Veritas Virumque/P1E7

"And there, annoyed by an obedience so contrary to human love." Wednesday morning, Turnus’ parents came to pick him up. There was no time to waste saying goodbye to Orleans or anyone else, Turnus simply picked up his suitcase and double checked he had everything he needed, before heading out of the doors of Ever After High.

Despite being royalty, his parents drove the car themselves. It was a rental, that would take them to the closest airport, then to Geneva in Switzerland, where the couple had chosen their venue.

It was near the Lake Geneva, and the wedding photos would have glorious spreads of the Alps. They had planned for it to be a grand event - boats out on the lake for guests, days-long festivities, the perfect blend of Algerian and Bangladeshi and Western traditions.

Everything was a blur to Turnus. He remembered small talk with his parents, them asking if he was okay and how was school, and the answers he gave would be empty. He remembered some vague phrases, the odd comment of them “being proud of him”, though he did not believe or take that comment to heart. They brought him his favourite snacks, and he took a bite out of one, but felt only guilt after.

On the hour flight there, he put in earphones and a favourite podcast, but couldn’t process any of the words. Turnus Wyllt, with his window seat, only had the mental energy to watch the clouds pass below the plane. He closed his eyes and dreamed of walking on them.

At the Geneve Aeroport, Brutus and Sofia were waiting.

Brutus Wyllt ran over to his brother and pulled him into a tight hug. He donned his iconic pair of heart-shaped glasses, and was wearing a comfortable fleece jacket over a button-up. Sofia Wares stood by his side, looking as clever as always.

All the legal things, all the family traditions, these were done in small intimate settings.

The formalities were over with in a haze, and Turnus felt he was still disassociating by the time the parties started.

~*~

The company that Brutus Wyllt keeps is decently up-there. Not up-there enough to merit you the celebrity level of a fairytale legacy, but when your brother and sister-in-law were among some of the most learned of mages, there is flair and there is prestige in the people you know.

Turnus was appreciating it a little more, now that he was beginning to disassociate less.

Fairy mead was much like regular mead, except that instead of the honey being made by pollinating bees, it was made by pollinating fairies. Turnus, true to his high fantasy obsessions, would have called mead his favourite alcoholic drink, but a single sip of fairy mead would have made him feel sick. It was being served at the bar.

True to his word, however, Brutus had provided non-fairy-based mead, which Turnus had a bottle of in his hands right now. It was unopened. He hadn’t been feeling cognisant in the past few days. He didn’t want to stop feeling cognisant now.

Maybe the music was nice. The scenery was definitely beautiful - Lake Geneva was gorgeous at this time of year, and Turnus had a mental note to get on one of the boats on it. He stared into the distance, at the Alps, and hummed the tune to the final song from the Sound of Music to himself.

Brutus Wyllt came over to check on him. “Turnus!” said his brother. His otherwise messy rose-gold hair was done up impeccably, and matched the colour of his suit. “Just wanted to check in.”

“I’m really happy for you,” Turnus said, in a very neutral tone of voice. “I’m just a little overwhelmed, but I promise I feel a lot of emotions right now.”

His brother pinched him on his cheeks. “Good! Happy doesn’t even describe how I’m feeling right now! I love Sofia so much! Can you believe, I’m like, married? To her?”

“She is really cool.” Family dinners were always enjoyable with her around, and she always had something smart to say. When it came to Turnus, she never failed to ask him intelligent questions about his life. Never surface level things like what he planned to do in the future, but questions situated around his interests and values.

Brutus pinched Turnus’ cheeks again. “I mean, above everything, you have a lot to thank Sofia for. She was the one who recommended you to Ever After High in the first place.”

Not only smart, but also well-connected. Someone without a legacy, recommending him directly to Ever After High.

“That too, I guess...” If ‘the monopolisation of fairytale education’ taught Turnus anything, it was that the Ever After High education would propel his further studies in a way no other school would. “Would it be rude to say that I wish I got a better role?”

“You’re French-Canadian, it’s a French story. You’re the son of royals, and Dad has the name of Merlin.”

“It’s just a surname!”

“I feel like Dad’s more than Merlin than just name. There’s a lot of similarities between him and the wizard,” said Brutus. “For one, they’re both cambions.”

Turnus didn’t think he heard Brutus right. “What?”

“Cambion.”

It was a term Turnus only knew from Dungeons and Damsels. Cambion. The crowd and the atmosphere was still filled with noise, so he was sure he misheard and that Brutus meant something else.

“But yeah, your role required someone handsome beyond measure, so Dad being half-incubus, and getting his genes, was just a bonus.”

Ah.

He did not.

“I feel like you should have known,” Brutus continued. “What, with you being at Ever After High and all that.”

“Please be joking,” Turnus said. But he couldn’t even convince himself with that plead. It explained so much.

The restless nights of his father, for one thing. The natural charm of his brother.

Closer to home were the conjectures that the doctors and wizards would make about Turnus’ lack of magic. “A curse by a higher celestial power” was one that he had snorted at -- what heavenly figure would care to curse him? -- but now he realised that their guesses were based in some verity. Even with that knowledge, though, they still never found out why magical energy became a void for him.

An entire room across from them, Turnus’ father was talking with some family members on Sofia’s side. With the way he gestured and spoke, he was clearly telling some dramatic anecdote.

All that charm, all that social grace of being part-incubus, that was something completely lost on Turnus. He was almost thankful. Being a trophy husband was bad enough, he reminded himself.

“Go talk to other guests,” Brutus urged, breaking Turnus’ thought process. “I can’t keep you company all the time!”

“I’ll do that.” Even without the prompt, Turnus would have. The news was weighing down his chest, he needed others to elevate it off his mind before it crushed him.

He broke open the lid of the magic-less mead, and downed a gulp without even tasting it. And he was now off to make polite conversation.

Most of the guests asked him how Ever After High was, and he gave his formulaic answer. Prestigious, he would say. Faetastic education and resources. The people -- if Turnus actually talked more to people at Ever After High -- were wide-ranging and engaging with them hexposes you to so much of the world.

The guests would then call him smart, then ask for his role, learn he was a prince’s son promised to a princess, and change the compliment to “lucky to be handsome”.

Turnus’ smile would be paired with his eyes darting to the side, and he’d hexcuse himself to make conversation with the next person. Small talk was fine for him if he knew the formula. Introduce himself, ask them what they did for a job, how they knew the couple, and maybe a throw-away question about their plus-one.

“My plus-one is over there,” gestured a sprite, when the plus-one question was asked. On one of the boats closer to shore, was a green-haired witch.

“Oh, I know them,” Turnus squinted to make sure. “Utility Fei.”

“They’ve done archival work at Ever After High, so you probably run into them. I’m not surprised. They speak very fondly of me -- did they ever say anything?”

Turnus shook his head. “I don’t even know your name. I’m Turnus Wyllt. How do you know them?”

“Sparingly, if I can help it. They flicker through forms a lot, with an average lag of two years. Sometimes, when we meet again, they’d be a completely different person.”

“Must be fun,” he said. “Just being able to pick up any life you wanted.”

“They’d probably agree with you. Utility refuses to be a teenager, though. ‘I don’t think there’s a worse time in your life, than when you’re sixteen’, I’ve heard them once say.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“So you are.”

“I still didn’t get your name.”

The sprite paused, and lowered the hat on her head into her hands. “You can call me Chanel Lyang.”

“Is that your real name?”

“It is my name, the one that I have chosen for myself.”

Alright, Turnus thought. “I respect that.”

“I will say one thing. I’ve been in this body for over thirty years. I enjoy stability in the way that Utility Fei does not.”

Turnus wasn’t sure how to take that statement, so he merely just took it as face-value, and found another question to push forward the conversation. “Do you know Brutus? Or is it Sofia?”

“Sofia,” spoke the sprite-changeling. “She was outsourced for some security work in the company I’m under. Incredibly clever.”

“Does Utility know her?”

Chanel took a while to respond. “They’ve had at least a few run-ins.”

At this point in time, Utility was done with their little boat trip, and had arrived back on shore. They skipped over to where Turnus and Chanel was. “Hello friends!” said the witch, and bopped them both on the shoulder. “How’s your little project going?”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Faetastic!” responded Utility. “That’s all you can do! Sometimes it isn’t good enough, but the fun is in trying, isn’t it?”

“Did you know,” Chanel said, “that somehow the hosts managed to get authentic poutine, even at a Swiss venue?” Out of nowhere, they seemingly had a plate of poutine in their hands. “Turnus, you should go try some, it’s over at the fifth food table.”

Poutine sounded like an idea as any. Back at Ever After High, Gosling McGee would try make Turnus some, and was working on perfecting her recipe to be perfectly Quebec. Chanel was also Quebecoise. A compliment and a comment on authenticity was optimistic.

He ended over to the fifth food table. Was he even in the mood for poutine? No, but when else was he going to get genuine poutine? Definitely not at Ever After.

So he filled up a plate and sat down at a table. He was feeling quite done with guests. Over at another table, was his mother.

Turnus picked up the plate, and plopped himself down beside her.

She greeted him with a pat on his head. “Turnus. How are things?”

“Hi Mother,” he said, weakly.

“You always seem so tired,” she said. “It’s a party, and you look tired now.”

“I am tired, Mother.”

“School? Life? The flight?”

He blinked, not sure what how to respond. The past few days had been such a blur, and Turnus was certain he would begin disassociating soon now. Small talk it was. He’d tell his mother some updates about his academic life. “Did I tell you how I’ve been talking to a consultant? I was so worried about my grades… so worried that my scores in theory wouldn’t make up for my practical scores.”

“You’re at your brother’s wedding, and you’re talking to me about grades. Turnus, are you alright? Your father’s over there--”

At the mention of his father, Turnus started, and his head cleared up. “Mom. Mama, on the topic of Dad, Brute just told me something. He’s a cambion?”

“Oh, yes, that. He is. Why?”

“How did I not know? How does Brutus know? Were you going to… I don’t know, wait until I was eighteen or something to tell me? I know what an incubus is, Mom. How could we not? Merlin was also part-one.”

“We told Brutus because he was getting married. The two wanted children. Of course he needed to go and check his bloodline, to see if any kids would be at risk for anything.”

“And why didn’t we know before?”

“We didn’t want to concern you, with all that you have going on at that school.”

“Why did you hide it from us? Is Dad ashamed? Are you ashamed?” Turnus asked. “Maman--”

“We didn’t want to stress you out with the weight that you’d be treated differently, by virtue of what you are. More importantly, we didn’t want you to internalise anything.”

“Ma, are you saying-- are you genuinely telling me that-- that just because I have demon blood, I’m supposed to deal with that? I’m supposed to deal with other people’s presumptions and I’m supposed to feel shame?”

She was quiet.

“I’m already a trophy prince,” he said. “Mama, if I already have that to deal with, then learning all this… being quarter-incubus, then everything is just going to get worse.” His mother wasn’t responding, so Turnus rambled on. “I wasn’t meant to be a trophy prince, I don’t want to be a trophy prince-- when did I ever get a say in any of this--”

“Turnus, child, didn’t you want to go to Ever After High when you got the invitation?”

He exhaled loudly. “Not for the role, maman. I wanted to go because it was prestigious. It was the name value. What a stupid reason. What a stupid, superficial reason...” and he put his head down on the table, his purple hair blanketing around him. “I’m not a prize for a princess, you know that, I don’t care about name value, I don’t want to face Ever After High--”

“Stay strong, son,” she said, and placed her arm on his back.

Turnus raised his head off the table slightly, just enough for his eyes to be in line with the plate of poutine. Well. He got this far. He had been dealing with heavy news over the past week. Why let just another piece of it squander his appetite for his favourite comfort food?

When Turnus finished off the poutine, he felt significantly better. Better enough to make polite conversation again. His gaze passed over the venue, but he caught sight of his sister-in-law, and realised he hadn’t congratulated her yet.

“Sofia!” Turnus said, once he managed to get his way over and get a word in. “Congratulations, you’ve probably heard that a million times.”

“Surreal, isn’t it?” she was beaming. “So many people… so much going on… it’s so difficult not to be overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed...” Without her glasses shielding her face, with contacts in, it was much easier to see her eyes. They were wide, nervous looking. Turnus knew enough about Sofia to know her anxiety in large settings.

“I’m really happy about the poutine,” he said. Small talk. He was getting good at this. “I liked the toppings? The fried egg and onions were great.”

“Oh, the food’s been what’s keeping me going. On the topic of eggs, have you tried the Deviled Eggs? I love eggs.”

In context, the word didn’t even relate to the newsbomb Brutus had dropped on him, but Turnus felt his stomach sink as he was reminded yet again of the fact.

Devil.

“Oh, there’s Mr Wyllt over there! He’s the life of the party!”

Turnus turned his head, to see his father approaching them. “Hey Dad,” he said, and without thinking, took a solid step back.

“Turnus! Sofia! What a day.” And his natural smile was one that could only be called devil-ish. There was a childish, impish energy in his father. How could Turnus not have noticed it before?

The music changed to Prince Brightside. Sofia visibly gasped, and said she’d be back. Halfway across the venue, Brutus clearly had the same idea, for they were both heading for the same portion of the dancefloor.

“Dad,” said Turnus. “We should talk.” His eyes travelled to the horizon, and settled on Lake Geneva. “And, I want to get on a boat.”

So, within five minutes, the two were sitting in a boat on the Lake Geneva.

“Why are we here?” asked his father.

“I just wanted to make sure I got to go on one of the boats before the festivities ended,” Turnus said. He faced away from his dad, with his eyes set on the Alps.

“Oh! I see! It’s a father-son bonding kind of thing.” The voice of his father never wavered from its cheeriness.

With what strength he had, Turnus finally turned his body so that he could properly look his father in the eyes. They were gold, like his. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, and then, the following sentence was said so rushed and with emphasis from the back of his throat that almost scared himself: “Why didn’t you tell me you were a cambion?”

“I--” he said, and blinked confusedly. “I mean, I guess it wasn’t relevant, I didn’t want to worry you--”

It was not a satisfactory answer. Turnus’ words rattled off like a shower of arrows. “I don’t know why you’re so desperate to hide truth, or why anyone is, or why they’re ashamed of the truth, as if they--” and he felt his throat burn up. Turnus coughed, and immediately stopped talking. He didn’t know where he was feeling pain, until he felt his eyes burn up.

God. He couldn’t cry. He refused to cry on the date of his brother’s wedding.

“Turnus,” said his father. “Turnus, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond.

“Turnus,” repeated his father.

Once again, no response. Third time’s the charm. Mr Wyllt extended his arms, and Turnus accepted the hug.

“Can I stay here?” said Turnus. “Just, by myself. On the boat.”

On Lake Geneva, by the Alps. Alone -- hexactly what he was avoiding the whole evening. The empty small talk, the distractions of food. Back at school, over the past week and a bit, when he had been alone, his thoughts had consumed him.

But it was not loneliness he had feared, it was boredom.

His father let him be. Mr Wyllt would end up staying by his wife’s side for the rest of the evening.

By himself in the boat, Turnus just let himself watch the horizon, and imagined all thoughts from his brain spilling into the sea.

~*~

On the drive to the Aeroport, Turnus broke the silence.

“I don’t want to go back,” he said. “I don’t want to go back to school.”

His parents both glanced at each other, concerned.

“I should-- I must-- I just don’t want to…”

“Turnus,” his father said. “Turnus, you can come back home with us. We can call off the rest of the year, get you back in Canada.”

He felt blank and empty inside. “What even is there for me back in Canada?”

At least at Ever After High, he’d have things to do. He’d have people to talk to. He’d have a blog to run. At home, there’d be good food and familiar landscapes… but no friends, none of his current hobbies. Maybe he would be safe and bundled away from fairytales, but it was another Canadian - Sofia Wares - that introduced him to the fairytale authorities in the first place. Not even Canada was far away enough.

“I have to go back to school,” he said. “I don’t want to. But I’m certain - I need to be back.”

“Okay,” said his mother. “I’ll promise you one thing, Turnus. You can call us anytime. If you ever want to go home, then you can come home, no questions asked.