Page 90 of The Frog Prince
Otto paused, something passing over his face momentarily. “I… My family background isn’t as humble as it seems.”
Alwin met his troubled expression with an open one of his own, inviting him silently to continue.
“My father was a nobleman in Falchovari,” Otto said. “I grew up with a view of the queen’s castle and ate at grand tables in court as a child. Until my father brought his family to ruin and escaped with my sister and me to a place as far from the reaches of the court as possible.”
A flicker of a memory ran through Alwin’s mind.
Gold.
Shining. Brilliant. Beautiful.
He gasped.
It could not be.
“When?” he asked, breathless.
“We left when we were still children. Maybe my eleventh winter? I don’t remember much of that time or the time before, just blurry memories. I think that’s where I must have seen this. It couldn’t have been anywhere else,” Otto murmured, rubbing a thumb over the crest.
Alwin’s mind was a whirlwind.
Could fate really have brought them together twice in one lifetime?
The pieces were all there.
He took the golden ball from his pocket and stared at it in shock. He rubbed his bulbous thumb over the faded imprint of a name long forgotten.
The boy who had gifted it to him…was Otto?
But he did not remember this ball. He had seen it many times and given it nothing but a cursory glance. He did the same now, only glancing at it briefly before moving his gaze back to Alwin’s.
“Did you ever meet the prince?” Alwin found himself asking. “While you were at court?”
Otto shook his head slowly, brows furrowed as he tried to remember. “No one so esteemed, I think. I spent most of my time hiding in the gardens with a few other children. Those are the only memories I have.”
Alwin smiled and let out a small, rueful laugh. “Of course.”
Of course it had to be you.
“What is so humorous?” Otto asked.
“Nothing. I can just picture it like I was there.” He squeezed the ball tighter.
He could never reveal the truth. The words were tangled up in the chains of magic, silent screams echoing in the prison of his own mind.
He could only hope that one day Otto would remember.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I understand better than most what it’s like to lose everything,” Alwin murmured.
“I do not mourn him,” Otto said. “Nor the life we could have had. Maybe my mother…though memories of her as well are few and clouded. I have Gisela and that is all that matters to me.”
Alwin was in awe of his hopefulness in the face of tragedy.
“How do you know the prince died?” Otto asked, unaware of his revelations. “It was assumed after some time passed that he had, but as I’ve recently learned, rumors are never facts.”
“He offended a witch by refusing her what she desired, so she set a trap for him in the forest that he and his people fell into,” Alwin said in a shaky voice. “She killed them first, silently, as punishment. He didn't even know they lay dead at his feet until he turned to find their faces.”
Otto’s quiet gasp was all that could be heard over the crackle of the fire.
