out of their skull. He’s still blinking spots out of his vision when he hears the voice.
“Language, dearest.” His mother croons.
Fight or flight was never an option when his mother used that tone, so Jack freezes, burning eyes wide and locked onto the floor. This has to be a nightmare, right? Had he fallen asleep at the door, after all?
“Won’t you even say hello to your own mother, little cygnet?”
Slowly, reluctantly, Jack raises his eyes up. It’s a minor relief to know the Night Swan isn’t physically standing in his bathroom, but considering her skills with magic, seeing her amber-eyed gaze staring down at him from each of his three angled bathroom mirrors is not a comfort.
“Hello mother.” His voice is only a hoarse whisper, but he can’t help it. His mother is watching him with a soft, sad look on her face. Her voice is gentle and loving. She’s drinking in his image like he’s something precious and long thought lost.
She was never more dangerous than at this moment.
Her reflection in the mirrors fades and blurs, allowing him to see his own pale face staring wide-eyed and afraid back at him. She solidifies again behind his reflected self and he doesn’t bother to turn around; he knows her magic and mind games well enough to know she isn’t actually here even as he feels her arms slip around his shoulders, the clawed fingers of one gauntlet sliding to splay out over his heart as the other snakes around his abdomen. She was barely applying pressure, but he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“You look tired, my treasure. They’re not taking care of you like they should be. They don’t know how delicate you are. You need someone who understands you, who loves you, who knows you need pretty things and adoring fans screaming your name to be happy. Why don’t you come home, dear?”
“Home?” Jack tries to shrug her off of him, to step forward and away from her touch, but she tightens her power over him like an iron band, immovable. “You mean the home I’m having to put back together? The one that you ruined and then ran away from?!”
Unable to shrug her off of him, Jack snaps his head up to lock eyes with her through the mirror, his own magic surging in response to his anger and fear. Cold amber met warm honey-gold and a miasma of pure power in varying shades of pink rolled off both of them.
Night Swan’s grip tightens, her claw-tipped fingers sharp and painful, a silent threat capable of tearing straight through fabric and skin alike.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like this! Have you forgotten who you’re talking to, Jack? I made you. Every talent and skill that you’re so proud of, I gave to you. Those little ‘friends’ of yours don’t care about you, they just want to use you to get to me. No one cares about you like I do. You are my creation, my son, mine. Don’t make me remind you who you belong to again, treasure.”
Jack feels like he’s going to choke and he’s not sure if it’s on the taste of her magic, bitter and cloying, or the guilt and loneliness of the memories she’s prodding at. Though it could well be both since her magic had been all he’d smelled/touched/tasted for months the last time, when he’d been a child enamored with the sky-blue eyes of a boy in his ballet class and his mother walked in on them sharing an innocent kiss. They’d been too young to even know what they were doing, just mimicking what they’d seen adults do. The grown ups had cooed at them and made a joke about kissing the bride.
Mother had flown into a rage at their presumption. She’d grabbed him, hauling him into her embrace with one hand while the other gestured violently. He’d never forget the sound that little body made as her magic picked him up and slammed him into the opposite mirrored wall, smears of thick, shining red left behind on the broken glass and barre as he’d crumpled to the floor.
Maybe if Jack had given in and apologized, she’d have stopped there. Instead, he’d fought, kicking and screaming at her for hurting his friend. She’d accused the horrified onlookers in the classroom of treason, of trying to turn her own son against her.
Jack and Night Swan were the only ones that walked out of that classroom. She hadn’t even bothered converting them into drones. When he came to again, she’d locked him away in an opulent, windowless room with all of her greatest treasures, magic tomes, and spoils of war. For months he woke screaming every night with visions of white bone poking out from gleaming pools of red on the bed she’d conjured. He ate food delivered by her magic, spoke to and saw no one but her, and by the end was so desperate to just touch another human being again that he’d begged for a hug, swore he was sorry and that he only loved her until she was satisfied and let him out again.
He remembers being shocked to find he was a year older.
He should have known better. Mother only did that because she loves him. They were trying to taint the perfection she’d given hi-.
VRRR “I can't stop the feeling! Got this feeling in my body…”
The sudden sound of his phone pierces through the charged silence as Wanderlust’s ringtone and the merry rattle of a device vibrating across the countertop startles them both. Jack shakes his head sharply, trying to force out the aching chill she’d spread across his mind. He raises his eyes to meet hers again, defiant and ready now that he knows she’s willing to push at his mind and memories, but the storm of rage building on his mother’s face tells him she somehow knows who’s calling him right now.
A wave of protective fury and spite erupts at the thought of her turning that rage on the people he loves. He can’t see his own eyes in the mirror anymore. The pure shining gold has overtaken pupils, irises, scleras and all. Gathering every scrap of magic in his palm, he finally turns around. He stares out of his mother’s vanity mirror, the room behind her dark and unfamiliar. He sees her eyes go wide in shocked panic seconds before his hand slams into her.
Jack forces his eyes shut against the surge of light and shattered glass as he’s thrown backwards, the doorknob to the linen cupboard behind him digging into his back, no doubt leaving a lovely array of bruises. There’s broken shards of glass scattered all around him, but when he stands up he notices all three of his vanity mirrors still standing, perfect and unbroken.
He knows this victory is temporary. She won’t stop trying to get into his head, won’t stop trying to reclaim what she views as hers. Her “treasure”. And maybe it’s for the best if she focuses on him rather than going after the others.
Still, it’s the first time he’s stood up against her and overcome the tangled ball of fear and love in his chest to truly fight her. What’s more, he actually won a battle of magic and wills against his mother. That’s an achievement he never thought would happen.
Though as tired and empty as he feels right now… maybe he’d better avoid reflective surfaces for a few days.
Deciding to skip doing his nightly skincare routine just this once, Jack snatches up the now silent phone and heads for bed. He needs to call Wander back, and he really needs to hear that cheerful voice right now. He knows he needs to tell him and the others about what just happened but right now his head and heart feel raw and if he has to touch the ball of rage, sadness, and love tangled up in his chest right now he’s gonna lose it.
Waiting a day or two couldn’t hurt, could it? Even she can’t regroup that quickly… right?