The air crackles with something I suspect is fear. The faces of my maids are all drawn, tight, stoic. Secrecy hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. Being in that room forces me to wish I was outside, where the air is cool and breathable in the spring haze. Here, it feels like I’ll suffocate at any minute, and the maids will continue with their serene faces and robotic movements. Those movements only help me feel more out of breath. Like a thread worn too thin, I finally break.

“What is going on?” I try to sound as I am expected to: collected and calm. Regal. But there’s something about their poses, the way they make the bed and clean the mirrors with a precision I’ve never seen before in my eighteen years of life, setting me on edge.

Corina, the maid paying immaculate attention to my cheeks as she cleans them with a weird oil proclaiming to keep wrinkles away, jumps at the sound of my voice. Her eyes fall to the floor. “Nothing, ma’am,” she assures me. I can see right through her, though. She’s not scared for nothing.

I regard my face in the mirror, my blue eyes looking back at me as if to say you need to find out. And so, pushed by my inner self and shaky resolve, I pull away, her bony hands falling from my face to her apron pockets.

“I’m not dumb, Corina.” I know addressing her by her name will have the response I desire. Attention. Her eyes snap to mine. “You’re shaking, and you’re avoiding my gaze. Remember when I told you not to do that? We’re just the same, right?” I remind her, hoping my eyes make the pleading as subliminal as I need it to be. She raises her head, nodding once. “What is happening?”

She inhales loudly like she’ll need the breath to brace herself for whatever she is about to say, before answering. “There’s the letters again, ma’am. The threats.”

It was to be expected. The rebels had remained quiet for longer than dad had thought. They did this to seek attention, spread fear among us. It barely succeeded, though it fed the courts’ otherwise boring gossips. If it did succeed, it was around the personnel, the people who didn’t know what was happening now. A clear example of this being my innocent maids. I nod once as she goes back to work on my face.

“Well, what was it this time?”

She dusts a pink powder on my cheeks, her tongue between her teeth in concentration. The other two maids in the room eye Corina, daring her to answer. I smile softly, letting her know she can trust me. I’m not as mean as mom is with them. They should know it by now. But they still act as if they’re about to get slapped with every move they make.

She stammers. “It’s, uh... a letter on young Lucas’ chambers. A dead bird on the mattress.” To compensate for the blow, her fingers barely caress my skin, soft as a feather, as she lays a thick coat of makeup on my features.

While the others stop what they’re doing to listen to my answer, I let the words replay in my head. Last time this happened it had been in my room. I’d woken one morning before Corina had the chance to shake my shoulder feebly as she does every morning to a rancid smell coming from my room. At first, I had thought I was still dreaming until I felt a slick substance fall down my face. I reached to wipe it, my fingers becoming crimson as I blinked away the sleep. I’d screamed, opening my eyes to reveal a horse’s head on my headrest. Another brutal, gruesome warning.

The incident, however, had been over two years ago. They’d remained quiet for way too long now. One could almost say everyone was waiting on their tiptoes, eager and ready, knowing something of this nature was coming again any time now.

We never spoke about it at the meetings, dances, and banquets, though. It made us seem weak if we did, strong and united if we didn’t. Others were aware it was happening, but we played it off as if it didn’t scare us. Like we saw it coming. Perhaps dad and mom did.

“How’s Lucas?” I ask while the other maid making the bed rushes to me, tightening my corset. Lucas had it way easier than I had. A horse’s head was haunting, while a dead bird could’ve made me cry at the most.

As soon as I feel my back being forced to remain upright by the tightness of the garment, I twirl around, smiling at the maid, prodding her on.

“He just warned the guards. Not much happened,” Corina says, bending over to puff the corset.

The other maid nods in agreement, green eyes flashing up to me. “He’s not the screamer type, ma’am.”

Corina’s eyes go wide with the implication, and on the other side of the room, the other maid drops something, followed by a strangled gasp. The room stops, taunting my reaction. I giggle. They’re right to say he’s not. Ever since we were little, he was a lot more composed than I was. My giggle seems to ease the tension of Corina, and the maid before me, Liliana, smiles lightly.

“No, I guess he’s not. Can’t say the same thing about me, huh?” I tease, turning around back to the mirror as I slip on a pair of golden heels.

Corina shrugs her light shoulders, her earlier hesitation gone. “I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

“Liliana, who is the biggest screamer? Mom or me?”

The maid behind me stumbles to my side, bowing her head clumsily, bringing it up once again to make sure she heard right. “You... ma’am... you know my name?” she asks, ignoring my question with a surprised yet pleased expression taking place in her features.

I shake my head, raising my arms so Corina can slip the blue dress over me. Jewels and silk. Useless things. “I know the names of everyone I care about,” I say, sliding my hands down my sides once the silk is in place. The fabric is a soft ghost against my skin. They are people I see daily, people whom I care about—for the ones I’ll be a good queen in the future. “I’m not my mother or my father, Liliana. You’re Abigail, right?” I ask the other maid to prove my point, her back immediately straightening from where she was hunching down dusting off the bureau.

Corina is the oldest but the kindest of the three. She’s older than mom, but there’s something jovial about her personality. Whenever she’s in my room, the air somehow feels lighter, more welcoming. With brown eyes and hair, soft features and crinkles around her eyes, she is as harmless as a fly. Liliana is the one in the middle. Thirty, I’d say. She has auburn hair and green eyes, though hers are somehow... dull. Stripped of life, a flame extinguished. Like she’s seen too much. I’ve never asked about it and probably never will, but I know without a doubt life has been hard on her. Abigail is shy, younger than Liliana. Her blonde hair falls to her back in a long, neat braid, brown eyes predisposed and ready to attend my needs.

Her eyes, wide like a deer’s, turn to me, nodding once before focusing with laser vision on killing any dust mites left. “We know you’re not His Royal Highness or the Lady,” Corina says, showing a sign of comrade by diverting the attention from Abigail. “When your reign comes, we know you’ll show us mercy.”

I clutch a hand to my chest. “Oh, Corina, don’t say that. I hope I don’t even have time to rule,” I whine, closing my eyes.

I know being the firstborn of the house, someday I’ll have to rule. I’ve been preparing for the moment that might never come my entire life. I know this is a fact, but a tiny part of me can’t help but let the spark hoping I never have to take my father’s place live. It shivers, threatening to snuff out of existence. I do my best to keep it aflame.

“Long live the king!” Liliana exclaims with fake excitement, laying her hand on my shoulder and guiding me to my vanity mirror.

I conjure up a smile. “Long live the king,” I echo.

****

My room is everything a royal room should be. Big, tall, and luxurious. There’s gold—whether fake or real, I don’t really care— everywhere you look at. It’s a wonderful sight compared to the decaying buildings a few streets down. The windows and the mirror are outlined by gold roses, while the bed sheets are a pale brown, the rose details on gold there, too. There’s a fireplace I rarely use, curtains black as the night, anything to ensure me a proper night’s sleep. The bed is big enough to fit three people, and the rest of the space is filled with a red and gold rug.

If it were up to me, my room would be less expensive, more... me. I’ve been raised to know I have money to buy anything I want. The gold I’m wearing is enough testament to my family’s wealth. I abhor it. I hate the thought of my family and me showering in gold and jewels while people outside the castle are starving, dying as collateral damage the war has brought upon us all. They don’t have the walls or the guards to ignore and escape the various attempts. If I had a say at all, I’d get rid of the charade. A bed is a bed, whether it is dressed in gold or in nothing but linen. If I were to tell so to mom though, she’d give me her disapproving glance. We’re lucky, she’d say, these luxuries are the things people need to believe in us, in our authority, the things you’ll need once your reign comes, Alexa.

Even if it is true, I can’t help my aversion to the unnecessary expenses and the charade we keep up with to maintain the nobility happy. I still hope not to sit on dad’s throne. Maybe I’ll die first. Or Lucas will get married and have a boy—that would surely switch the line to him. It’d make the realm safer, stronger. If only...

A hurried knock on the door startles Liliana and me, my black hair now pulled back in a crown around my head. I haven’t worn an actual one yet, but my days are spent in dread, thinking on the day I will. Believe it or not, some have already been made. Custom-fit, just for me. I feel bare without my hair free. It makes me self- conscious. People might see through me, through my insecurity and fear when it comes to being the next queen.

I stand up in practiced motions, ambling to the door, beating Corina to it. The door opens in smooth hinges. “Alex, you ready?” Lucas, green eyes wide and perky, smiles at me while leaning against the door frame.

“I didn’t realize we had plans. Where are we going?” I ask, the maids bowing at the sight of my brother. Plans or not, he’s a welcomed distraction and might explain to me the doubts taking place in my head. Doubts I didn’t even know I had.

He seems eerily calm. No hint of the rumored threat in his lingering smile. With his brown hair and green eyes, he’ll be just like father when he grows older. Same stance and posture. The way he carries himself alone speaks of power, something I’ll never be able to muster even if I rehearse it. It’s natural. For me, it’s like a second skin I refuse to wear.

“I thought we could have breakfast together today,” he says, eyeing the maids with a smirk. “There’s a couple of things we should catch up on.”

I’m used to his charms on the personnel. My maids couldn’t be younger than twenty, but too old and off-limits for someone like my brother. Someone powerful and feared. Still, he enjoys the thrill of it, never allowing those ideas to thwart his efforts. The little luxuries he is still allowed to have.

“Like the dead bird on your chambers?” I tease, stepping aside as he pushes past me, trudging to my bed and settling on the edge.

He’s wearing a navy blue fitted tux, the only thing that stops him from lying on my bed, arms and legs spread wide open. His favorite pose when he was younger, back when father didn’t struggle to appear taller than him. Paired with glinting rings in each of his fingers, and slick brown hair pushed back, he looks every bit regal as dad does. Or as I do—out of force.

“The rumors do spread fast then, huh?” he asks, amused. “It wasn’t all bad, though. I mean, dad has been talking about the rebels and how they were holding back for months now. This is a relief, truth be told. Now that it happened, he’ll shut up about it,” he explains, flickering his hand in a gesture no one would notice but me. He does this when something bothers him, but he can’t let it show, so his response to it is indifference.

I wouldn’t know what dad talks about lately. I seldom see him, let alone have private conversations with him. The court tries to teach me the legal procedures, and I’ve always grown used to the idea: no matter what day it is, dad is always busy. At least for me. I’ve never had much of a bond with him, unlike Lucas. He is dad’s trusted advisor, despite being younger than me. I’m eighteen. He’s sixteen. Not much of a difference, but when it comes to the birthright to rule, the crown falls on my head. Life’s way to get to everyone.

“Well, we knew this would happen,” I say, gesturing with my hand to Corina. They’re done for today. Sweeping in a low bow again, hushed tones and scared glances, they retreat from the room. “The rebels have always been here. Since... ever. Dad knows they won’t just go away because they’ve grown tired of the war.”

The Coltrane Measures started almost thirty years ago, in 1063. Our grandfather, Rodrick Coltrane, had proclaimed a series of decrees in order to keep the growing population from becoming too much. Food was becoming scarce, even for the nobility, for the royals. The peasants would die in masses every single day, victims of starvation and diseases, and so he came up with an idea not only to reduce the population but to gain some income: marriage became possible only under the authorization of the crown. That meant every woman from the year twelve till the end of her life would be able to be sold to kings of other countries and high nobility of ours. Anyone who had enough money to purchase them, for the matter, all by the order of the king. This helped the economy. The money the crown got within a year from three weddings a day on a good month became enough to trade and produce crops, solving the rationing issue. Since they were no longer having sex just for the sake of it, the overpopulation issue went away as well, all with one stone.

Abortion became illegal. The crown gets daily gold from the babies born all around the country, all of them counted and mediated.

Obviously, the women who were married forcefully as a property of the crown were outraged when, not only were they forced to hold a marriage with some other man they didn’t know, but now they were also required to bear children and no way out of that life. The penalty if they came close to trying? Death.

As if to counter the balance, children began to be left behind by their mothers once the crown got what they wanted: the registration. Once a child had a name before the church, they’d be dumped on the streets. These children were, however, no longer a problem of the crown unless they were females, and adultery practice grew alarmingly.

Baby girls left behind would become part of a nursery office—or orphanage, depends on who you ask—, polishing them so when they became old enough, they’d be more expensive. The men who were not capable to pay for a service for the perfect match by the crown were upset, so they’d pay people with women working for them in exchange of a night with the woman. This happened rather often, but the crown chose to look the other way. Money spoke, and soon, women became the church’s property first and the money’s property second.

The children left behind are put into an orphan home. I have never been there, but Greece has. According to her, the children there are as good as if they were wandering the streets, not being controlled or cared for. Lack of food or predisposition mark their lives forever.

The war—or a series of unfortunate outbursts, as everyone calls them—broke out a couple of years after the decrees were settled. Thirteen years ago, Rodrick was assassinated by the rebels. Thereon, father took power and security was increased tenfold, but the brides had only brought worse upon themselves. The council was outraged by the death of granddad in hands of the Brides, as they call the rebels, so they didn’t remove the decrees as the rebels had wanted. Instead, they raised the stakes and started marrying women right and left since before they even turned ten. Ever since then, this war has become a push and pull between the rebels and the crown. I want the war to be over. It’s been thirteen years since the first official declaration of war, and I doubt dad will relent the decrees anytime soon.

The warnings became imminent since father took power: the brides wanted the decrees dropped, but dad wouldn’t recede. These threats were for nothing but to show dad and the crown with each passing day and another marriage approved, there were more sympathizers. Give us what we want, the threats seemed to say, we’ll leave the crown alone if you do. But dad is smart. A king born. Instructed, perfected, carved to perfection. He knows if he were to cave in, they’d notice a weak spot on the royal family like they’d never seen before: fear, a crack too good to let pass. They’d try and tear us down as a revenge for the years of slavery. Dad wouldn’t allow them the gratification.

“But we can’t relent, either. We wouldn’t be able to deal not only with the economic hit it would take but with the way other countries would view that, us. We would be shamed,” echoes Lucas, following my train of thought.

“Even more shameful than the way women are viewed?” I counter, standing like an elephant in the middle of the room. “I understand dad’s doing what the council advises, but it doesn’t make the decrees right. He could overrule the council if he wanted.”

He shrugs lazily, standing up and extending his hand for me to take. My fingers slip in his, a warm comfort. “That’s another way to see it. I hope you never have these stupid ideas once you take power. They could cost us the realm.” And your safety. He doesn’t say the words, but they’re plain and real in his darting, green eyes.

I roll mine. If I ever rule, I would never be allowed to drop the decree. I’ve been told so repeatedly since I was young. Drilled inside my brain since before I learned to speak. Being the first female on power if dad dies or abdicates, the council and other countries fear me joining the brides’ side and taking away the law that made everything better for us. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t,” I begin as we stroll through the deserted hallways. “The council would never allow me to do it.”

“True,” says Lucas. “But you’d be queen. The council could suck it if you asked them to. Nicely, of course,” he repeats my early stance as a mantra. Dad could overrule the council if he wanted to, but he knows the council exists for a reason, and undermining their power would be nothing but foolish. A king is nothing without supporters, and father knows it.

As much as I hate the idea of ever taking power and supporting the council’s crooked ways, I smile despite myself, punching his arm softly. “Mom wouldn’t approve of that vocabulary,” I mock.

“Mom isn’t here,” he retorts, guiding the way to the garden.

The castle is usually empty at this time of the day. Our wing is, at least. The courtiers and nobles wander around through the middle of the day, but we rarely encounter them. My schedule is simple, keeping me busy and away from the public eye: wake up, court teachings, council talks and dad’s hearing assemblies. If it’s a special day, I join a banquet or a dance ball at the end of the day. My days are monochrome, they blend into one another, but they are easy to handle.

“I thought we were having breakfast?” I question as he nods once at the guard when we approach the door.

There’s not a place I know scarier than the castle. There are passageways and alleys I’ve never been in. I know nothing about the castle and the secrets these walls hide, but Lucas knows them like a memorized map inside his mind. Perks of having to scurry off with random maids unsupervised.

To get to the garden we have to go down two flights of stairs, pass through the preposterous art gallery, the grand salon, and splendid dance hall, as well as the kitchen. Everything is adorned in gold or jewels, and the smell is dusty, even if I’m sure there are maids brushing away the dust of these hallways daily.

He smirks, winking at me. “Breakfast inside would mean people eavesdropping and after the hell of a morning I just had, I could use some privacy. You do, too. You feel very strongly about this matter,” he states as he opens the door, the air hitting my face, calming my unease.

Spring is just around the corner, though the temperature is relatively high for the end of winter. My blue dress is sleeveless, but the material itself is tight, constricting, making my skin struggle to breathe.

“I’m a woman. I feel strongly about my rights,” I say.

The small table in the middle of the diminutive clearing is arranged with tea and fruit already, making me notice Lucas had planned this since before. This spontaneous breakfast has a meaning, a purpose behind it, no matter what my brother tries to hide.

He is impeccable when it comes down to persuading. He can smile at you with his conqueror’s teeth and charm you into signing off the property of your houses in thirty minutes. A skill, something useful in becoming a monarch. Another talent I don’t possess.

The garden itself is bare, trees with no leaves to offer. It’s dauntingly beautiful. Recent rain makes the cracked pavement wet, drying in the sun steadily rising.

He squeezes my hand resting on his arm once. He doesn’t want to hurt me with his serious tone. “But it doesn’t concern you. Not yet, anyway. And the decree doesn’t include you or any royal, for the matter.”

I sigh as he pulls the chair for me while I struggle to fit my dress in the seat. “Royal or not, my wedding is already planned, isn’t it?” I ask, holding eye contact with him. Because this is what this is about. I can see right through him. I know my brother’s schemes like I know my hand. “Yes, it might not be for money for the crown, but for stability. Either way, I’m the property of the crown just like those women.”

His eyebrows knit in confusion. “But you’re the next queen. Arrangements have to be made for the well-being of the realm,” he notes, sliding into the chair before me.

There it is. The purpose is to tell me my wedding is being planned as we speak, and I have no say on the matter. He was sent here to soften the blow so when I truly find out the details, they won’t hurt as much. I don’t blame him for being sent as dad’s messenger. Dad’s greediness and calculative measures can hardly be blamed on brother.

I look around, leaning myself on the table. Stability for the country in exchange for my happiness. I know it’s the way I should see it, but it doesn’t mean I agree with it. My life should be mine and mine only.

“So, you say dad has already found someone for me, then?” I am aware of the way my voice quivers. Before he has a chance to find my eyes, I turn away, examining the engraved stone with a C on it. Coltrane. A last name as much as a curse.

Me marrying young has been mom’s priority since I was twelve. I’ve been stalling whenever they bring another round of suitors. I don’t feel ready to give myself up. I know I’ll have to eventually, but it doesn’t mean I can’t keep running away from it.

Lucas squirms on his seat, the fabric of his suit scuffing together. I don’t dare to make eye contact. “Someone plausible, yes. I can’t tell you who it is, though.” I huff. A surprise. He knows how much I hate those. “I’ve authorized him if it makes you feel any better,” he adds, taking a sip of the tea to stop speaking, afraid he’ll go off and say too much. He has dad’s manners, too. Steady voice, calm demeanor, authoritative figure. He’d make a better king than I’ll ever make as queen, but life doesn’t seem to think the same way.

I don’t feel ready to discuss the future keen on rushing to meet me, so I switch the topic instead. “What are your views on this, Lucas? As much as you’re like dad, you must think differently, too. I know you do.” His eyes flicker. He knows exactly what I mean. Hope stirs inside me, slow and consuming.

By the way he leans back on his chair and blinks at me, I can tell he’s taken aback by my question. My guess is he isn’t asked about matters and his opinion much often, which is why he takes a while before answering. “I think the decree was a mistake, but it worked, nonetheless. As long as you’re not sold off like property, I’m fine. I hate it, yes, but there’s nothing I can do, Alex.” I hear dad’s voice through his. Just like he has tried to do me, Lucas proved a much easier prey. Brainwashed into obedience.

“You could tell dad about it,” I push, taking his hand in mine across the table. His fingers grip mine at once, cold and soft. The hands of a prince. All appetite I had was lost the moment he showed up at my door. The tea beside me must be cold by now. “He likes your advice. He’d listen to you.”

The wind picks up, ruffling his hair. “We can’t give the decree up without risking him, Alex. Or you. It’s the way it’s been for over three decades. The council wouldn’t hear it, even if dad proposed it.”

And he’s right. I can see the way his eyes seem to look at our hands rather than me. He’s ashamed. He didn’t make the decree, and he clearly doesn’t stand with it, but even if he wanted to, there’s nothing he can do for the matter. It’s the crown or the women’s rights. It’s not rocket science to leave women on the backseat.

I sigh, trying to blow off some steam. I can’t take it out against him. My frustration will only deepen his own. Begrudgingly, I decide to open his can of worms. “I hope my suitor is like you. Idea wise, I mean. Women deserve the right to marry whoever they want. I should be the one with an arranged marriage for their own good.” If marrying someone I don’t know meant leaving all the other women to continue with their lives and stop being the crown’s property, I’d do it without a protest. I’m not foolish enough to think that’s the case.

“Don’t worry,” he assures me. “He’s central. His family doesn’t support the idea but doesn’t talk against it.” It means he probably has a sister. The only reason why a rich family wouldn’t support the decree.

I nod. Dread is quickly replaced by obtuse curiosity. “Any idea when I’ll meet him?”

He scoffs, taking another sip of the tea. He sets the cup down with a giant hand but graceful manners, just like I’ve seen dad do a thousand times before. The other wrist tangled in my fingers twitches. “As soon as dad’s not as busy as he is today. He was upset this morning. Apparently, my chambers weren’t the only ones to receive a kind visit from the brides.”

It’s not a surprise, it just seems unlikely. I pull my hand free from his, blinking at him. “What do you mean? How do they even get in, to begin with?”

It has never made sense to me how they can place the threats and everything in between without being caught by the guards. How they even go past the doors escapes my knowledge.

“Dad got a deer on his room with a note, too. And I don’t know. I guess the personnel isn’t a hundred percent loyal as we thought. The maids have been married off by the crown too, so it makes sense.” The first part is the one that astounds me. The last one is obvious enough to swim through my brain unnoticed.

“A deer?” I ask, leaning closer. The mere thought of it makes my hairs stand on end, a roll of nausea sweeping over me. I try to swallow a stale piece of bread that found its way to my hand for lack of a better thing to do. “What did the note say? Did you see it?”

He huffs, raising a hand to mess with his hair. “It was stupid. But what can you expect from them? ‘You have a daughter. Will you sell her, too?’” His smirk on his lips reveals something to me I hadn’t noticed before. He is scared.

My eyes widen and my mind spins. Fear isn’t something he feels often. Whatever it is, he can feel it looming, knowing much more than I do. Still, I don’t fear for myself. Worrying over it with guards rounding the perimeter of the castle, keeping me safe but hostage in a prison carved in diamonds is a waste of time.

“Is that what the letter said?” I wouldn’t dare to believe it.

“Little do they know your marriage is one that’s arranged, too,” he confirms, shaking it off like it’s nothing. His voice takes a sarcastic tone at the comment. He hates my wedding is nothing but for the good of others. But then again, what good would it do for him to go against the idea drilled to our heads since we were born? He shouldn’t be scared. If he is, there’s something he’s not letting me see. And I’ll find out.

“What’s the view of the council?”

He heaves a breath, tipping his head on his hands. “They think we should change personnel, but otherwise, they’re pretty nonchalant. We knew this was coming.”

We did, but the threats are getting stronger if they got to my parents’ chambers.

“It’s the first threat they get, right?” I ask, knowing the answer already. “Never before had it been on my dad’s chambers.”

Green eyes flicker to my face. I see the wheels of realization spinning in his brain. “Right you are,” he says.

“Meaning the threats are becoming stronger. There are riots, too, aren’t there? In the main cities? Hell, maybe even outside the castle.”

The realization hits me: this isn’t just a war fought through notes and animals. It’s a real deal, something becoming bigger and more powerful by the second. A real threat imposed on the monarchs. My parents.

A real war outside the castle, in the fields and the borders, doesn’t sound like an impossibility anymore. In fact, a pull in my gut tells me it’s exactly what’s happening, why father has detached himself from us even more than usual. He’s not dealing with just rebels anymore. Riots he kept controlled through the years arise with ferocious hunger. It has always been a battlefield; I was just too blind and naïve to take notice.

His eyebrows rise, amused. “How do you know?”

“Don’t you see?” I ask, gesturing around us. “They’re becoming bolder by the second. We didn’t stop them before when they were on our chambers, and if we don’t stop them now the same thing that happened to Rodrick—”

He raises his hand, shaking his head. “No, Alex,” he interrupts, “that won’t happen again. Dad’s chambers are secured every hour of the day. He has guards right and left.”

I’m sure he has seen to it personally. There’s no one else who wants to believe that as badly as I do. I may not be the golden child dad wants, but I still care for him, no matter what the others’ view of him is. And if he were to be harmed, the future I’m so keen to dodge would come for me, unrelenting.

“The threat got through your pretentious security protection,” I point out, crossing my arms. “These threats aren’t just a threat anymore, are they? Tell me, Lucas, is there something I should know?”

I say it to taunt his reaction, see where his mind lies, but the way his eyes avoid mine and focus on the dead bush taking the worst of the winter beside us makes me realize my gut was right.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he says, shaking his head. “The council has it covered.” I’ve heard those words repeated a thousand times before.

Refusing to let the subject go, I prod, “But the threats are growing. Riots. Maybe even war. How do they control that?”

His eyes flicker with something I can’t decipher, and before I have the chance to, the feeling is gone, replaced by a challenging serenity. “It’s not your matter to worry about now,” he says, whispering it to me like coaxing a child to eat vegetables. It’s all he offers. I’m used to this now. Him behaving older than he is, keeping me steady and sane. But I don’t want those roles anymore. I’m stronger than he is, older, wiser. And the crown will be on my head one day, not his.

“Not now,” I give in. “But when I become queen it will be.”

He seems to acknowledge this because he backtracks, tumbling over the words. “If we’re lucky, the war will be over once you take your place on the realm.” The way he says it tells me he doesn’t believe it, though. His words are something perfected to keep me calm, but a lie, nonetheless. War. The first time anyone cares to acknowledge the real issue as it is in the castle. People outside the walls use this term, but not us. Why would we? They’re the flies, we’re the spiders. They can’t harm us.

Until now.

Frustration leaks in my voice. “The war won’t be over without us dropping the decree. Dad knows this. What else is there, then? What is there I don’t know about? What’s next?”

His lack of response is enough for me. In this aspect, he and dad are as baffled as I am. And it can only mean one thing: they’re not ready for whatever’s next.

***

Purple and blue lights dance across my vision as a soft ballad blasts through the speakers. The only thing we seem to be able to do while the country, our country, is burning in the pits of hell is throwing measly parties. To celebrate what, I’ll never know. People mingle around, dresses that could feed ten families for a month, tall hairdos and polished suits.

I, as the heiress to the throne, must endure this pain in the ass in the first point of view.

Our table stands in the middle of the room, big and imposing, while we get a glance to everyone and everything going on around us. The dance floor filled to the brim with royals and nobles almost as tall and demanding as us—but not quite—is behind us. In front of us, dozens of tables covered with silk tabletops stand. From the ceiling, chandeliers hang like there’s no force of gravity. By their size, they could fall on our heads any minute now, but mom doesn’t seem the least bothered as she engages into a hushed conversation with dad. I wish they would. I wish one of those metal and glass intricacies would fall on my head. That way, I wouldn’t have to stand the boredom of this doomed pageantry.

It’s night now, and even if my breakfast with my brother was more than twelve hours ago, thoughts I didn’t know were there before begin to take place in the mingling mess my conscience has become.

The decree is wrong. I’ve felt it since I was young, back when I didn’t understand what it meant. It just never felt right. Now, the thought is truer than I ever felt it before, and no matter how much they feed the thoughts down our throats, nothing good can come out of it. Sure, it helped the imminent hunger people went through thirty years ago, but Rodrick should’ve been smarter. Searching for another way which wouldn’t compromise women as the decrees do should’ve been his top priority. If you search deep enough, there’s always another way to solve something, a door you had missed before.

Still, instead of trying to figure it out and returning the country to the way it had once been, dad and the other bunch of careless nobles spin and dance and laugh like there’s no tomorrow. Like there are no children being left behind, mothers committing suicide or dying in illegal hospitals trying to get an abortion. They’re blind to the problem, their lives perfect and luxurious.

To my left, father stands up on quick feet, grabbing his glass and hitting it softly with a fork to catch the guests’ attention. The music lowers in response, and the yellow lights come back on, people frozen and expectant on father’s speech.

“Welcome to our humble gathering, people.” His voice is soft leather, ready to caress his people just in the right places. His profile is perfect, stoic, the living embodiment of a king. “As you know, we’re being press to rumors around the capital and the state of the rebellion. Be assured they’re just that: rumors. They didn’t have a hold on us before, and the rebels don’t have a hold on us now. We are safe, the crown is safe.” His hand movements emphasize his speech. I almost believe it myself. His voice is powerful. Passion bleeds through. My ear, however, has been trained to notice and craft lies since I was a baby. And it is exactly what father is doing. Lying. “Do you really think if we got letters from those short- tempered rebels, they’d still have their heads attached to their body?” He stops, allowing a chuckle from the guests to mark his point.

He’s playing the perfect illusion for them, and he’s a good magician. Lying and hiding in plain sight are his talents. Once again dismissing everything the media is saying to make us seem strong, insurmountable. He’s giving these people what they want. Reassurance, trust, power. The feeling of strength when it’s clear it is gone but carefully faked.

“Today, however, those rumors don’t bother us. Today we’re here to celebrate our upcoming queen and our prince, Alexandra and Lucas Coltrane.” His eyes fall from the front of the room to us, silent and demanding. Just like puppets, we stand up in graceful motions, giving smiles and waves like we are enjoying this senseless celebration.

“We haven’t found a suitor capable enough to rule the country beside my daughter once I’m gone, but be assured once we do, the party will be this one times ten.” The crowd nods along, but no cheers are heard. The pressure shifts. He isn’t done. He continues. “For once, we have news just as interesting. My younger son, Lucas, will be marrying soon, for all intentions and purposes of the crown, holding our realm in strength and power. Dignity and purpose.”

The room cheers, their voices roaring in my chest. Shrieks and claps echo around, nails against a chalkboard. I zoom out. If they knew what’s really happening, how close we are to tipping the balance and falling over, would they continue to cheer?

The announcement regarding my brother takes me by surprise. Still standing up, I drop my smile, turning my head to eye him. He holds my glance back, a sly smirk on his lips.

He didn’t tell me any of this in the morning, and even if part of me knows I kept steering the conversation back to the war and never gave him a real chance at doing so, I can’t help but feel hurt.

Does he know who the girl will be? Did it come as a surprise for him, too? No, I think, he’s as close to father as one can be. Of course, he knew. He chose to keep it from me. The telltale signs are there. His smug behavior, the way his shoulders rise with determination. He knew.

I jump once my thoughts are broken by the people before us, chanting. “Long may he reign!”

For the first time in my life, I realize if dad does reign for long, people won’t keep chanting his name.

***

As we twirl around the dance floor, the music loud enough to hush our conversation, I grip dad’s hand. Touching him and being this close rarely happens, which is why some part of me can’t fight the urge to talk to him. Talk to him like a queen would, not his daughter. His hand is steady. Mine is clammy, shaking. Some part of me is. I haven’t been rejected, but I know I will be. Father will catalog this as one of my various tantrums.

I search for my voice, focusing my eyes on his face. He looks alive for once. Pleased, even. The lines on his face are faint but concealed behind a dashing smile.

“Dad, you know you can overrule the council if you wanted to, right?”

The question draws his wandering, green eyes back to me, his shoulders shrugging under my hand. “I could. But why would I need to?”

He is a man good at dismissing people in two sentences. I feel like a mouse standing before a cat. I wish we didn’t have to have this conversation as we’re dancing, use it to keep these memories for when he’s gone instead. But I barely get a hold of him, and I need to let him know. Make sure he understands what I want, what I mean. What I plan to do once his crown belongs to me.

I drop my eyes. Even before my father, I know my place. I can be an heiress in title, but right now, I’m not playing like his daughter. I’m playing like a subject. One more puppet for him to string.

“The decree isn’t right, dad.” I know saying this will upset him. Or disappoint him. Maybe both. But people rioting against us and the war becoming more and more strained do little to ease my mind.

He sighs, leaning closer till his mouth is next to my ear, warmth breath fanning against my skin. I don’t hear anything on his voice. It’s even, steady. Uncaring. “The decree is there for a reason, Alexandra. There’s nothing I or you can do about it.” His words drip disdain, and I flinch, pulling away. I hate the way we must look. The two people wielding the most power in the room holding a friendly father-to-daughter conversation. If they only knew.

I fight to keep my feet on rhythm with the music. Father’s feet have danced this piece with mother thousands of times before. He keeps me swaying on steady feet, never faltering.

“Saying a woman is worth gold and undeserving of rights speaks wrong about our kingdom. What do other continents think of us?” I shoot back, never losing a step in this rehearsed dance.

Other continents don’t use this government anymore. They succumbed against the pressure of equality, democracy. Even the word sounds ludicrous. But not us. We still reign based on family lines and archaic traditions. We haven’t fallen. Not yet.

But part of me hopes we will.

He takes my other hand, following the dance by pushing me away and twirling me back, my back falling to his chest. “What they think of us shouldn’t concern you. What should concern you is keeping the crown on my head so that someday it might fall on yours,” he growls, low enough for me to hear in the room full of joy and people. His pressure on my hands tightens ever so slightly. He won’t hurt me, but it’s enough to make sure I know who’s in charge.

“So I keep hearing,” I say. My skin prickles with anticipation, knowing I’ll say something I’ll regret in the morning. That knowledge, however, doesn’t stop me from saying it.

I pull away and turn, staring into his eyes and willing my voice to come as stable, regal. I draw every inch of the queen I am to the full height. “So just like they sell women, you’ve sold your own daughter, too.”

And if the blow hit, if it hurt him, his stoic façade is never broken as the music stops. He drops my hand, pulling my arm from his shoulders and strolling to our table, leaving me behind on the dance floor without an answer. A doll he got tired of playing with. Someone whose opinions don’t matter. Any other day, I’d let the thought hurt me. Deepen the wound he’s created by taking the place of a king, losing my father behind silk and jewels. But not today. If anything, his blazing attitude leaves me resolute. Stubborn as he might be, we share the same quality for once.

But I can’t ignore the threat behind his words.

That’s just the way it has been. The way it will be. Because no matter how much I try or how many walls we build, how many magic tricks we make, there’s only one truth: women and men aren’t the same, and they’ll never be.

--------------------

HELLO! this is like the fifth time i post this because i hadn't figured it out but anyway I AM SO NERVOUS. this is the first chapter of my first book and it is a project i've been working on for years. any feedback would be appreciated and with some luck youll warm up to the characters as much as i have.

if you made it this far, thank you SO much and let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

profuse greetings,

-goldenmel

The morning comes with me not being able to fall asleep. It’s natural, something I expected. I should’ve never said anything to father yesterday. It was something childish and pressured. I knew before I said the words, he’d never even think about it. The council has their reasons, and so does father, even if I hate to acknowledge it. It’s hard to admit, but I’d been petty enough to think with just a request the walls built around women, stripping us from our rights, would fall. We have to try harder. And spill some blood, a part of me seems to say.

Day dawned on me, lights falling on the rug from the window. I waited and waited.

When the maids came, I pushed them away, telling them I wasn’t feeling well, and I’d be staying in bed. They knew better than to argue. For a reason I didn’t comprehend I felt somehow sobered up. Sorrow blossomed in my chest for the first time in my life. Thousands of lives were being wasted while I was sleeping in the comfort of my bed with dozens of guards to keep me safe and maids to make me look pretty.

You’ll be a better queen than that, I thought to myself. But no, I don’t want the crown. I am not ready.

Thinking about this with my eyes closed must’ve made me sleepy—so many thoughts, things I couldn’t change yet weighed me down. I am woken what seems a couple of minutes later, mom’s urgent eyes looking down at me.

“It’s a little bit late, isn’t it?” she says, placing a cold, long hand to my forehead. I feel the urge to flinch at the cold touch, but my muscles are too sore to move. “Are you sick?”

“No,” I croak, swatting her hand away. I’m not sick physically. Mentally, I could throw up at the unfairness of it all.

I don’t know why, but a part of me is annoyed at her. Illogical, but still there. How can she stand back and watch dad’s kingdom destroy the world we had once dreamed of? Could she truly not care at all?

“I just feel tired. I was up very late last night.” The lie comes easy to my lips, rehearsed. I have no idea how she can muster to party and wake up the next morning full of life and beauty. She shines down at me, almost as blinding as the sun I’m sure is waiting for me outside. Any way she manages, I don’t have the ability. Just like the sun, she annoys every cell of my body.

She nods once, a small smile slipping on her red lips. “I thought we could have the morning to ourselves. I don’t feel like being with my ladies now.” The excuse is almost too good to pass.

“Why?” I ask. The mere thought of her choosing me over her ladies and the life court has provided for her for thirteen years is hard to fathom. But enough to make a childish part of me jump in eagerness.

She shakes her head, brown hair swapping the air around me, a sweet scent filling my nostrils. Her tone isn’t reproachful. Peace surrounds her wherever she goes. I guess that’s part of the reason why father needs her so much. “Lennon told me about your dance last night. That’s something neither of us expected.”

I didn’t, either. Neither of us expected it. Because I usually stand back in line, follow orders but not make choices. I need to start changing that.

I close my eyes. Of course, the only time she’d even care to spend with me is to wash my brain again, lead me in the path she wants me to follow, to keep me in check. I try and stop the disappointment from sinking on my heart. “I’m not up for a political rant, mom,” I whine, trying to pull the covers to my face before her hands stop my motion, locking on my wrists.

“It’s more than that, Alex.” The way she says it, commanding but calm, freezes my hands.

I lower the sheets so I can look at her face. She still looms over me, her hands next to mine, a satisfied grin spreading when she notices me lowering my restraints. I will my hands not to shake. She looks worried, I think. Her eyes beg me to understand. Finally, her hands drop, but my earlier dismissal is gone. I can’t ignore this any longer.

I swallow, heaving a sigh. What else is there to know? “Meet me in the gardens? I’ll see you in five.”

She nods, flashing a grin to me before jumping back from the bed. Her dress pools around her ankles, golden and luxurious. She’s wielding the power she obtained by marrying dad just in a dress. Half her hair is pulled back in a bun, the rest marking her face, her wrists filled with bracelets made of stones too precious for me to know the names of and shining gold. Life couldn’t be better for her—but it couldn’t be worse for others.

Groggily, I stand up, slipping on a random pair of leggings and a loose white shirt. No one will see me today and getting dressed for such a small appointment has no meaning. Brushing my hair through with my fingers to try and undo some of the tangles, I open the door.

Startled, I bump into someone’s back. At first, my brain thinks it’s Lucas, ready to make a remark about my outfit of the day, but I am taken aback by a guard. Buff and tall, bulky enough as a testament to his endless days drilling, he turns around to catch my hand before I lose my footing. “My lady,” he slurs, releasing my hand a few seconds later.

I stutter a reply. “Why are you here?” In other circumstances asking this would be rude, but now my curiosity topples and overshadows every other feeling or behavior I can show.

The guard steps aside to let me through, dark eyes narrowed to slits. “New orders from His Royal Highness, my lady.” His voice, gruff, sounds eerie in the empty hallway.

I nod once, bowing my head and turning the corner hurriedly to another hallway before I allow myself to think of what it means. Dad couldn’t be afraid, could he? Why would he waste personnel when he has his chambers and the walls and doors to look after? Unless there’s not a guard in every room—just mine. And dad’s. Unless they dropped the guards at the walls and doors, using them for a more fulfilling purpose—keeping the king and his heiress alive.

Like a heartbeat, I recognize the answer before it truly registers in my brain. The riots, the threats, they are more than that. And dad’s finally beginning to see. The threats can’t be ignored.

My room isn’t the only one being heavily guarded. The hallways once empty, forgotten two days ago, are now bristling with guards filling up every corner as roaches would. They bow their heads at the sight of me, some sweeping in a low bow. I don’t deserve any of it. Neither does father. We should be doing a better job of keeping everyone—not just wealthy people—happy. Alive.

Slowly, I allow my frustration to seep through my pores. Better release it here than have an outburst in front of mother. She wouldn’t appreciate it. I push those thoughts away, shoving them into a secret vault I promise to come back to later.

I am not unused to walking the castle with a worn attire. I used to do it as a little kid when Lucas and I were too careless about our public figure. We used to play hide and seek in these hallways when dad would ignore us to take care of his shiny crown, when mom was too busy playing queen at his side. Now, however, I feel self-conscious, and every person or guard I stumble paths with on my way to the garden seems to look at me a minute too long before dropping their gazes. Their faces mirror the ones of my maids. They are concerned, scared, dubious.

The gardens are the only place in the castle where silence always sets, no matter the time of the day. In the daylight, its colors and tones seem pleasing, an escape route from the mingling and noise the court makes. Brown trees, gray skies. Shadows, even in the daylight. In the night, it’s like a reminder. No matter how hard you try to hide, the very same shadows are the ones giving you away.

“Mom?” I call after her, watching her jump a little at the unexpected voice.

With her back to me and hands behind her, high chin and straight spine, she looks every bit the person she was taught to be. The queen who keeps a posture of hope even when the darkness will give in. The fact she jumped at my voice talks about an unease in her like I’ve never seen before.

A heartbeat later she spins, a fake smile plastered to her lips. It doesn’t reach her eyes. She releases her hands, overlapping them in front of her. A living, breathing, queenly perfection. Her aspect is just as neat as her manners.

“Alexandra, care for a walk?”

I nod briskly, trying to hide my concern at the mention of my full name. I reach her side in three long steps, and together we continue down the narrow path in between bushes and trees so tall they can cover the sun above us almost entirely in spring. For now, the dull rays of the sun overshadowed by early fog provide enough coverage.

“I can see the security here has become a priority,” I mutter as we pass two guards. They wouldn’t have been here a week ago but remain there now, taunt and serene, following the orders of their king.

“We can never be safe enough,” she says. “We’re a country at war.”

Her admission makes me falter, baffled. I almost miss a step. It’s the first time she’s acknowledged the idea of something bigger than a rebellion. Yes, the news and articles call it the bride war, but dad has put every effort in diminishing the name, belittling it to meager temper tantrums. Until now, Lucas and I have been the only ones to acknowledge the pond as an entire ocean.

“You—a war?” I decide to play dumb, letting her do the talking. She’s the one with the most information here, and I’d be foolish to not take advantage of her.

She shrugs, her chin setting up even higher in a sign of defiance. “Every kingdom has had one, we’re no different. Which is why you understand your little... tantrum on Lennon yesterday was unnecessary.” I can’t believe she still places all hope and idea on dad. She’s blinded by the image he represents, so much so she refuses to acknowledge what is going on, the decrees dad has set upon us all.

Or maybe she agrees with them. I decide not to ask. I’d rather not know.

I swallow, choosing my words carefully. I’m speaking with a queen whose king was annoyed. “It wasn’t a tantrum. I just don’t understand why, having you and me, he wouldn’t at least lower the decrees. Mom, they’re arranging marriages for ten-year-olds. They’re kids, and the crown is using them for money?”

She nods once, but I already know everything I say will fall on deaf ears. “Something like that, something bigger than us, can’t just change because of a tantrum, Alex.”

Condescending, confident, calm. The tone you’d use to explain a child the earth is round. I’m back to a little girl in her eyes when she knows with every passing day, I’m closer to becoming the legitimate queen she couldn’t be without father.

“So, you stand with the ideals, then?” I challenge as we come to a halt in front of a little terrarium. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the blow.

She heaves a sigh, annoyed for my little understanding. I understand what she means, I just don’t want to. “A decree of such need is harder than you think. Not only would we need an authorization of the council, but the other countries on our league would have to relent, too. If they don’t and we’re the first to change these rules, we’ll have two wars down on us. A civil war would weaken us enough. It’s not easy, Alexa. You still have much more to learn.”

I barely suppress a scoff. “So teach me,” I say. “I will be the queen and if I don’t know what to do—what’s expected of me—I will fail to keep this country on track. Is that what you want?” For a change of luck, my voice doesn’t falter, carrying out flat and strong.

She spares a glance at me, smiling. Her eyes betray her smooth nature. How little you understand, they say. “What’s expected of you is to follow the council and your advisors. Do it and look pretty and the crown is—and stays—on your head.”

I shake my head, refusing to allow her to weave her way into my thoughts again. She never answered the question. “Do you stand with the ideals, mother?”

She bends over, eyeing a bush starting to show bloom. Buying time. I can see her eyes looking for an answer, one to placate me but not reveal too much. “Yes, yes I do,” is all she offers.

For a moment, I’m at loss for words. “Why?” I know I shouldn’t sound the way I do. Hurt, wounded. Disappointed. With her back to me, I’m glad she can’t see my mask slipping.

“Women can’t be on their own. They need someone strong enough to lean on, and that someone also happens to bring food and protection to the household. We need men, Alexandra.” Her back straightens again, ready to chastise me.

I close my eyes for a second, letting the words soak in and thinking about what I’ll say before I open my mouth. “Your family could’ve been one of those being... sold,” I point out. You could’ve been sold to a man you didn’t know.

Me bringing up her humble upraising makes her blink a few times. I’ve hit on the bull’s eye. Mother’s family is erased from my life. I know she was a commoner before she met dad. She never mentions her family and I’ve never met them. My trip down memory lane doesn’t hurt her, it plainly annoys her. “My family could’ve been, yes. Which is why my view matters even more. I know what I’m talking about, despite what you might think.”

“But—”

She holds up her thin, manicured hand, interrupting me. I know better than to keep talking. “I haven’t finished. I know the decree might seem cruel to you, Alex, but you’re not seeing the whole picture like Lennon and I do. You’re just seeing your reasons. Keeping that decree will keep your dad and you alive. And one day, when you have a child of your own, you’ll understand why we can’t let you change a world you barely know.”

“You got a threat in your chambers, didn’t you?” She can just nod, not dignifying me of an answer. “Doesn’t it mean the riots are becoming stronger? Mom, you were lucky to marry by your own will. Many women don’t have the chance, I don’t have the chance, but still, you stand by them?”

She was lucky enough to marry a prince by choice. But even I know different. Yes, she loved father and father loved her, but the crown didn’t hesitate to impose the marriage. It would’ve happened even if neither of them wanted them to. Rodrick and the council made the choice. They fell in love out of luck, taking away years of sorrow and pain.

Her eyes dwindle, the light in them goes off. “It’s a whole different world, Alex. Dangerous, even. The threats have become stronger than before, yes. Which is why this is a war. And in wars, royals stick together to go through it all.” I ignore the small warning in her words. Stop the tantrum and side with us. No matter how much I wish I could just ignore this all, a part of me feels affected, guilty even, about our rule. The responsibility we have and choose to ignore.

I reach for careful words to etch the conversation into something beneficial for me. Feed the hunger of information. “Why is there a war at all? Why the new security if dad seems unfazed?” I stop, making sure my posture is straight, commanding, as I continue. “Don’t speak to me like a child, mother. Speak to me like the queen I’ll be. The princess I am.” I have a right to know, I want to say. Still, I bite my tongue. I can’t play temperament battles with mother.

Her eyes flicker from my face to my body, falling to a bird perched on a branch of a bare tree nearby. “You want the truth, Alexandra? Sometimes the truth weighs heavier than lies.” She doesn’t offer anything more, her tone steady. For once, I can’t read her features as she becomes every bit of the queen she is. Her face becomes still, drawn. Pressure seems to weigh on her chest. She heaves a breath.

I swallow. “Yes.”

“I married on my will to Lennon. That much is true. But the weight the crown has on us, the things we’ve had to endure, they can barely be called free will at all. I’ve had to change from the naïve girl marrying a prince because she was in love to a queen the people look up to. The decree isn’t right, but it helps. No matter what Lennon does, he cannot drop the decree. Or overrule the council, for the matter.” Her voice carries along with the wind messing my hair. She stops, letting me process her words before she continues. A jab at last night’s conversation does little to relent me.

Still, my voice comes out strained, small. I know something she’s hiding. Like hearing something so far away you’re not sure if you heard anything at all. I gulp. “What happens if he does?”

She carefully ignores my question, taking the single rose from a bush and smelling it before saying, “On the view of Rodrick dying for the decree and the power it gives every noble, they decided to add a little clause to the document you sign upon your coronation.” She hesitates, the ghost of her touch on the red petals. “He can’t drop the decree or overrule the council without losing his position. The moment he did, he’d be forced to abdicate.” If the thorns prickle her fingers, her face doesn’t betray any pain. I wish it did.

This is a game I don’t know how to play. “Why did he sign it, then? Didn’t he read it?”

She laughs a throaty laugh like I’ve just told her a joke. “He did read it. But he had to be the next in line, nonetheless. And if he didn’t, we’d be persecuted. Lucas was three. You were five. He was cornered.”

My vision clouds and the ground beneath me suddenly feels unsteady. He’s protecting us. “What about the other countries?” I’m glad I didn’t have any breakfast, otherwise, it’d be all over the floor by the way my stomach heaves.

“You must know by now, Alex. We aren’t strong enough without them. We need their support to keep the monarchy living,” she says. My throat feels thick with a scream I’m trying to push down. “What would the council do if we dropped them? Did Rodrick ever come close to dropping them?” If he did, the council wouldn’t take the chance of appearing weak and risking the fragile system of alliance. I’m scared of knowing the answer.

I’m almost sure she knows this because she shakes her head slightly, eyes staring down, sadness pouring from her like a river. Not now, she seems to say. “Keeping the crown has a cost on us all, Alexa. It’ll have a cost on you, too. But you must endure it. For your life, and for a thousand more.” And right then I see a flick of doubt, humanity, and shame, on a woman I thought was incapable of feeling those things.

Would the council go as far as killing the king because he was about to drop the decree?

What else is there I don’t know? Sudden panic and fear override my senses, lurching at me with merciless claws. People thirsty for power would do anything, I realize. “So, is the council against us?”

She doesn’t need to speak for me to understand. A fleeting glance is all it takes. “No one likes us,” she says, dodging my questioning. “The council is wary of us. Of you becoming a queen. The war’s making peasants and common folk turn against us. As long as the decree is up though, no one can take us down with the support of the other kingdoms...”

Her words trail, dying with the wind. Just as if the decree was dropped, if the countries ceased to support us, we would fall like domino.

Her hands carefully turn the flower, afraid of bending the petals. The small flicks of her wrist, ghosts of touch, are meant to lessen the blow she just gave me.

This is something I never expected. The game I thought I knew so well turns out more complicated than a labyrinth, and every single turn leads to a dead end. Hours and hours of council and business meetings. Greeting people with fake smiles I’d rather not know. I know nothing. It was all for nothing.

We’ve stopped in the middle of the garden, benches, and dying trees around us like shadows to protect our conversation from the wandering eyes of the court. She takes the rose in both hands, avoiding the thorns, before she takes a step toward me, placing it on my ear. An ornament to my messy hair. I don’t need that comfort, I think. But right now, it’s the only thing keeping me from running away.

For the first time ever, I’m starting to see a side to this, to mother, I hadn’t seen before.

Just like the flower, she’s unraveling to let me see a truth hidden from me for so long.

“It’s like a beauty pageant, mom. The beautiful women are sold for gold, the people are dying in a show of strength and weakness, and we keep parading around as if nothing is happening. Why are we doing this?”

There’s no hesitation from her part. “Because we must stay alive,” she mumbles softly, placing a hand on my arm. I don’t move it away. “This is the cost of survival.”

“This is... this isn’t right,” I choke out, shaking my head.

Her eyes lock on mine, the hand rising from my arm to my face, cradling my cheek. I refuse to let the tears fall. I bite my lip, a source of pain to distract me from what I feel. “I know, sweet. But this life, the life of power isn’t easy. It never is. You need to be ready for it when you step to the throne.” I close my eyes, heaving a sigh. My hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. “What? You don’t want the throne, Alex?”

I shrug, opening my eyes and pushing her away softly. I can’t be weak when I have things to do, things to see. “It’s not a matter of choice,” I remind her, my tone harsh. She doesn’t reply. For once, my thoughts are an echo of hers.

She nods briskly, her posture going back to the queen she was born to be. “You do what you must. For the realm, for you. For them.”

And I will.

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hi!!! chapter two! i wrote this about three years ago but im still developing this story. i cannot believe i am on the fourth book. wow. anyway, if you like it, let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged.

thank you so so so much for reading :)

-goldenmel

For the next week, my mind spins with all the possibilities. I thought with the help of the council and my advisors, I knew everything there was to know about the throne. As long as I had them, I’d make a successful job at ruling. I was wrong.

This has turned into a game I don’t know the rules to. Each day, every night, I spend thinking about the words mom never dared to say but were there, plain as the day, in her eyes. For her to tell me her marriage was becoming a willing doom after the pressure the crown put on their heads makes me fearful. A future I fear is looming closer and closer, and this time I’m not able to stop it.

Restless nights make it hard for me to focus in the morning. The meetings I attend to are meaningless. They blur into one another, my efforts not to fall asleep more frequent with every passing day. I never get a word or say in what will be done, and even if I did, I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to speak up. Maybe Rodrick was.

And now he’s dead.

Still, thinking about it makes me realize there are forces to be reckoned with, things I have no knowledge of, and I try to convince myself it’s for the better. Once I step into the throne, I’ll know the real dangers, I’ll know better than Rodrick or dad did. Once I know, the information will try to bury me, locking me in an invisible coffin. If I remain in the dark, I won’t struggle with the weight the truth comes with. For now. And so, I make a vow to myself, another one of the thousand ones settling in my mind like clouds that won’t give in to the sunlight.

I won’t sign the coronation slips. Not before confronting the council first. It might get me nowhere, probably letting the council know I’ve never been too fond of them since the beginning. Perhaps it’s a foolish movement. I should step back and watch my footing, hoping not to falter and sign the accord just to get the power I was born with to belong to me once and for all. But I won’t allow myself to not try. I have to, even if the road it leads me to is a dead end.

Today, however, is the first day since I don’t feel sleepy in the lack of interest for the day ahead. I had enough hours of sleep. A mysterious occasion, almost as infrequent as an eclipse. Blackness swallowed me for a total of six hours last night. Today’s different, and I can tell everyone can feel it.

In the morning, my maids took their time arranging my room and fitting me into a red dress pooling around me, golden details on the collarbone and the sleeves. The fringes are decorated with embedded metals and stones, embroidery carefully sewn in the hems. The time they took in the makeup I’m wearing—too much blush, red lips, and black-rimmed eyes—told me they knew something I didn’t. Something important was happening, and I didn’t ask about it. I’ll gladly take surprise in an otherwise boring, dull life.

Turns out it’s not something but someone. We wait in the majestic entrance hall. Dad to my right, with mom clinging to his arm. Lucas and I share a similar pose as the maids all scurry to clean the last things they can before the thrilling arrival. The twelve members of the council stand behind us, their appearances groomed—even more so than when we have a meeting. It makes me think this visitor, whoever it is, is important and must have leverage over them, too.

“Why is everyone on edge?” I whisper to Lucas as he silently winks at a maid closer to the stairs looming next to us. She blushes in turn, bowing her head in a clumsy attempt to dust off the stairs. The room is as tall as a church, and colored glass filters light shining

on the white marble floor in a variant spectrum of colors from red to violet. Two staircases stand to each of our sides, leading to the second floor of the castle. Behind us, the kitchen and dance ball stand, though everyone barely pays attention to them. The ball is deserted for most of the year. “Who’s coming?”

With my arm linked to his, he moves his right hand to rest on top of mine. He doesn’t glance my way, his voice lowered to a whisper. “The family is foreign. They’re the ones in charge of the military,” he explains, eyes flickering everywhere but to the tall steel door looming before us. “They’re important people.”

I smile, making sure it seems like I fit in all of this when I couldn’t feel more out of place. My dress is too tight, the air is too compressed and my skin prickles with excitement and embarrassment. “Why is the military here, then? Is it the riots, again?”

His gaze flickers to me, perplexed for a moment, before he gives me a subtle nod. “It hasn’t been officially declared a war, though dad already calls it one. I guess he’s tired of the tantrums.”

If what mom said and what I understood is right, dad didn’t want the accord in the first place, he was forced to keep it. So why would he declare war against the people who share the same beliefs as him?

The council is making him. He has to oblige. The signature he traced over the coronation slip forces him to fight against his own people.

I crane my neck, staring at father’s imposing figure in a pressed black suit and polished skin. Not even one bead of sweat dares to betray his calm behavior. Mother next to him is a doll set on display. Flashing eyes and a wide smile on thick lips. Everything the country looks up to.

I turn back to Lucas. “So what? They’ll just call in reinforcements from our neighbors? Doesn’t that make us weak?”

He blinks away at a wall, thinking. “Lanese owes us a favor or two,” is all he offers.

My grip on his arm becomes tighter. “Lanese? Aunt’s Lanese?” My father’s sister, or my aunt, is the queen of our neighbor country. She married off more than two decades ago to James Norwood, the prince of the country. Now, with the diseased king, she took power five years ago, making us an ally of the country engulfed in an empire. Lucas nods in return, green eyes glinting.

“Dad signed an accord a week ago. Their soldiers will use our uniforms to not alert the citizens of our... issues.” He bristles at the word, blinking a few times to get rid of an invisible haze. “Heaven and James will help us until they’re solved. The council thinks it’s a smart move.”

“And when are they coming? Will we wait here forever?” I push, like Lucas can tell us the time and place they’ll come. Just as if on cue, dad stiffens beside me, squeezing my shoulder once. Instead of Lucas’ response, I get an angry glare from Lennon.

“Behave well, Alexandra. First appearances are everything.” After my encounter with him on the dance and my stupid ignorance, I regret calling him out. He felt the blow I gave him, for his tone now is cold, ignorant. He’s upset. But I didn’t know better before. I hardly do now.

Mom beside him quirks a quick smile at me, nodding. “This is very important, Alex,” she agrees, just as the doors are pulled open by two heavy-duty guards.

Behind the doors, the entrance to the castle is crowded. News reports will have something to say about this meeting. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with dad wanting to see his sister, but this isn’t her, but her army. The army’s general of another country won’t have

anything to do with us. This is a calculated risk father is taking, something he’ll have to cover up. And I know, like the magician he is, he will.

The mob opens to a black, menacing, gleaming truck big enough to fit ten people, the gorgeous fountain right behind it. Screams from the people gathering around are heard as our security pushes through, making sure the walk to greet us is secure and free for our visitors. We stand behind like statues, cameras flashing on us once in a while. We must keep our façade, though. We can’t move.

The door to the truck is opened by a maid, who all but runs just as the job is done, bowing down smoothly before skulking back to us. From the door, a woman emerges. Less than fifty, gleaming blonde hair and careful blue eyes. She smiles at the cameras; she enjoys all the attention. Her eyes are alive, vivid. A healthy diet has done wonders to her thin body and thick hips. A magazine model come to life. Behind her, a man with a mop of brown hair and a steady gaze jumps out, taking her side in a step and waving a hand in dismissal. Arrogance swings on his walk. He shares an air of power, making all the screams hush with just a glance. The last one to jump out is a man not much older than me—twenty-five at the most. His height is breathtaking. I’m not short, but not tall, either. Even from afar, I can tell he will be at least eight inches taller than me. Blond hair same as his mother’s, apparently. Green eyes like his father. And for some reason, in the midst of the chaotic crowd as he falls in line behind his parents, he finds my eyes.

I jump, startled, earning a chuckle from Lucas. “Oh, he is to die for, isn’t he?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes at his childish comment, pasting a fake smile to my face. With gritted teeth, I ask him, “Who is he?”

“Odin Abernarthy. Followed by Blue and Camil Abernarthy.” We merely wait, frozen in time, as they make their grand entrance through the tunnel of people. They cut the mob with the ease of a knife.

I nod. “So his father is here to plan a strategy with ours?”

Lucas smiles at this, his eyes focusing on me for a moment before going back to the family pressuring to meet us. “Hardly. Odin, the son, is the army leader.”

I can only stare at Lucas in disbelief. For someone this young to be the head of an army of a country and to be trusted not only to protect his own but ours talks about power. Talent. Danger. Lethality.

The woman reaches us first, bowing her head but not her body, her navy skirt and shirt paling in comparison to mother’s gown. Her wonderful body is another ornament on her husband’s arm. Long hair and perfect face, she cuts an impressive figure of wealth and luxuries. She shakes dad’s hand, kissing mom on the cheek. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness,” she says, eyes staring right through dad’s. He smiles tightly in acknowledgment, his gaze flickering from her to me.

I expect her to just bow her head at Lucas and me before leaving, but she does the exact opposite, sweeping in a low, practiced bow as her husband talks to father. “Princess Alexandra. A pleasure to meet you. Prince Lucas,” she mutters, her pale skin lighting up with a blush undertone. It should be weird for me to receive this kind of... adoration when father is still in power. It is. My stomach churns, Lucas’ charm attracting her attention for more than seems appropriate for a married woman.

They must have ulterior motives, I think to myself as I grab her husband’s hand, shaking it once while I nod with a smile on my face. The younger man, Odin, holds a proper conversation with Lennon when his own father couldn’t. “Don’t know how they heard the news,” Lennon explains, shrugging. “But I’m glad they’re here nonetheless,” he adds, signaling to the cameras and men behind the steel doors.

Odin smirks but doesn’t turn around to the multitude, nodding along, his hands behind his back. “I didn’t expect them to make a fuss of it. A foreign general shouldn’t cause much distress,” he replies. Despite the dismissal, his cheeks take a subtle pink hue. His accent is different, elegant and polite. Warm.

“What can I say? The royals will always be royals,” dad reasons, a pleased smile on his face. Swiftly, he points a finger to me, caressing my forearm. Sit still and look pretty. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Alexandra and Lucas?”

Odin’s cocky smirk is replaced by a light, genuine smile, jade eyes sweeping from father to me. “Your Highness,” he whispers as he bends down, bowing. He stands up in graceful motions, years of training earning him the equilibrium to take my hand without question, his lips lingering on my knuckles for a second.

A blush of my own blossoms through my chest. Lucas chuckles. “I heard great deals about you, Odin, but go easy on my sister.”

With my hand on his arm, I squeeze his bicep, letting my nails cling to the fabric as I keep a fake, rehearsed smile to my face. Dad can only stare. “You need to forgive my brother,” I say. “He can be quite impolite sometimes.”

My brother rolls his eyes, matching Odin’s cockiness with his own. “Oh, Alex. Stop giving us a hard time. I was only joking.” I know better.

Odin takes Lucas’ accusation in stride. “I won’t do anything regarding the future queen,” he tells us, leaning a hand on my brother’s shoulder. “I’m not a beast.” I turn my face, hiding a grin. His stature looms over me as predicted, though not in a threatening way. He is handsome up close, and the grin spreading on my features on its own is a sign of it. But my heart lies somewhere else.

“I’m sure you’ll show me around sometime though, right, Your Highness?” His eyes don’t gleam up. Instead, his seriousness steals the breath from my lungs. He went from cocky to serious and polite in a matter of seconds. A politician in the body of a soldier.

Before I have the chance to reply, dad butts in. “She will. Tonight, before dinner. Sounds good, Alexandra?” I hope my gaze when I turn to look at dad is menacing enough.

I nod, gritting my teeth. “Yes, father.”

Odin is a total stranger, an army leader who came here for dad, and father is willing to waste Odin’s time on me. Even if I don’t like it, I don’t have much choice.

Dad commands, I do.

A little thought without sense slips into my head: he’s sold his own daughter, too.

***

“The world must go slower here,” he says, eyes wandering to the ceilings and marveling at the walls, mouth agape. I understand his amazement. Someone like him spends hours on the battlefield or training quarters. The paintings and statues living inside the castle are my own friends and ghost, but for him, they’re wonders. He drinks them in greedily.

“Who could complain?”

I smile begrudgingly, my hands in front of me in the posture I’ve been shown all my life. “You’d be surprised,” is all I limit myself to say. Enough for him to notice my distaste.

He turns to me, his mouth closed for once. His lips press into a thin line. He has gorgeous lips. “What, Your Highness? You don’t like it here? It’s wonderful,” he concedes, quickening to match my pace.

I allow him to catch up with me, playing with a string of my dress. “I’m sure it must be. For you, anyway. You don’t really see what goes on inside. And you don’t have the whole kingdom relying on your shoulders.”

He takes a deep breath while I talk. After I’m done I can only wince. I sound like a petty little girl. “The crown does have its cost, I guess,” he mumbles, shaking his head. He crosses his arms on his chest, but the movement is slow, sluggish. He listens to me, green eyes tracing my features.

I inhale, biting my lip. I need to keep my façade. If not for him, for me. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it. I’m just a little bit on edge recently,” I lie.

He must notice my deceit by the way his smile ghosts over his lips, his eyes twinkling with the fading light of the day above us. He lets it slide. “You’ve been kind enough to show me around,” he begins. I can only thank him quietly for the change in topic. “Even if you didn’t want to at first—”

He’s right. So he’s also perceptive, I think. Still, manners till the grave, I say, “I know it seemed like it but—”

“It’s alright, Alexandra.” His tone is firm but soothing. I’m taken aback by how familiar my name sounds on his lips, even if this is the first time he says it. He notices his slip, widening his eyes while trying to contain a crooked grin. “What I’m trying to say is, I might as well try and compensate for your amazing hospitality. You got any questions?”

I blink. “What kind of questions?” I’m not a fool to the nuances men his age love making when they’re among women. I slit my eyes at him, taunting his reaction.

He doesn’t miss a step. “Well, I’m a soldier, so I’d say war- related questions, but I’ll answer anything.” His hands dance on the buttons of his suit, badges glinting on his right shoulder. I nod once, but I know I’m not convinced.

“I can’t,” I breathe. My brain racks for an excuse. “I don’t...” Words fail me. I trail off.

As if reading my thoughts, he smiles, ruffling his blond hair with his hand. “This conversation, for the matter, will remain secret. The king, His Royal Highness, will never know. Ask away.”

I swallow, looking at my hands. This is what I want the most. A way to satiate the thirst in my mind. I want to know his purpose here. What dad wants with Odin’s family. I need to know how the war is, how many people die. Information I know I shouldn’t want but I know I need.

“What are you doing here, General Abernarthy?” My voice echoes on the space we’ve stopped at. I hadn’t realized I’d set my feet on the ground as if to anchor me for what I’m about to know.

We stand in the gallery. It lays wide and undisturbed, no guards around. A bronze statue of the first king stands tall before us, his face drawn and straight, every bit of the king he was. Behind us, various paintings hang on the walls. Yellow light flows from chandeliers high above our heads, and the air is still, heavy.

“I vowed to keep secrecy,” he begins, as I feel all hope leave me. “But I suppose nothing can be kept a secret from the future queen.” Taking a deep breath, he shrugs. “The rebellion is worse than what the king’s army can take. Lanese lent a hand, and I’m following orders of Queen Heaven and King Lennon alike.”

“Worse? How worse?” Even I’m no fool to not hear the tremor in my voice. More information I don’t know. I’ve been kept in the dark by father. By Lucas.

He takes his time answering, the words rolling off his tongue like he’s heard them before. “Last month the riots became a full-on war. The rebellion seems to have ties with a recently independent country, Nalyn.” I flip through the useless maps and classes in my

mind, trying to begin to understand what’s been said. What really is at stake.

Our country is Alemiss, surrounded by Lanin on the north and Toyar on the south, two of the main supporters of the decrees. Lanese, Aunt’s country, is engulfed by the sympathizer country ruled by an emperor, Spilten. This should be an issue since they seem to be expanding more and more, but as long as our portion of the map, the kingdom portion, isn’t touched by the empire, we’ve decided to stand down. Despite its geographical position, Lanese has good bonds and accords with Spilten, trading everything from gold to species. Nalyn is to our left, bordered by Toyar, Lanin and the sea. However, the knowledge of the map doesn’t disguise the spike of fear and wonder I feel inside of me.

Nalyn, an independent country. My mind marbles at the fact. The last time I remember they were a kingdom. Now that’s changed, according to Odin. How can it be?

I think he must be able to see surprise and awe flicker through my features, because he continues his explanation, stepping around the corner to resume our tour. Neither of us is invested in it anymore. I’m hungry for information, and I can tell he loves talking about this. It’s all he’s ever known and everything he was raised to adore.

“This is recent. In the last couple of years, the abdication of the king left a perfect window for a section of people that didn’t like the monarchy. Nalyn has straightened their position as a solidified and imposing country by helping your rebellion take place.”

I nod. Seems logic. “Why did the king abdicate?”

He winces, closing his eyes for a moment. “Riots got too much, I guess,” he mutters.

Oh. “So now it’s a war,” I continue, not missing a beat. “Has dad acknowledged it as such?” He nods. “And you’re here to help us stop the fire from spreading,” I say. Another firm nod.

“For the future queen, it’s perplexing you don’t know all this already, Alexandra.”

I shake my head, dodging his inquisitive glance. I can’t let him know how dad’s forces are implemented on keeping me in the dark. How much he knows but he refuses to share, storing this information in the ears of my innocent brother. “I’m just not interested in the... war.” The word sounds putrid in my lips, unholy. Wrong. I go on. “So, it’s a war now. Threats?” I ask, keeping my tone light but imperative.

“The same as always, I guess. They want the abdication of the king, or the decrees dropped. We know the crown will do neither, and if they do, we might be the next to fall.” We. He already sees the country as his own. “Winning this war is of interest to both Alemiss and Lanese.”

“What’s your view on this?” I ask, turning my body to gawk at him, my gaze unwavering. “In your eyes, I’m sure you’ve seen... outside. How is it?”

You can’t be afraid of knowing the answer if you’ll be a queen soon enough, Alexandra.

The thought immediately settles in my mind, though I can’t seem to push it away. It crawls around my brain, down my body, not leaving me alone. The only reason I’d become queen would be if dad died. Or was murdered. Or abdicated. And those aren’t things I want to happen, no matter how much I want the decree dropped. It’s not worthy.

Isn’t it? If I become queen by natural reasons, it will be when all of this is over, hopefully. But part of me doesn’t believe that.

Life isn’t fair.

His stiff posture droops, shoulders sagging. Sorrow flickers on his features for a moment before everything is taken away with a sigh. A storm broken apart by the fierce wind. Green eyes avoid my gaze, tone cold, mind farther away than this castle. “Being in the front of any battle is harsh,” he begins. It’s like hearing a balloon deflate. “It has taken its toll on me, and the soldiers who share my ranks alike.” As if in explanation he pulls up his sleeve, revealing a deep scar. It’s healed, but the body can only recover so much. The wound is pale pink in comparison to his ghostly skin. I stifle a hiss. “It’s harder than they paint it, alright.”

And it’s only one scar he’s letting me see. What about the other ones that must trail his body? His mind?

I don’t just see a soldier anymore. Before my eyes, Odin morphs from a soldier brought here to handle a war I don’t intend to keep, to an ally. “I’ll never experience it,” I tell him, my eyes laying on the scar, taunting. Good, let it be a reminder. “It’s unfair. People risk their lives for a purpose, an idea, and I can’t do the same because I’m too worthy for the realm.” I nod once as he pulls back his sleeve. We don’t continue walking. “What’s it like?”

I don’t mean the mental strain. I mean what he’s endured. What millions on both sides have had to go through. How thousands die. “The first battle I was in was seven years ago. I was eighteen. It was... traumatizing, to say the least. The war before, of course, wasn’t as bad as it is now. Not in Lanese, at least. We weren’t even fighting against rebels—it was a territorial dispute with Spilten. One of the many we’ve had. Even before the Bellfront accord was signed.”

The Bellfront accord is what Lanese and Spilten signed in order to keep an empire and a kingdom from clashing. Lanese had been once part of Spilten, but a revolution set on different beliefs created enough space to separate them with a border. I know that much.

“I remember feeling this rage. Not towards the soldiers of the other country, but towards our rule. Why would they waste human lives over something as forever changing as land? The rage fueled and overcame everything I felt. I’d shoot my gun, run towards the outposts as people, boys I knew, died right and left. Falling asleep with the moans of people struggling between life and death isn’t something easy, something worthy.” He stops. I blink, holding hot tears at bay. I shouldn’t cry, not over something so far away and minimal... but I want to. Because I’m just as defenseless and as vulnerable as those soldiers are. I’m manipulated and forced to do things I never would do, just like they are. This is the cost war has on us all.

I fight to find my voice, swallowing the knot in my throat. Don’t act like you didn’t know this. I knew. But it’s different having an imagination than someone living it. Someone who felt the fear in their veins, the sorrow in their bones. It paints it with a truth I can deny no longer.

“Why... why so young?” I stammer. He was my age when he joined. Like me, he was stripped from his innocence way too early. A sad smile stretches his lips. “I always knew I was born for this.

Dad’s the greatest general Lanese has seen, and I have to live up to that idea. He stepped down two years ago to give me his... legacy, if you must. I can’t say I enjoy it.”

The comment drags a good-natured laugh from me. “Look at us,” I say, dropping my hands. “People would trade everything to have our ranks, our wealth. But we’re miserable.”

His eyes rise again, meeting mine. He smiles ruefully. “Speak for yourself, Your Highness.”

I ignore his attempt at a lighter conversation. I’m not done yet. “Who’s winning?” I ask, turning around. We must be late for dinner now. Father won’t be totally displeased. After all, I’m entertaining his guest, but I don’t like what others will see. What Logan will see.

“Right now?” he questions, raising an eyebrow. I nod briskly as he follows behind me, careful not to step on my dress. “I’ve been on the ranks just twice this month, and we’re still planning strategies. But for the moment, it’s us. You.” His eyes betray the hint of

sadness his tone lacks. I feel the same sadness hold my heart.

It’s a good thing, though, part of me thinks. The selfish part.

Your kingdom, father and Lucas are safe.

But at what cost?

I exhale as we turn the corner, holding the banister as we descend the marble steps. I feel light-headed. Information soaks my brain. I could swear I’ve gained pounds on information. “They don’t have soldiers, do they? The brides?”

“Not trained like ours, no. Mainly young men, children. Women, mostly. Inexperienced, but chaos can be a good surprise factor sometimes.”

I nod at the guard by the door to the dining hall. “Good.” I don’t specify on the matter. If he’s like me, he’ll understand the hidden meaning behind it. If they don’t have the training, at least they have the surprise factor. That knowledge is something I know all too well.

We walk in as the whole chatter stops. Knives are set on porcelain with a ding, throats are cleared, heads rise to attention at our entrance.

Dad sits at the head of the table covering half of the room. His seat is plush and monstrous. A beast waiting for me. Chandeliers and candles twinkle in their eyes, glittering. Mischievous eyes look back at us, eyebrows raised. The council and the Abernarthys drop their heads in a sign of acknowledgment. It hurts to have to place a fake smile when everything inside me is changing, turning, twisting. I’m cornered by these people, and I’m no more than a puppet for them. They act like they don’t know what they’re doing. Like they don’t know what their actions spark all around us. Dad stands in greeting, mom beside him smiling warmly. At his left, his advisor and best friend nods in my direction. Lord Duncan.

Odin sweeps into a bow beside me, retreating across the room to the seat saved by his mother in front of my mother’s ladies. The seat between mom and Lucas stays empty.

Making my way through the crowd of eyes is suffocating. Everyone here knows something I don’t. People who I thought I trusted have kept things from me. Lucas is one of them.

A maid, his hair brown and sticky with sweat, pulls my chair out. “Your Highness,” he breathes, scurrying away before I get a chance to speak. In front of me, a letter lies. The glass plate underneath shows a black envelope. Greece.

My eyes scan the room that has gone back to quiet chatter, trying to find a familiar pair of gray eyes. Logan isn’t here. I exhale my disappointment mixed with selfish relief, taking the letter with shaky fingers.

I couldn’t care less about manners, not when I haven’t heard of my best friend for weeks. She is the only thing keeping me sane in a world like this. She and Logan are. And neither of them is here right now. I must go through whatever is going on alone.

Dear whiny princess,

Yep, it’s me again. From another part of the world dad insists on visiting for the sake of it. I shouldn’t mind, but the world is dull without your very mature jokes.

I don’t know why, but a part of me, that sixth sense I seem to share with everything related to you is spiking. I hope you’re not being your reckless self again. Know that, with every condescending smile you give those bastards you win their support. One day, when

your turn comes, you can change everything you’ve always wanted. What we have dreamed with all along.

I used to think I could. That was two weeks ago. Now I know better. How will I be able to tell her about the secrets I’vediscovered? No, I can’t. I won’t.

Even if I have no freaking idea where I am, I know where you are. And like always, stop being so grumpy, but most importantly, stop blaming yourself for something that happened when you were a toddler, Alex. Something that took place years before you were born. Your time will come.

I’m sorry for not being there to keep you sane in the middle of the court full of dull, shallow bastards. I miss you terribly.

Your partner in crime and your beautiful lady, Greece.

P.S: No husband still? I’d say you’re going sour without a man’s touch.

I smile secretly, putting down the letter as a plate is laid before me. The second-course meal steams, its odor filling my nostrils. My stomach grumbles in response, but my mouth remains firmly shut. I’ve lost my appetite.

I miss her terribly. She is the only one who truly understands me and my ideals, never dismissing them with a wave of a hand like the rest of the council does. But most importantly, she’s the only one not keeping anything away from me. The only one who knows even less than I do. And it is some comfort.

She thinks once I stand on the throne with the unwanted crown on my head, I’ll be able to change the whole world, the whole war. I used to think the same way, too. Now, thanks to mother, I know better.

Before I get the chance to think about it and dwell on my miserable situation with my back against the wall, the door to my left is opened, cracking against the stone wall. Two guards pull Logan by the arm rather harshly. Three more silhouettes, his family, stumble through the threshold in tow. Scared, silent shadows.

And then the siren wails.

------

hii! i took a small hiatus, but unlike 1d, i'm back (lol im sorry, im feeling sassy today). i hope you enjoyed this chapter, and do let me know what you think about Odin (personally, i love him).

if you'd like to be tagged, lmk.

thank you so much for reading!

- goldenmel

I can’t say I’ve ever heard the siren before. Its wail is low and sinister, something from the movies. It echoes through the chamber, silencing everyone around us. Settling deep in my skull, I clench my teeth, willing the sound away. I might not know what it means, but dad and Lucas clearly do.

“It’s alright, people. Remain quiet. Gareth,” father growls, signaling to a guard at the door, eyes going wide with dad’s sudden attention. “Make sure the doors are locked good.”

Lucas stands up hastily, followed by Odin and Lennon. I tug at Lucas’ sleeve, his green eyes fierce and alive. “What the hell is going on?” I hiss. It’s a loud enough hiss to sound over the alarm.

His eyes scan the room, lips tight. “The castle is under attack.”

As if on cue, the door opened for Logan and his family now bangs against the wall for a second time, at least a dozen guards rushing in. Odin walks across the room to the head of the table, his father in tow. “There’s been at least two dozen men infiltrated through the gates. While we find out where they are, we need to keep you safe, Your Majesty. Our recommendation is the royal family to be locked in the ballroom downstairs.” The guard at the front, bald and deadly-looking, sounds winded already, as if they’ve been running. He looks heavy, buried under swords and knives like a chest sinking at the bottom of the sea.

My brother shakes his head, a hand reaching his lips. “We can’t go out,” Lucas begins.

“Not a smart move,” Odin agrees. “The safest choice would be to keep all of them in this room, while we arm it heavily, inside and outside. Someone needs to inspect the damage and lead men through every room until we can say the threat is gone.” His arms cross over his chest, speaking of this procedure as if he’s done it a thousand times. He probably has. Green eyes flicker from dad to the guard, daring any of them to challenge him.

They don’t.

“Fair enough,” says Lennon, eyeing Odin’s father. “Do the preparations. I take it we’re the ones leaving?”

“We can’t leave, dad,” mutters Lucas. He’s the only one father will listen to. He has perfected the skill of calming a beast. “You can’t leave. Let Odin and his father handle it.”

Lucas knows this attempt is to get to the crown, to dad, to me. Lennon grumbles something low enough so I can’t listen, the guards spreading in a practiced motion across the room, leaving no corner unguarded. The door is the one with the most, half a dozen, weapons drawn. Lethal daggers and long rifles. Gilded swords and flashing guns.

Father, for all his might, is logical, to be reasoned with. He sighs, his chest shuddering. He doesn’t like not having control. “Find these rebels and bring them to the council room once they have surrendered. It’s up to the king’s mercy then,” he instructs.

I wince. King’s mercy. I know he won’t have one, not when they are so close to inflicting real damage to his kingdom, the realm. Everything he’s fought so hard for. I see it in his eyes, in his stance. He’ll kill them.

The room feels heavy as I stand up on shaky legs, heaving a sigh of my own. The air is suffocating once again, charged with fear and wonder this time. People talk in hushed tones. Some are scared, some laugh. What can they do to us? We’re in the king’s palace. They still think they’re wolves dealing with ants. I don’t think the odds remain that way anymore.

I nod at mom once, her eyes flickering between dad’s strategy being planned in one side of the room while I run away from it. I don’t want to hear it. Them talking about the soldiers as if they’re just pawns in a chessboard. Like their lives don’t matter. Like the rebels are to blame. If the council had listened to them, they wouldn’t require such violent measures. The fault is on them. On us.

I stumble with my heels out of my chair, running but not fast enough not to hear,

“They’ll take the fall on this. They’ll pay for this little tantrum.”

The council has decided to stay out of this for once. They’re nothing compared to Odin’s strategies, his rich voice rumbling through the room, no matter how much distance I put between us. He’s a born soldier, a general, but I wish he wouldn’t fight for us. He knows better.

By the time I cross through the whole chamber and get to a corner I feel out of breath, like a fish out of water. Could I handle something of this magnitude in the future?

“You okay?” The familiar voice makes me jump, my heart following shortly after. I raise my head, gray eyes focused on me despite the noises of the room at his back.

“I’m alright, Logan,” I say, even if he can hear I’m out of breath. He shouldn’t be this close to me. We’ve fought to keep what we have a secret, away from the eyes of everyone watching me. Him being this close just risks all of it. We can touch and kiss when there are no eyes to witness those caresses. But now, the room is too busy choosing sides. We might as well be alone. The selfish, careless part of me doesn’t mind. I need him there to keep my head above the surface.

He chuckles lightly, leaning against the wall too. So close our arms brush. I close my eyes, feeling his familiar warmth I cherish so much before I’m forced to pull away. Appearances to the last. “Did you know the attacks were this bad?” he asks.

“They barely care to tell me about the weather,” I groan, rolling my eyes. I feel the familiar ache beginning to take shape on my temples. “I found out this morning. It’s why they brought this general to us,” I lie, gesturing with my chin toward a menacing- looking Odin. Straight shoulders and straighter back, tense jaw and deathly gaze. I knew some of this before, but I have no desire to admit that knowledge. Now, the game has changed.

Logan’s eyes flicker from me to him, clicking his tongue after. “He’s a foreigner, isn’t he?” It isn’t hard to see. The way his voice is loud enough to carry across the chamber leaves his thick eastern accent bare.

I dodge his implication. “Are you jealous?” I whisper, nudging him with my shoulder.

“I would be,” he says, leaning his head down so whatever he’s about to say is blocked from the council and the guards. His lips ghost over my ear. “But he doesn’t hear his name leave your lips every night.”

Breathe in, breathe out. I force my voice out in a squeal. “I hate you, Logan.”

He smirks, covering a chuckle with a cough. Rolling his eyes his smirk leaves, a furrowed eyebrow quickly taking its place. “The threats are becoming more usual, aren’t they?” His tone is cautious, tentative. He knows I don’t like this topic.

I nod. “Lucas and dad got one almost a week ago. Now... this. I’m not scared, don’t get me wrong... I just...” I trail off, my eyes falling to the floor. I just don’t want this to continue. I want the decree dropped.

I hope my glance can tell him everything I’m too coward to admit. He nods once in return, crossing his arms. Later, he seems to say, when we’re alone.

My thoughts and agony are distracted by father’s clap echoing across the chamber. “If I may have your attention, everyone.” His voice booms, ricocheting from one wall to the other. Everyone, sitting or standing like Logan’s submissive family in the corner, stares, plates, and appetite long forgotten and lost. “We know the rebels are here, trying to take our crown away with nothing but empty threats and fruitless attempts. This is just a signal of how irrational and merciless they are. Ungratefulness comes in all shapes and forms. We’ve given them a stable monarchy, a stronggovernment. A well-balanced economy. And they return the favor by turning against us.”

The room nods along, eyes trailing from the king to me and back to him. I’m not dumb. I know the council is taunting my reaction. Without calling attention to myself I move a few feet forward, away from Logan. Straightening my shoulders and keeping my face stoic is something close to second nature to me.

“The decrees have helped many, keeping a crown and power on my head and your shoulders. They won’t be dropped as long as the Coltrane monarchy lives.” A few claps roar over his voice. I place my hands behind my back, knowing even a twitch of a finger can give me away to the cunning eyes of the council.

Behind father stand Lucas and Odin. Faces serene and collected. Odin’s eyes remain on the floor. Part of me wants to think he hates the words coming out of my dad’s mouth. The degrading, hurtful, uncalled attributes he’s given people that only plead to be heard. The other part of me, the rational one, can see the gears on his mind turning and twisting. He isn’t thinking about the moral of the war; he’s planning for the war. He’s planning to win the war. Even if it is the whole reason he’s here, even if it keeps us alive and in place, it still makes me hate the small part of me that had seen an ally in him earlier.

How foolish of me.

“We will stand against this war, inside this castle. And no one will be harmed. New measures will be laid on everyone, see if they dare to continue overstepping the line. We have enough useless fight in the fields already. They’ve brought it to our home, and they will pay for it with blood. With tears.” Echoes along the lines of long live the king, or the merciful king blast against the walls, deafening.

New measures. New measures as if the ones we already have aren’t enough. As if they can get any worse. I should say something, how I don’t agree with this. I have to bite my tongue to stop the words from leaving my mouth. This isn’t a race. I have to bide my time, wait for the right moment.

One glance at mom tells me I should keep quiet. But the small shake of her head she gives me when no one is looking is enough for me. He’s doing this because it’s what the council will want. He doesn’t have a choice.

Doesn’t he?

When the room goes back to normal, with Odin trailing silently behind the first bald guard to inspect the damage and put his skills to use, Lucas trots back to the council, all smiles, and charms. Appeasing them is left to him. Father’s grim face quickly vanishes when he sits beside mom, talking in hurried tones. Logan walks back to me carefully. Slowly.

“You okay?” It’s barely a whisper, but I hear it all the same. I can only nod.

“We’re staying here for a while, it seems,” I say, my gaze still forward, watching father.

“Will you keep me company, sir?” He knows the title is just for formalities in case the guards or the council are eavesdropping. If it were up to me, we’d be alone now. I wish that we were, more than anything. He’d hug me, tell me it was going to be okay, assure me father would see reason with this. Remind me this wasn’t my fault. But in the eyes of all these people, he’s nothing but a protectorate of the crown, a friend of my childhood I refuse to let go of.

His mother is a maid, while his father is a guard in the castle. A low ranking one, but still. He’s here because I need him here. And because his family is needed here. Sometimes I’d dare to say this castle needs his warmth more than it needs me. But it doesn’t mean the nobles see him as I do. If they knew their future queen is hanging out with a low-ranking family they’d be displeased, they’d doubt. And there’s no time to doubt in times like these.

He nods once as we retreat to the same wall. This time I take a seat on the floor, him smiling and following suit. I don’t care about manners anymore. Not when we’re in lock-down. Let the dress wrinkle and stain for all I care.

Logan has a brother, Samuel, a shorter version of himself. His brother will follow Logan’s path: become an accountant. The only position which requires him to stay this close to father, to me. His family stands on the wall across from us, silent, uncomfortable. Samuel burns holes into the carpet with his frayed gaze. His mother looks glum, small next to him, and Logan’s father watches it all, assessing threats. They’re here because I will them to be. They’re to be taken care of as if they were noble, I told the guards once. They knew better than to defy a queen.

“It’s a full-on war now,” I say, whispering to him. “Father acknowledged it as such. Odin’s family is from Lanese. They’re lending us a hand while the things go back to how they were.”

He knows better than to ask me what I think. He’s been in my brain as much as I’ve been in his. We share the same thoughts. Instead, he says, “What were the threats this time?”

I do some burning the carpet on my own, staring down and thanking for the chatter around us to muffle my voice. “A deer on dad’s chambers. A bird on Lucas’. A note read: will you sell her out, too?”

He hisses, his jaw clenched. “They just want to be heard.” I can only nod. His voice becomes velvety when he regards me. He can’t touch me, but his words almost do. “How about you? Any threat on yours?”

I don’t miss the flicker of concern in his voice. “I’m fine. There are things that have happened the last weeks, though. I like to ponder them by the fountain at night.”

He catches my meaning, grinning. “Do you have a court meeting with Lucas tomorrow?”

I nod. “Tomorrow evening.” And just like that, we have a plan of our own. One no one can shatter, where I’ll finally get to be myself, if only for a while. “The riots are becoming stronger in the cities. The war front as Odin explained it... I can’t begin to imagine,” I continue, unable to stop thinking about it all.

He raises an eyebrow. “What about where Greece’s family is?”

“Her father knows better than risking the cities with high tendencies of riots. They’re keeping close to the capital for now,” I tell him. Lord Adara is wise beyond his age, close to father. He must know about this.

“How do you know?”

“I got a letter today before you arrived. The date is from two days ago. She can’t be far. The riots haven’t spread further than the east.”

He takes a moment to talk. When he does, with such sorrow and shame alive on his face, I wish he hadn’t. “You spoke with Odin earlier?”

I gulp. “Dad made me show him around,” I whisper, itching close enough so our knees touch. “Just that.”

He nods but his wild eyes waver, unconvinced. I can see the thoughts on his mind without the need for him to say them aloud. What if this is the marriage they’ve prepared for her? A foreign general? Something better than an accountant.

It pains me to see him feel and think this way. While I keep pushing those very thoughts away, he keeps pulling them close, getting used to the idea of reality: we can never be together.

At least one of us admits it.

*****

Playing the piano is a relief. Something I stumble upon in my times of high anxiety, as dad does with alcohol. There’s something about my fingers pressing the tiles and them responding accordingly that makes me feel like I have control over something, even when in the world, the court, I don’t.

The melody sweeps over the empty music room, my breathing following the synchrony of the song. I close my eyes, allowing my fingers to move as they please. It’s therapeutic almost, like the music can drown out the thoughts I don’t want to hear, the ones I’m running away from.

“That’s beautiful.”

I don’t jump. I’m used to people, maids especially, interrupting my moments of peace and solitude to get me ready for another dance or useless court meeting. But the voice belongs to no maid.

“I don’t know if you know,” I begin, closing the song and letting my fingers drag across the keys, “but it’s rude to interrupt someone in the middle of a musical piece, General Abernarthy.”

He moves from the shadows of the other side of the room closer to me, the morning sun bursting through the window behind him, setting out his tall silhouette. “Thought we

could drop out the formal names already. It seems like I’m staying longer than I’d like.”

I stand up, nodding at him. “A month?”

“Two.” He wears the same uniform I saw him in yesterday, but there are no wrinkles on it. The badges are gone, replaced by only a lone golden star. The symbol of Alemiss. “Then I’ll leave for the battlefield. I’m thinking it’ll take a month to push the rebels away from the Weaponry state.”

Weaponry state. If they’ve become strong enough to take hold of entire cities now, cities as special and focal as the Weaponry, who knows what they’ll be able to do in two years? Their message and might are spreading like wildfire, and no one bothers to admit it.

“To what do I owe your presence, Odin?” I ask instead. I’ll ponder that information later.

He blinks at me, probably startled by the loss of the official titles so soon. “His Royal Highness requests your presence in the throne room.”

I huff, squaring my shoulders, slamming the cover over the keys with a thud. “There’s no court today.”

I can see his lips pulling up, a smirk leaving his front teeth bare. “A council meeting, Alexandra.”

I shake my head, pushing myself away from the piano. The sun almost blinds me, but not enough to keep me from asking, “A council meeting? With father? You must’ve heard wrong. I’m never invited to those things. Only Lucas is.” I can hear the jealousy in my own voice.

He nods once, eyes assessing my reaction. “Someone may have put a word in for you, then.”

I take his hint in stride. “What could you possibly say that would make father agree with you?” I scoff, passing him to leave the room. “He wanted me to be there. I asked if you’d be. He said no. I told him if you weren’t there, I wouldn’t show up, all to pay respects for the future queen of our allies.” He sounds so proud of it, like a child telling you how high he can jump.

He trails behind me, judging by his heavy steps. I don’t steal a glance over my shoulder to prove my theory. “And why on earth would you do that?”

He takes a split second to answer, gathering his thoughts. “A future queen must know everything about her kingdom, right?”

I can only nod. Why would he put up such word for me? Why would dad even agree?

And as much as I hated him for strategizing with father, this only makes my easiness around him spread further. He’s done more for me already than dad ever has.

The way to the throne room is spent in silence, the only sound the clanking of my heels against the marble floor. I’m thankful for choosing to dress up in the morning. I wear a silk gown, navy blue, down to my ankles. It’s simple but regal, my eyes matching.

I’d make small talk with him if I wasn’t so worried. We went to our chambers after midnight, when the threat was extinguished. It took at least three dozen guards to subdue the twenty rebels, and even then, one-third of them escaped. Lennon was shaken but decided to keep the council meeting until the morning, to allow his head and mind to come to terms with what had happened. I was grateful for the small blessing. It gave him time to cool off. Maybe then he wouldn’t kill the rebels found.

It isn’t the first council meeting I attend, but it isn’t a normal thing either. It’s surreal. Lennon chose to allow me in when they’ll obviously speak for the rebels, decide what to do with them. And just like that, any surprise or happiness I might’ve felt drains my body. If I’ll be in that council, the blood of those rebels will be on my hands, too.

Not if you can stop it.

The entrance to the throne room is buzzing with activity. Guards and maids flood the hall while nobles step aside, allowing the council members inside. “Thank you,” I mumble.

Odin’s pep talk with father means more to me than I’d like to admit.

Even if I thought he wouldn’t hear my frail voice with the buzz of noise already dawning on us, he nods. “Any time, my queen.” He has the gall to match my stride, throwing a wink my way. It such a small gesture but it makes my face turn hot, nonetheless.

The room itself is spacious, lit naturally by the windows placed high on the walls and the skylight above. The sun’s reflection sends rays all through the room, bouncing against the walls and the shimmering suits owned by the council members. The throne room doubles as a council meeting chamber sometimes, when more people need to be inside the particular meeting. This is one of those times, with two dozen guards bursting in and out of the room, extra council people called in.

Mom sits on her throne at the front next to dad. Her dress is vivid, a bright monster of purple silk with black details, matching my father’s tie. Lucas sits on the stairs leading to the thrones’ landing, talking to a weary-eyed Duncan. My eyes scan the room to see someone else familiar, but I find no one. For some reason, with Odin by my side, the room doesn’t make me feel small, as I usually would be if this were any other occasion. As we enter, the heavy black doors behind us are closed, sending a loud noise across the room, silencing the murmurs down the seats in front of father.

I have a habit of making an entrance.

I raise my chin higher, purse my lips and walk through the gaping crowd, eyes following my every move. I’m aware of Odin keeping up with me, his heavy footsteps the only thing I can hear other than my blood rushing to my ears.

I have no place to sit. Not yet anyway. I will one day. The very same throne father is perched upon. For now, I take a stand between both thrones, twirling around to face the council with a stoic face that keeps my emotions at bay. Lucas hoists himself up, and Odin takes a place beside him as the people before us stand and bow, acknowledging us.

“We are here today to address the act of war these people calling themselves rebels have committed not only against the higher houses, against us, but against our God. They claim to be collected, organized, that they only want equality. But if they did, why would they kill innocent guards to get to our home and try to stark us down?” Dad doesn’t even bother standing up. All eyes are focused on him, his throne rising high above them all. Red and gold, a symbol of wealth and power. His manners are careful, planned. If the attack rattled him, I don’t know. The wave of his hand and his careless posture are enough to give the air of disinterest. “Last night the castle was seized by these monsters. Twenty of them decided to infiltrate themselves as guards in hopes of getting to our chambers and committing regicide.”

The crowd before us gasps. I close my eyes for a second. Dad is good with words, and only words can turn the tide to your side sometimes. “The threats we dealt with before are nothing compared to this. By doing this they didn’t only take a stand, a step they won’t be able to take back, but they’ve made themselves a true enemy of the crown. And we will make them pay.” Subtle, unnoticed if you’re not searching for it. But he just declared it a war before the council.

In front of us, the doors are opened once again, any havoc that once was outside is silent now. In practiced formation, guards enter the room, a neat, practiced line. Only they’re not just guards.

One guard, one commoner. A rebel. Another guard, another rebel. They are intertwined, all to keep them in check, controlled. They’re easy to spot. Dirty, shaking, head bowed in shame, manacles on their hands and chains on their ankles. The metals grind against the soft marble. Having them here can only make this council’s purpose clear. Lennon won’t hesitate in killing the rebels not quick enough to escape if it shows how much power he wields.

The line follows, a dagger dividing the room, till the formation breaks, becoming a horizontal line before us. I wince. I didn’t want to see this. How I wish Odin wouldn’t have put a word for me. This is the reason why father agreed to Odin’s request: to make me see, understand, acknowledge I know nothing.

But you have to know, Alex. You have to see. Have to learn what not to do once your time comes.

Or I can stop it.

Standing up from his throne in a quick manner, his black suit setting off against the red leather of the seat, he marches to the front of the room. His footsteps are each a threat, a warning. They sound off in the quiet room. Boom, boom, boom. “We are here to promote justice to this monarchy, and to teach everyone no matter how much they think they’ve won, it can always be taken away. We’ve been good, benevolent and they pay us by betraying their crown, their lives.”

I clasp my hands behind my back, anything to stop them from trembling. The guards look ahead, thinking of who knows what. The prisoners, the brides, look at me, at mom, at dad. Pleading, begging. But I know they won’t have any mercy.

A woman in particular catches my eye. She’s young, younger than mother. Blonde hair spills down her shoulders, messy and tangled from the night she spent on her cell. She isn’t crying, her gaze never falters. I feel a shiver take hold of me with icy fingers. Holding her gaze is something I shouldn’t be doing. Once she’s dead, her green eyes and dirty face will be all I remember, chasing me in my dreams. But I can’t bring myself to look away.

I’m sorry, I think, if only to lessen my internal guilt. If I were father you’d be released. You wouldn’t be here. You would’ve been heard.

But it’s no use, she can’t hear my thoughts. I bite my lip instead, so hard I hope to draw blood. Anything to stop bile from rising in my throat.

I’m no fool. I can see pain in the eyes of people. The woman’s green eyes reflect sorrow, loss. She’s seen so much. People dying, suffering, starving. And all because of us. I should’ve known long ago they weren’t just riots. This is a full-on war.

A war they have no hopes of winning.

“Let each of the bullets here be an echo of the things that will happen, shall you not fall back.”

And just then, a shot rings across the room. I’d zoomed out, watching the woman eyeing me, which is why I flinch. I’d rather not look but being in the middle I don’t have much choice. Gruesome curiosity gets the best of me. The first man in line, a heavy-looking fifty-year-old, tumbles to the floor sandwiched between two guards, a shot to his temple. Blood splatters the marble floor, droplets of it reaching close to father’s feet.

The room gasps. Some shake their heads, looking away, as I witness it all. I witness father become the monster many people outside these walls see.

Another shot rings through, piercing my eardrums. I blink, pushing back tears.

They’re dying because of us. Because we refuse to listen.

And I’m not able to stop any of it.

Three more corpses join the floor. Mom stares down at her hands, father looks on, and Lucas is gone. I’m glad he fled. He gets to hold onto his innocence a bit longer. Odin is left beside my father’s empty throne. I meet his gaze, tears prickling my eyes. I can see it in his stance. He regrets bringing me here. But I’m thankful. I needed to witness this to fully understand what I’m fighting against.

Before I know, the woman with the green eyes is next. She doesn’t close hers like the others did, as if the crown doesn’t deserve her dignified fear. Surprisingly, her eyes don’t bleed hatred or fear like the others’ did. Hers burn with determination and peace. She must feel some of it, the hatred that forced her to take matters into her own hands, but none of it bleeds through her mask. Instead she sneers, body going cold the second the shot resounds in the air.

Four more rebels die. Because we refused to listen. Because Lennon plays God, balancing their lives in a thin thread.

Next to the last corpse, a man with gracious features and an unkempt beard, a kid no older than twelve watches, wide-eyed and shaking. Silent tears draw paths in the dirt of his face. I can only see as the guard beside him raises his weapon, taking aim.

“No!”

The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it, my brain not processing what I’ve just done. The council’s eyes flicker to me. What have I done?

I push my uncertainty and fear aside. I couldn’t care less. I step closer to the stairs slowly, carefully inching towards father, eyeing the man beside the kid still holding the gun. I tip my head at him, my face smooth as marble. “Drop it.”

He knows better than to oppose me. Lennon lets his straight façade drop, turning to look at me. Wide, green eyes, hands balled into fists. What have you done?

I couldn’t care less about the whiny little council. We have real power. We are the monarchs. If dad is afraid of them, of their selfishness and lack of humanism, I really am not.

“This is a kid,” I state, my voice carrying across the room. Obviously, Alex, such a smart comment. The boy looks at me, silent tears now pouring without shame down his face.

My heart swells and my ears ring. I’ll be damned if I let him die. I tell myself it’s because I see Lucas in him. Young, afraid. But I know it’s something deeper. It’s the unfairness that makes my skin crawl.

“A collateral damage to the uprisings.” Even here, defying the rules, I have to comply with father’s carved lie. “He doesn’t even know where our country is located, let alone the price this could have on him.”

I’m glad about all the etiquette lessons. They make my voice sound sure and steady when I feel my hands trembling as everyone watches on. “He was forced here. He can’t know anything about a disagreement fought for since before he was born.” I walk down the steps, aware of my mother’s glance digging nails at my back. It isn’t father doing this. It’s me. And I have signed no coronation, no decree. They can’t touch me.

“What’s your name?” I ask the boy after I glance at the guard beside him, memorizing his face with disgust. Weary face, sullen cheeks. He’s just carrying his duty, taking another life. I sneer at him with disdain. He is no better than any of us if he was willing to kill a child.

The boy scrambles to reply, voice wavering. “Dylan,” he says at last, holding my gaze with cloudy blue eyes. I extend my hand from the last step. He takes it without a thought. His sweat coats mine, but there’s something we both share. Fear. We’re both alone in this. I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on our audience. I’m performing a play, something to keep them entertained. “Dylan here will be the proof of a balanced, stable monarchy. We are just, faithful, and merciful. We will stand united against the rebels; show the world they’ve betrayed the hand that fed them. But we will prove

we’re good. Because we are.”

One final blow to shut up all the council. The onlookers will judge my action. If I couldn’t save the ten people behind him, I will save this boy’s life as if he were my own. If I twist this around, turn their lies to them, they will have nothing against me, no choice but to follow through mine. So, I do exactly that.

I pull Dylan’s frail body to mine, resting a hand on his meek shoulder. “The monarchy will live, and those who stand with us will die.” I swallow hard, focusing on my breathing as I chant the words.

“Long live the king.”

________

hi! looking back on this chapter, i think it really reflects the bravery (and stupidity) of Alex. i hope you enjoy it as much as i do :) let me know what you think + if you'd like to be tagged

thank you for reading

- goldenmel

“I did the right thing, saving the kid. But father pledges otherwise. Of course, he can’t kill him now, with the eyes of everyone in the council turned to our mercy. But he would if he could, Logan. I don’t want to believe it but it’s the truth.”

Underneath the full moon, talking about my fears is easy. I can pretend no one’s listening, the words are swept away with the warm air, their weight leaving me. But Logan is listening. My voice drones off, expressing my fears, shedding the skin I’ve been forced to wear. “I’m afraid of seeing things for how they really are instead of what they make me believe.”

He plays with my hand, twirling my fingers with his own, touch careful as a feather. I can feel his chest heaving against my back as he sighs, his chin moving slightly above my head. “You will have to do it sooner or later, Alex. Not now, perhaps, but when you’re queen. And maybe, the sooner you do it, the sooner you open your eyes, the better it’ll be.”

I understand his words, but he doesn’t understand me. “He was my dad first,” I whisper, closing my eyes. The memories, as well as the anger, are sharp, they sting, wounds refusing to heal. “He was a father, and the crown took all away and replaced him with a king I don’t know. A king, a man, I fear.”

I can’t help but sound like a child. I feel like everything I ever had, all the things I thought I knew are being taken away from me, and there’s nothing I can do to slow things down. Dad was taken away from me, and part of me fears Lucas is next. Rage and disgust fill up my veins, recalling how father looked on at the murders in front of his eyes. The murders he orchestrated. He never even flinched. The council has taken too many things from me, and they will continue to. I know it. I know I won’t be able to stop them from it.

His arms wrap tighter around me as if he can stop the pain growing inside me from settling in. “He’s a king, Alex. And even if you see it that way, he’s doing it all to keep your family safe. You, especially. He might be the king, but you’re blind if you think that kind of love can be buried by power.” His voice carries with the wind, slow and steady. I close my eyes, praying for his words to become true. “What will happen to the kid?”

“Dylan.” I recall his name and blue eyes. Clammy hands and fragile body. “He will be put into an orphan house of the state. Watched until he grows old enough to get a job. His parents died in the attack.”

Sorrow is weird. It can make you feel things, remember things you’d rather not. Sorrow settles in my stomach for an unknown reason. I don’t know the kid or his parents, but my heart can’t help but ache at the thought of him growing up alone. His parents died for a cause they believed in, for a better world for their child. This isn’t the only case. I know there are millions of families ending up dead, leaving their children behind. Or the children are lost to a senseless war. He escaped a horrible fate just to stumble on another.

It takes Logan a while to speak, caressing my arm with his calloused fingers. “But you couldn’t let him die.”

“No,” I mutter.

His chin drops, landing on my shoulder. “There’s pureness in you. That’s why I love you.”

His words warm my insides, shield me from my worst fears. Sometimes, they keep me awake at night. The things he sees in me, the hope his eyes betray. Everything I want to be is mirrored in his gray eyes. Every hope, opportunity, wish. He sees the monarch I want to be, not the princess I am.

But how long will this pureness last in the hands of the council?

Hearing those words in stolen moments like these make all the gazes and scolding, frustration and disappointment, worth it. Because he understands me. With him I feel like I’m not alone, the weight of power won’t crush me under as long as he remains here. Solitude would leach the life from me.

I grip his hand tight enough just at the thought. “Did you hear the news?” I ask as he kisses my cheek, both hands holding mine.

His small smile breaks again, replaced with a scowl. “More measures.”

After the council meeting, dad went to the main plaza, giving a speech all by himself.

After my little tantrum in the throne room, he couldn’t trust my presence and behavior anymore. No one can blame him.

Lennon placed a curfew on all the commoners. Be home by nine in the evening or else. I hope no one dares to stay out past the time to see what happens. Limited food rations. Instead of the weekly corn, wheat, meat, and beans dispatched by the government, they will receive them twice a month now. I can only imagine the hunger the people will go through. The starvation taken to another level. I hate he has the power, and I hate I don’t. As if those things weren’tenough, he implemented the law tithe, meaning any family with more than three members will have to give up one to lend to our country in times of war. These people will become soldiers, see if they survive the war against the brides. Forcing them to fight against their own people and ideals. Little to no training, deserted, unaided.

A death sentence.

I loll my head, allowing his chin to rest on my neck. “They begin next week,” I mumble.

“They aren’t your fault.” I’ve been repeating those words to myself since I heard, but there’s no way to make me believe them.

Because even if they aren’t, my little act of defiance sparked up the fire, throwing fuel at it. I’m not entirely innocent.

“You know what’s funny?” I ask, pulling away from him. My dress shifts as I move across the damp grass, so we sit face to face, knees touching. “I overheard dad a couple of months ago. And whatever the woman said hasn’t come true.”

He raises his eyebrows, amused. “What woman?”

I stifle a giggle, rolling my eyes. “A few months ago, I went with father to this conference just outside the city. The house we stayed in was beautiful and spacious. I was curious, so I started to wander around the house. Beautiful paintings and chandeliers, but not like here, not tacky. It felt peaceful, hard-earned. I was wandering around when I heard dad and a woman talking on a studio. I thought it was mom, and I stayed to listen. They never tell me anything, so I paid attention.” I pause, recalling the moment, playing it back in my head. “It wasn’t mom, it was a seer.”

“A seer?” Logan asks, gray eyes twinkling with curiosity. Seers are not unknown in Alemiss, but they’re not often spoken about either.

I nod. “She read his cards. Power, wealth, all the common charade to take your money. Until they got to the last card.” My voice drops, allowing the moment of excitement to linger. Logan looks like a boy on Christmas night, eyes wide and a small grin plastered across his features. I can almost hear the question in his eyes. What did she say? “She said there was something he wouldn’t be able to stop. A relinquish of power. Dad asked to know more, but the woman didn’t say anything else. ‘I only get what the cards tell me, Your Majesty,’ she said.”

His smile drops, shrugging. “What does it even mean? Do you believe it?”

Do I? Whatever she saw hasn’t come to be. For all I know, I hope she was wrong. I refuse to dissect her words. I have better things to worry about. Dylan, Logan, Lucas, the decrees. My dreaded apology to father.

“Well, not now. It hasn’t happened, obviously. I think she was a scam,” I admit, bowing my head as my chest deflates. A good scam to serve as a small distraction, but a ruse still.

He chuckles lowly, caressing my knee. “So why’d you bring that up?”

“To see you smile,” I reply, my cheeks blazing.

“I am happy,” he says in return, long lashes against pale skin. “But you’re not. And I’m here to listen. You need to let everything out. Otherwise, it might kill you alive.”

If he only knew.

“I am happy, too. Right now, anyway. With you here.” I mean it. Being with him is the only time when I get to be myself, explain how I feel without being chided or ignored.

“But I will be a queen, and once it happens there’s nothing I can do but keep these memories close to me...” I trail off, my throat closing. The thought is enough to stir panic inside me. I will it away, focusing on my breathing.

“True,” he agrees, eyes flickering to the moon above us and back to me. “But for now, you’re just a princess, not a queen. And princesses can only do so much.”

I scoff, feeling the familiar pressure of the topic take hold of me. “Not even kings seem to have much power against the council.” He knows what I’m talking about. I filled him in on the weird talk with mother. What I felt. What I know. Father is under the council’s finger. He can’t do anything unless his threads are pulled by the members, and he signed something he didn’t want. It’s true, the measures are his fault, but he can’t resist the council if I’m right.

If they really did kill Rodrick.

His brow furrows in concentration. “The council isn’t your issue, Alexandra.”

“It will be soon enough, Logan. And I can’t do anything about it. They’re turning my dad from this well-known king to this mean, merciless man. It will happen to me too if I don’t do anything to stop it.” My voice grows dark, strained. I hate feeling useless, with no one to turn to. I doubt Lucas knows how deep the council’s roots go and once Greece comes back, I doubt I’ll be able to talk to her about it. There are things you can’t share; burdens you can’t surrender. The court is alive thanks to secrecy and discreet lies.

His voice rumbles off his chest, passion making his words thick with feeling. “If what you say about the council is true, I’d rather keep you alive. I couldn’t care less about the decrees.”

I blink. “Logan!”

We settle in easy silence. Drop the decree or remain alive. Is there even much choice at all?”

“I have to do something,” I mumble.

For me, for him, for everyone else.

He nods, tipping his head to the sky. “Not now, but when you’re

queen...”

“When I’m queen...” I prompt. I know he wants to say more.

A look I know all too well crosses his features and I do everything I can not to wince. “When you are queen and you... marry... maybe your husband will be able to help you against the council. Not now, but in a few years.” He ends his words with a sigh, the thought burning him as much as it burns me.

Just like that, another ghost I’ve been running away from crosses my path again. Something I’d rather not think about, but I know I’ll have to sooner or later. This is a part of me I don’t want to let go, in fear of sinking into whatever sea this kingdom is.

“Don’t say it,” I tell him, but it comes out shaky while I choke on unshed tears. “I won’t marry.” Even if I will it to be true, I know it isn’t. Even now, father already has the wheels spinning, finding a suitor to carry the crown with me in a few years. There’s nothing I can do to stop it.

He smiles softly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows I’m not being honest. “You will. You have to. If you want to keep your family safe, you must. You’ve always wanted to have children, too.”

I love children. I can’t wait to be a mother someday. To see if they’re born with my blue eyes or my black hair. I wish I could marry him, have children of our own. Little Logans running around the hallways barefoot. And I know it’s a farfetched dream, but it doesn’t make my heart stop wishing it could come true. I would hate the crown if I could. If I could muster sufficient anger. Right now, it is not the time. Right now, there’s only time for Logan, to hold onto him hoping the waves won’t swallow me whole.

“I love you, Logan.”

His eyes snap to mine, steady and glowing in the stars’ light. “And I love you right back,” he tells me. With a grunt he stands up, extending his hand to mine. “Better make the best of the time we have, right?”

I swallow the knot in my throat, blinking away the tears. “Yes,” I whisper as his hand pulls me up. “We better.”

Never letting go he twirls me around, my dress floating behind me as my hair is caressed by the wind. “What are you doing?” I giggle once the world stops spinning around me.

He looks at me, mocking a gasp. My thumbs trail his jaw. “Excuse me? We’re dancing.”

“There’s no music,” I point out, smiling as he draws me close, his arm snaking around my waist.

He has the nerve to wink. “Leave that up to me.”

“Wha—” I’m interrupted as soon as he starts humming under his breath. I stop breathing, my arms locked behind his neck. The hums are slow, a song I know. A song he wrote for me. On the piano. A song with senseless promises and childish dreams. “You’re so cheesy, Saudade.”

“And in the light of the moon, I’d still pledge myself to you...” He twirls us around and around, his hands never leaving my waist while I move one hand from his neck to his chest, laying it just above his heart. Mine’s frantic, almost to the point where I’m sure he’s able to hear every heartbeat of mine. I can feel his steady heartbeat flutter beneath my palm. His breath fans across my lips, a delicious luxury I can only afford some nights.

“’Cause even if this castle fell, I’d still come back to you.”

All too soon the song is over, leaving him in silence as he twirls me around, my back to his chest. “I’ll always be here for you, Alex.” I shiver in his closeness, wrapping my hands around his in my stomach.

“I couldn’t be luckier.”

It’s the truth. I can’t imagine spending one second without the knowledge that he’s within reach. When things are going bad, he’s always there watching over me. I’ll keep it that way, no matter how much it takes. I pull away softly, sliding under his arm. “What now?”

“Do you want to go back to your room?” he asks, a somber expression crossing his features as he scowls.

I don’t want this night to be over. I can’t let him go. I’m not ready to slip back into the role of an obedient princess staring by the sidelines.

“No,” I say.

He has the nerve to roll his eyes. “Fine.” And then, after a pause, he touches my shoulder with his index finger, eyes shiny. “Tag, you’re it.” Off he goes, running away from me like a child.

“Logan!” I scream in a whisper, rolling my eyes. Of course he’d do that. I take my time slipping off my heels, my feet touching the damp grass. And just like when we were kids, I trail behind him.

On the run, I forget about everything else but my one objective: catching him. I undo my ponytail, my hair flying in the wind behind me as I go around the bushes and trees I know like the back of my hand. I chase his shadow and the soft noise his shoes make against the stones in our path.

But like always, I have to be smarter. I slow down, willing my senses to heighten, listening. I stop breathing for the second time that night, blood rushing to my ears as he stops too, somewhere to my left. Wincing at the thought of making noise and glad I took off my shoes before I chased after him, I kneel behind a tree, crawling to the small clearing.

A fountain in the middle, him on the edge, kneeling, tightening the laces on his polished shoes. I inch closer, taking a low breath before I sprint as fast as my legs can take me, closing the few feet between us in three long jumps until I land on his back.

“Got you!” I shout at him as he stands up with me on his shoulders, never losing balance. He grunts, gripping my calves.

Realization dawns on me with an exquisite, if angry, thrill. “Hey! No. Logan, don’t you dare. Let. Me. Down,” I command, pushing his shoulder. I know where this is going, and I don’t like it, but he doesn’t buckle.

It seems like I’m not persuasive enough because, without a second thought, he throws me to the fountain, cold water surrounding me and pushing any oxygen out of my lungs.

He stands at the edge when I come up for air, hands on his hips, a playful smirk on his lips.

“That’s cheating,” I whine, wiping the water from my face.

He merely shrugs. “You also cheated,” he reminds me, careful enough not to step too close to me.

“It was your idea to play.”

He blinks. “And it was your idea to haul yourself to me. I did what I did in self-defense.” I bite my lip to stop a smirk from spreading on my lips.

“Logan,” I sing, drawing circles on the water around me.

His eyes darken in the moonlight. “Yes?”

I know my lie won’t be swallowed, but I still try. “I don’t mean to scare you, but there’s a big, fat, malicious rat right behind you. It’s a big one.”

“You’re lying.”

I shrug, keeping my face neutral, stilling my body. “Believe what you want.”

His body stops moving, processing.

In a flash, he jumps the rim of the fountain, a splash soaking me again as he goes underneath, my giggles the only thing I hear for a few seconds. I feel a light pressure on my ankles as he slides his hands over my legs, making me shiver. Head bobbing in the water, he smiles at me.

“There was no rat,” I confess, inching closer to him. He spares me a smirk. “I just wanted you here with me.”

He nods shakily, hair covering his eyes. He takes my hand underwater and blinks away the water pooling in his thick lashes. “I would’ve jumped if you asked me to.”

I wiggle my eyebrow, kissing his cheek. “But where’s the fun in that?”

The fountain is about six feet deep. I float, the water reaching my chest. Logan is standing in the cement below, the water gracing his chin.

“I didn’t bring a change,” I say, feeling the weight of my soaked dress threatening to pull me under.

“Good thing. You can get naked with an excuse now.”

I move my hand, splashing his face. “Logan!”

That only makes him laugh harder, his laugh echoing across the fountain. Flicking his hand, a wave of water hits my face. If there are guards nearby, they don’t care or aren’t listening. Everything is safe and serene. If the water were still, we could pretend we’re the only two people in the phase of the earth.

He tips his head, eyeing me. “You look cute when you blush.”

I roll my eyes as I allow him to pull me closer, my legs wrapping around his waist. “You look cute when you blush,” I mock, dropping my voice to sound like him.

“I know you’re a queen, and you get everything,” he begins, “but I don’t have that luxury and I’ve been dying for a kiss since the last time we kissed.”

I raise my hand, ruffling his black hair sticking to his forehead. “You could just ask.”

With his strong jaw, pointy nose, wide, gray eyes, and bushy eyebrows, he looks every bit royal as I do. There’s something regal about his features not even father shares. Beauty I can’t describe.

“May I?” he asks as he cups my head, tilting his. I close my eyes in agreement.

My reaction to his touch is spontaneous, a reflex. I pull him close, feeling my heartbeat dropping before resuming its frenzy, my hands shaking at the nape of his neck in an impulse of adrenaline. His hands fall from my face to my waist, reducing the space between us. Breathing becomes unimportant when I have him this close.

His lips are careful and gracious, molding to my own. My body responds accordingly, turning to silk under his hands. Everything stops and becomes an echo. Nothing can go wrong as long as he keeps his arms around me.

Too soon for my liking, he pushes my face away softly, his hand remaining on my cheek, thumb caressing my jaw. “Not here,” he murmurs. His voice wavers, hoarse. “If you keep this on, I won’t be able to stop, princess.”

I release my grip from his neck to press my hands against his shoulders, untangling my legs from his waist. “I share the sentiment,” I whisper as I push my wet hair back and pry away the soaked silk clinging to my figure. I don’t miss his eyes traveling from my stomach to my chest, stopping at my eyes. I raise my eyebrows. “Something you like?”

With a crooked grin and a slight blush tinting his ears, he nods. “A lot of things, actually.”

“You’re dumb-folded,” I chide as I push my way to the edge of the fountain. Drawing my knees up once I sit on the marble to stop myself from shivering in the cold wind, I watch as he makes his way to the edge of the fountain.

He shrugs, pushing his way through the water, leaning against the fountain’s brim. He places his arms on the edge, looking up at me. “I just kissed the future queen,” he muses.

“What an accomplishment,” I scoff.

He nods, gray eyes trailing the stars twinkling above us. “Lucas is getting married, huh?”

I am taken aback by the sudden change of topic. Worry and guilt settle in me immediately after. Since the day Lennon announced my brother’s marriage, I hadn’t thought of it. Or paid attention. Not when all I could think about is how our country is at the brink of destruction and we’ll fall down the abyss with it.

My voice wavers for once. “I guess... I don’t know much.”

“Is your wedding planned out already, too?”

I swallow. I have no idea. I’d be foolish if I thought it wasn’t.

Mother must be planning on the proper way to break down the news to me this very second. “Maybe.” Not a lie, but not the truth, either. I don’t want to think about it.

His eyes leave the stars, staring up at me. They make my skin burn hot under his inspection. “When you know, you’ll tell me?”

“Yes.” It’s a reflex, something I don’t have to think about. I close my eyes for a moment, trailing my fingers on the water. Ten minutes ago, I told him I wouldn’t marry. He’s smart. He knows it’s nothing. Words mean nothing with royals and monarchs. Our lives aren’t our own, and there’s little we can do to control our choices or the ones that are taken by other people, for the matter. He knows this. “Will you?”

I see his jaw working, pale eyes avoiding mine. “If I ever do, I will.”

I could dwell on it. On the thought Logan will have someone in the future who can give him everything I can’t. He won’t have the daily pressure of the court, or the threats hanging over our heads since the moment we’re born. His children won’t be caught up in the middle. He’ll be happy, grow old with the woman he loves, while I rot away in a throne I never wanted.

But I won’t do that. For now, he’s chosen me. And it’s enough. I need it to be.

“I don’t know who Lucas’ betrothed is. He must, though. He’s close to father.” I try to not let the pain of my early thoughts bleed through, smiling faintly. “He didn’t tell me. I found out through father.”

“Have you given him the chance to tell you? Have you seen him since then?” I shake my head. Not really. He’s been gone more and more this past week, busy with Odin’s arrival.

I bow my head. Glares can betray more than words do. “It doesn’t make the blow hurt less.”

“Don’t be silly, Alex,” he says. “Lucas loves you. If you asked him, he’d tell you. I’m sure the opportunity hasn’t shown up yet. With the issues your father is facing, it’s no wonder he needs Lucas closer.”

“Hardly,” I snap, shifting so my legs are next to him, leaning a hand on his head, prying away the hair plastered to his forehead. It gives me something to do. “The council is enough. Lucas is just a decoration. The council makes every choice for father.”

“I meant what I said before, you know?” he asks after he heaves a sigh.

I stop the motion, dropping my hands to the water. “Which part?”

“If what you said is true, if the time comes...” His gaze wavers as he lowers his hand to find mine in the water. “If you get the chance to drop the decrees, I’d rather you not.”

As if his confession shocks me, I pull my hand away, locking gazes with him. “Why?” I keep the anger and hurt from bleeding in my voice, but I know my eyes give me away.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’d rather keep you alive than the decrees being dropped. Promise me, Alexandra.”

I’m not dumb. Full names carry a full meaning, a different implication. And being a princess, a soon-to-be monarch, I can’t make promises I can’t keep. Not to him. “I can’t promise that.”

He sighs, turning around to push himself off the water, sitting next to me. Some of the water clung to him splashes me. I slide a hand across my arm, focusing on his voice.

“You’d do it, then? If the choice was your life or that decree, you’d choose the decree?”

I nod. “Millions are dying. I’m not more important than they are,” I whisper.

“Certainly not,” he says. “But more foolish.”

I can only chuckle. “You wouldn’t do the same choice? If you had a sister, a daughter?”

He can’t bear to look me in the eyes, staring at his hands instead. “If I had a sister or a daughter and the decree could end my life, I wouldn’t do it. They wouldn’t want me to. And if I did it, it’d be selfish.” The jab reaches its aim.

I understand the double meaning behind his words meant to pierce through me. The words soak me through, cold water hitting my face again.

“I’m not doing this for my own reasons, Logan.” I understand what he means, but it doesn’t mean he’s right. “If it were up to me, the decrees wouldn’t have been established in the first place.”

“They aren’t your fault. The people dying, they aren’t dying because of you.”

I blink. I’m not even sure the words left his lips. “Sure, Logan. Not right now. They’re dying because of father. Because of us. And the blood is already on my hands. I was there this morning when the rebels were killed in the council meeting.” I close my eyes, letting the moment wash over me again. I shiver, but it has nothing to do with the cold I feel outside. “They are my fault if I don’t do anything to stop them.”

“Do I really have to say the words for you to understand, Alex?” His eyes burn into mine as he takes a hand from my lap, enveloping it in both of his. “I don’t want you to die.”

As much as I hate it, my voice softens, relenting. “I won’t.”

We don’t speak after that for a couple of minutes. I understand the implication behind those words, but there’s nothing I can do to grant his wish. Even if I don’t die or put myself in the line of fire in a doomed battlefield against the council, the war can threaten to hurt me. The mere crown could be my downfall. When you’re born a royal, no matter how many guards or walls stand around you, you’re never safe, always running, dodging risks. He knows this. I know it, too. I can’t pretend my life hasn’t been on the edge of a bloody knife since I was born.

I break the fragile silence first. I need to get this out of my chest. The silence begs to encase me in a prison. I can’t think about my life being threatened when I have issues more important at hand.

“I saved the boy because he looked so young, innocent. I did it for him. And for myself. To prove myself I can do something to change, to right the wrongs Rodrick began, and dad continues to commit. I want to believe I’m good.” I heave a shuddering breath.

“When the time comes, I’ll be able to improve Alemiss. I want to believe it more than anything. I tell myself this isn’t my fault. Their deaths aren’t mine to worry over. But they are.”

He doesn’t speak, letting me rain over like a storm. If I kept this inside me any longer, I’d drown with the words in the depth of the fountain. “I did it because the boy looked so much like Lucas. I forget sometimes how young Lucas is, because, like me, his innocence was taken away sooner than others’. Our lives are this way. I saved the boy in a foolish attempt to redeem myself.”

Something in my eyes must give me away because his eyes search for something in my face, flickering. He finds it. “That’s not all,” he says. “You saw that child as your own.”

Is it wrong? Is it crazy I see children worth saving because someday, somewhere, the favor might be returned? That the target I’ll place on my children as soon as they’re born might be forgotten in the way karma goes and comes around? I can only nod.

“Yes.”

“You’re good, Alex.” His hand rests on my knee, squeezing it once. I will the tears away.

“You’re precious.”

“You have to say it. You’re my friend,” I push, swallowing the knot in my throat.

He chuckles, twisting his body so his legs dangle from the opposite side of the fountain, angling to the castle. “I like to believe I’m more than a friend.”

That brings a genuine smile from me, clearing the fog his thoughts birthed in me. “Don’t kiss your own ass,” I tease.

“No matter how hard this life gets, or what side the current sways, never lose your heart, Alexandra. You might be the only hope we have. The only hope I have.”

I commit the words to memory, writing them inside the walls in my brain. Three sentences are enough to soothe the ache placed in my heart since my chat with mother. He doesn’t know this, but in a world of chaos, his words soothe me, heal me, keep me going. I’d drown without him.

“Thank you.” It comes as a hush. I’m not sure I can raise my voice without revealing the pressure in my throat and my eyes prickling.

He nudges me with his shoulder, turning his head to mine, kissing my temple. “It’s late.”

“I know.” But I don’t want to leave.

Close to us, perched on a branch and obscured by the darkness surrounding the fountain, a croak echoes, making me wince. Another follows.

“What the hell is that?” I whisper in the dark, grabbing Logan’s arm.

“Crows,” he says. “Sounds like it. Never heard of them?” He chuckles.

I ignore his jab. “At this time?”

And just like he said, one crow jumps from a naked tree to my left. It angles upward, flying to the sky. It’s barely a darker shadow against the pale light the moon throws at us, illuminating our faces and the fountain.

He dodges my question, a corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “You scared?”

I shrug. “It’s only a stupid crow.”

“Good.” He jumps back to the grass in a swift motion, extending his hand to me to pull me from the edge. His white shirt clings to his body, gives me a glimpse at carved muscles and soft skin. I can almost feel it, how his familiar heat rolls off beneath my fingertips when we’re alone. His pants sag, balancing dangerously close to his hips. I lick my lips, forcing myself to lose the train of hormonal thoughts.

“Are you up for a race?”

I touch the floor with my toes, a reassurance. But the floor isn’t the one keeping me grounded. “What does the winner get?”

He has the nerve to wink. “A good night’s kiss.”

We run for a couple of minutes, chasing one another around the fountain, laughing like children. We trail behind the castle, under the trees, and through complicated hallways. But I can’t outrun the ghosts I feel at my back, coming closer with each passing second.

In my heart, I know there’s nothing I can do to change this life. It’s what I’ve been taught and born to do—rule this country someday. But it doesn’t mean I like it. I would trade it in a heartbeat. I feel a tug of jealousy. Logan can run, no care in the world. Could leave the castle and no one but me would chase after him.

I can’t do the same. I’m stuck with the crown I never wanted. I can’t run from this life.

__________

personally, i love love love this chapter. sooo if you've made it this far, you know both logan and odin. which one do you prefer? why? team odalex or lalex? let me know what you think / if you'd like to be tagged. thank you so so much for reading.

profuse greetings,

-goldenmel

I didn’t feel fear before. I do now.

When the alarm blared in the dining room, I didn’t jump, never

feeling fear. I was secured, safe in a room full of guards and with Lucas beside me. Now I’m alone. This might be as unexpected as the alarm, but the sight of father sends chills through my spine, true fear spiking inside me.

“You requested to see me, father?”

He sits on a leather chair, his head dipped in a book laying in an empty, shiny mahogany desk.

He doesn’t jump at my voice. He was expecting me. But I wasn’t. And I don’t like surprises.

“Certainly so,” he says as he stands up, closing the book with one swift motion.

“Breakfast was good?” I nod. “Anything special?”

Small talk means there’s something he’s not ready to unveil yet. It makes me even more anxious. I mingle by the door, eyeing his office. It’s clean, immaculately so. Top to bottom dark wood walls, red-carpeted floor. A fireplace to my left, a chandelier in the center, right above the table. A squared window, curtains drawn to shield the sun behind his figure. A few bookshelves on either side of the window, books ordered by titles. A plush sofa in a corner. Simple. To the point. Like I wish this conversation to go.

Gesturing to the chair in front of him he takes a seat, nodding once. His wild eyes focus on my face, taunting. I keep my features still. “I thought we could have a talk. It’s been a while, don’t you think?”

I swallow my uncemented fear as I cross the chamber, leaning a hand on the chair’s back. “You’ve been really busy,” I say. I can’t exactly mop about him not being busy for Lucas. Or about how he’s handling a war now he never chose to unveil for me.

“That is true.” Green eyes trail my movements as I pull the chair back, sitting and refusing to lean. I keep my posture perfect, like a queen’s. The way of carrying myself makes him narrow his eyes at my movements. “You’re on edge recently, Alexandra. Something worrying you?”

I shrug, eyeing the bookshelves. “No, not with me.”

He understands me without saying the words. Laughing softly, he dips his chin. “Ah, I see. Odin cared to explain a little about his... purpose here.”

I level my gaze with his. He won’t hurt me, I know. But his words have the same power.

“For some reason,” I reply, “everyone has taken to keep me in the dark.”

“But it is exactly why you’re here,” he says, his eyebrows shooting up. His knuckles rap softly against the table, barely audible, the only trace of nervousness he chooses to show me. “A future queen can’t be kept in the dark for long.”

I smile begrudgingly. “You didn’t seem to think so before.”

Leaning back on his chair, he crosses his arms, studying me, noticing my cracks. I will him to find none. “Times have changed, as you already know. I didn’t call you here for your remarks, Alexandra. I know you’re lacking information. Information I’m willing to give you. If you don’t behave like a child.” His scolding wears off with the years. By the age of eleven, I grew used to his harsh words and hasty manners.

My mistrust is almost palpable. I close my hands, now clammy with nervous sweat, in my lap. “Why would you?”

He sighs. My short understanding annoys him like it isn’t his fault. I suddenly feel uncomfortable in my green dress. Naked, bare, vulnerable. “Next to me and mother, you’re the only person in this castle who wields true power. And I believe I owe you an apology.”

I can only blink. “An apology?”

He looks everything but sorry. “I’ve been keeping you away, and I’m aware of how it might come to look like. Lucas by my side is a mere necessity. I can assure you whatever he does in the council meetings is useless. What you do in the court teachings and lessons is far more important.”

Whenever he talks, he keeps a steady gaze with you. It makes you feel small compared to him, and he knows it. Part of me thinks he enjoys it. His voice is forever commanding, loud and stern, like a king’s. He keeps the appearances always, façade never breaking. Unless he chooses to. Unless it serves his purpose. Like I sense now.

“Everything I’ve done since I took the crown has been to keep you two safe, despite what you might think. I need you to see that.” One, two, three times his fingers drum on the closed book. I scan the movements, considering, calibrating.

Words have power. His words take the air away from my lungs, making me unable to come up with an appropriate answer quickly enough for him not to notice my hesitation.

“I’ve been told so,” I say. What else is there to say? What’s not to say?

I felt forgotten, Lucas being the only one by his side. Longing and regret alike spread through my system. I knew the last part already, and I understand the hidden meaning behind his words. I can’t be upset at him if what mom told me is true. But for some reason, I refuse to believe her. I might as well ask.

“When you signed the coronation slip... is it... true?” I’m back to a child again. But he doesn’t seem to mind the question, his earlier hostility gone, replaced by soft, unwavering, green eyes. He marks a respectable figure. Tall, lean, strong despite his age. No movement of his passes by as an instinct. Everything he chooses to do is calculated, always for a measure, a hidden meaning.

T

he question might make him uncomfortable, but he doesn’t show it. He saw it coming. “I’m afraid people, words, shape and change the persuasion of things we knew.” He blinks at me, a muscle in his jaw working. With brown hair, barely a tint of gray on it, and a close-shaven face, he looks young, powerful, commanding. He is all those things. And perceptive, too. “But I’m sure you knew already. I don’t mean to pry, but what did Odin say, exactly?”

Father means good, but the small gesture of Odin has not been forgotten. I won’t go talking openly about our private conversation with father. I owe it to him.

“Same as other people before him. We’re facing a war, instead of a rebellion,” I say, dismissing the accusation with a shrug. The words taste wrong in my mouth though, leaving behind a sour taste. Admitting something like it to father is hard enough. I swallow back the fear.

Still, he seems unfazed. He nods. “He isn’t wrong. Throughout the last months, the threats have become stronger. Riots on the main cities, some of the cities being taken by the rebels.”

“And war, dad,” I remind him, my early shyness gone. “War at the battlefront. It is the whole reason Odin’s here.”

Leaning forward he places his elbows on the desk, intertwining his hands and stilling his chin on his knuckles. “Right again. The war has been a thing for as long as I entered power. Before, too. I remember father speaking about it when I was younger. However, it’s nothing compared to what we’re handling now. The balance is in our favor, but barely.”

Why would he tell me all this?

“Millions dying in the battlefront,” I mumble. I know he knows this already, but I say the words hoping to get some reaction from him. I get none. His quietness is unnerving.

“Yes, Alexandra. On both sides. Our soldiers and their people.”

I can only laugh bitterly. “They’re both our people, father. The only difference is one side acknowledges you and the other doesn’t.” A smirk tugs at his lips faintly, but he refuses to let it peek through. “I understand your feelings about the whole ordeal, Alexandra. You’re against it. Would it surprise you to know I am, too?”

I knew this. It is no surprise. But it doesn’t make me be less baffled by the words coming from his lips. “Why’d you sign the accord if you knew?” My voice comes out hoarse, strangled. I need to hold onto the version of the man I know, not the one the others keep making me see. The merciless king posture he takes as soon as we have an audience. At this moment, he is no king, but a man who has seen and gone through so much. To add to the effect, to keep me in check, I notice the missing crown.

My father.

Whatever little information I thought I knew will change with this talk. I know it. I don’t know if I want it to. Realization comes with power. With burden, anger, sorrow. Things I’m not ready to face. Still, my heart needs to listen to the answer, to have something to hold onto in this quicksand I find myself in.

“For you, for your mother. For Lucas.” His voice is steady, but it comes out breathless.

“Wouldn’t you do the same if you had the choice?”

Would I? For Lennon’s life? And Lucas’? Mother’s and Logan’s? I know my answer, and I hate myself for it.

“So, you’re really bounded, then? Nothing you can do?”

His eyes darken slightly. He raises a hand to massage his right temple, the only sign of worry he displays. “If I were to oppose the council, I’d have to abdicate. And the crown would fall to you. I’m stalling this, Alexandra. Even if you were raised to be ruler one day, I’m not blind to know you don’t want this responsibility. Neither did I. Truth is you’ll never be ready for what all of this means, but the longer I keep it on my head the longer the sense of... normalcy lasts for you.”

My mouth opens and closes, but my brain scrambles, trying to connect all the dots, the pieces that never made sense before. “Why?” I ask. “Why tell me this now?”

For the first time in my life, he doesn’t have an answer. Instead, he pulls away as if the question hurt him, his chair scraping across the carpet as he pulls himself to his full height. “Why?” he mutters to himself. “Because if the council doesn’t care to admit it, I will.” He takes a second to speak again, closing his eyes, his hand trailing along the edge of the desk, stopping at the corner. “The monarchy is unstable, Alexandra. Between the threats of the brides and thesupport they’ve gathered from Nalyn, there are two sides of the war. I doubt I am strong enough to witness the end of this.”

No little girl anymore. I stretch my spine as he leans against the edge of the desk, willing myself to push as much bluntness and steel as I dare to my voice. “What exactly does that mean?”

No emotion comes through his wall, giving me a mere shrug. “I’m telling you this in case I don’t wake up one morning, so you know what to do. For your safety, for the realm. For you.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say his tone wavered.

I refuse to believe it.

Like him, I stand up, pushing the chair aside with my hip, chin high, looking at him. I’m not the one to look away this time. “You won’t die, father. Not now, not in ten years. You’re young.” I might be begging, but I’m way past caring. I can’t imagine a world where he isn’t guiding me or my people. A world where all the power belongs to me and I have absolutely no idea how to handle it. My hands would be like a dam controlling an entire ocean.

I’m not ready. The future I’ve dreaded since I have conscience threatens to pull me under, reaching for me. I won’t allow it. I say as much.

“I’m—I’m not ready. We—we have Lanese’s help.” I’m reaching for excuses, anything to keep him from talking about what might happen. From the things we know are possible but hope they won’t happen.

Death.

He looks tired, worn. It’s the first time I notice the dark circles under his eyes or the faint wrinkles threatening to show up sooner or later. His appearance before me flickers as I reminisce the one he showed me on the dance floor. Strength and might seem to have gone away as he stands before me. This might just be another character he adapts to suit his needs, but my heart trembles for the man.

His tongue clicks on the roof of his mouth, weary eyes swaying my way. “I know we do, but a wise king thinks of all the possibilities ahead of time. It’s what I’m doing.”

I shake my head, gripping both hands together to stop them from trembling. My voice can barely hold itself together. “Odin says we’re winning.”

He shrugs again, shoulders drooping. It’s not a sight I want to see—my father defeated. “We are.” Something flashes in his eyes, drawing his face downwards. Sorrow. “But for how long?”

Without a warning, my heart begins to hammer against my chest. Blood rushes to my ears. I say, “What do you mean? We won’t lose, Lennon. You won’t die.” If he died, the decrees wouldn’t be dropped. They’d follow me to the coronation. Unless we fled. Or they killed me first.

Chuckling lowly, he can only wink. “Don’t be so scared, darling. Nothing has happened. Yet. You and I both know, here, whatever life we achieve is always at risk. Yours, mine, Lucas’. We’re looking at the worst-case scenario here, but I’m hoping it doesn’t get to it.”

The attempt at taking away some of the weight to the business at hand by drawing a smile is one I have perfected myself. He doesn’t fool me. His chuckle is a curtain of smoke, keeping the uncertainty and the sadness looming in his eyes at bay. It makes my stomach clench. Struggling, I search for something to say. Words able to cross the gap of a bridge we created since he took the crown, since he became a king, a person I no longer recognize. Slowly, before my eyes, he’s going back to the father I remember. I’d rather see him be a king.

“I don’t blame you,” I whisper, afraid to draw my eyes to him, looking down at my shaky hands instead. “You signed the coronation slip to protect me, and for that, I must thank you. I forgive you.” I hope someday my child will be able to say the words to me. Because I can now see myself signing the accord if it means keeping Lucas and Logan alive. If it means letting a legacy built by my ancestors live. “I’m sorry about the other day on the dance floor, and for believing what other people think of you. I’m truly sorry.”

I say the words, and I mean them. Maybe they’ll become one more truth I recognize someday. But meaning them doesn’t refer to feeling them. My heart still holds a small grudge against him. For the man he became, for what he forced me to be, even if he had little to no choice in the matter. I can’t help it. But I can say the words, hoping they stir away some of the hurt. Hoping they make me feel better.

They do neither of those things.

I can’t redeem him.

Or myself.

Before me, father becomes the king I know, the king I learned to fear. Pulling back his shoulders, raising his head, pasting a smirk on his face like he has no care in the world he says, “Kings and queens are never sorry, darling.” His early apology is wiped with a force that astounds me.

I inhale, sitting back down on the chair. If I continue standing, I fear I might fall. Father remains perched on the edge of the desk. He’s tall, taller than mother and me, and cuts an impressive figure with his black suit and medals glinting under the light of the chandelier. I’m not as terrified as I was before.

“How’s Lucas?” he asks, raising a hand to rub his chin, thoughtful.

The change of topic is not something I’m unused to. He works like this, getting the best out of conversations, cutting to the chase.

“He’s... he’s fine...” I have no idea what his purpose with this new twist is, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. “Why?”

He shrugs, hands falling to the desk, leaning back. “He’s intimidated by me, is my guess. So of course, we spend time together, but it doesn’t mean I share his deepest, darkest secrets.”

Of course not. But, being a king and having every guard and camera at his disposal, I’m sure he knows more than Lucas and I would like.

“No, certainly not,” I echo for lack of a better thing to say.

The dress I wear is tight, pressing against my chest and stomach, trailing for a few feet. Gold at the hems, green at the body. It’s beautiful but ostentatious, not for this occasion of merely speaking with father.

“What about you?”

I’m lucky I know how to keep emotions that might give me away from my voice. I blink at him, smirking. “What about me?”

“What do you think about Odin?”

This is what he wants to know. I almost exhale a sigh of relief. Logan is out of the equation in father’s mind. Safe.

I speak the words he wants me to say. “He’s... impressive, to say the least.”

He raises his eyebrows, chuckling slightly. “Impressive? He’s the youngest commanding general of both Lanese and Alemiss. We’re lucky he agreed to help our cause at all.” I remain silent. I know he’s not done speaking. “I’m sure Lucas told you he’s central.”

My heart sinks, and every atom of oxygen in the room is suddenly unable to enter my lungs. Is he the one father has thought to marry me to? Could it be? I steady my hands in my lap, swearing not to allow him to see any crack of defiance or disagreement.

He could’ve done much worse, I reason. Chosen a man who’s neither wealthy nor a

general of high ranking.

He could’ve chosen Logan.

I immediately hate myself for thinking it.

“Is he...” Words fail me, my voice threatening to crack. I try again. “Is he the one mom and you have thought for me? For the alliance?” I inhale again, but it’s a shallow breath, doing nothing to calm my nerves or nausea I feel at the pit of my stomach. “Is he the one I’ll marry?”

I almost close my eyes waiting for the final blow. Instead of an answer, Lennon laughs. It echoes across the chamber, bouncing against the walls. I try to follow along and muster a laugh of my own. I fail miserably. Does he not know the power a yes or a no could have?

“I didn’t say so,” he replies finally, eyes tracking my face. I’m not dumb not to know he didn’t answer my question. But the dodge of it is just as a viable answer. “Why? Is something else worrying you?”

I gulp. “No.”

A smile reaches his features, crinkling his eyes. “I’m glad you’re a good liar. It’s a skill which, as a monarch, you have to develop or be born with.” He sighs, rubbing a hand to his forehead. “What about Logan Saudade?”

I’d like to say I was ready for this. I knew someday, sooner or later, this conversation would have to happen. It’s not a surprise. I knew what was in store, but it doesn’t mean admitting the truth to father or to anyone else is easier because of my knowledge. Every mask I kept up disappears. I’m sure my face communicates sorrow like I don’t dare to.

“What about him?” He might not know all of it.

It's obvious he’d know some of it. The guards relay every information to him. How many birds flew by, the temperature, who I spend my time with. Who I kiss. But in my veins, a deep, seething rage spreads. I couldn’t even keep that piece of my private life to myself. Something so important was taken from me. Unveiled, stripped against my will. Something sacred was violated, snatched from me. Just for the mere fact I’m the next ruling queen.

“Alexandra, I already know what is happening. But I want to hear you say it. Because you know what comes next.” It’s not in a mean tone. In sharp contrast, it’s too soft, careful. Like he cares. But he can’t. It defies every image and recognition I have of him.

Bile rises in my throat, and I beg my tone to work on its own, for my brain to just spit the words and not to think what they actually mean or how much they hurt. “Whatever we have is nothing, father,” I assure him. The words burn down my throat like acid. “It’s fleeting. I know it.”

Do I?

Pushing himself off the edge of the desk, he paces behind me, making me more nervous, more nauseous. I could throw up in the carpet and no one would say anything, but I’d be accepting defeat before father, and as a queen, I can’t allow it. No trace of weakness should be seen in me. Which is why I’m glad Lennon is pacing behind me rather than seeing every emotion and sorrow flicker across my face.

I’ve trained since I was fourteen to say those words. Four years where Logan and I have known this was coming, but we didn’t know it’d happen so soon. Part of me thinks we even thought we’d be able to dodge the bullet, convince father to keep me unmarried. But it is an impossibility, a weak dream. The words sound wrong. They don’t belong coming from my lips.

“I knew this would happen, Alexandra, which is why I didn’t stop you from it. It’s fine to experience love in a life like this. It makes you forget, even if it’s for a little while. Your mother is my anchor, and I’m lucky we married with no boundaries, to keep no alliance.” His words come quick, fluid. He’s rehearsed them before.

Father and mother married to promote the ‘equality’ of social classes little after the decrees were placed. It seemed to work, pushing back the war for a year or two. In the end, the citizens’ unrest pushed through, and whatever thoughtful stunt Rodrick and father had pulled ended up failing miserably.

Behind me, he heaves a breath. The room’s atmosphere tilts, gleaming in the edge of a needle. “I tried, darling, I really did. But now, with times like these, we’re forced to make choices we wouldn’t take otherwise. I knew this life would be hard not only for me but for you, as well as I know there’s no going back now. Which is why your marriage, despite how much I hate it, will be arranged. To keep alliances, strength, when we need it in our weakness. Yours and Lucas’.” He stops pacing. I hold my breath. The next words come out in a rush, a balloon deflating. “I’m not selling you off.”

Apologetic tone is something I’m not used to hearing. I blink, keeping the tears away even if he can’t see my face. “It’s not your fault,” I whisper, even if part of me feels like it is. Because somehow, he played a role in all of this, how our futures turned out. I’m chained to a crown I don’t want because of him. But then again, wouldn’t the same apply to him and Rodrick?

He keeps on. “If the circumstances were different, I’d be glad for you to choose someone of your own liking to marry. But you’re a woman, and you need a man by you to produce the strong heir to the throne everyone expects. The heir we need to keep our power. And the war is pushing us to extremes as well.”

It’s hard not to roll my eyes at him. I can’t let him see how his confession makes me feel.

How I wish for all this mess to be different. I understand it, his deep concern. He means what he’s saying. It doesn’t make it right, of course, but more genuine, without harm.

Women need men. It is what mother said, it’s true. Remaining in power requires allies, company. But not the marrying kind. I could do fairly well as a queen without a king. It’s my birthright. But then, I need an heir sooner or later. Women need men.

Why can’t it be the other way around?

I knew I’d never get my way when it came to marriage. I knew it. I know it just as well as I identify the truth in his words. I feel rage and confusion, desperation and despair, bubbling up in me, but I let none of those feelings slide. I’ll mourn over my hopes and dreams later.

“I understand, father.”

I count his footsteps as he continues walking up and down, something to calm the nerves he must feel. “I don’t want you to suffer for a broken heart, Alexandra. Not close to the wedding— which I have no idea when it’ll be—and amid this all. It is better for you to cut ties with that boy now. It’ll hurt less.”

I skip over the implication, twisting the conversation away from a wound I thought would heal. From something I’m not ready to do yet, from someone I’m not ready to let go of. “Do you think I’ll learn to... appreciate whoever I... end up marrying?”

To my dismay, he traces his way back to the desk. Instead of sitting across from me, he taps my shoulder, signaling for me to stand up. I do so without much thought, my mental energy drained with the sweat breaking across my forehead. He knows too much.

And he’s right about a lot, too.

Taking my hand, he leads us to the small sofa in the corner of the room to the left of the door, sitting me down before he decides to do the same. Without breaking contact with my skin, he squeezes my hand once, the only reassurance I’ll get from him.

“I think there’s a chance you’ll end up... respecting each other. And if time’s right, maybe even loving each other.”

“A chance,” I echo, dropping my eyes to my lap. Whatever resolve I had before, whatever happiness I felt the last time I was with Logan is wiped away, cleansed by the steady river of father’s bluntness.

He shrugs, tipping his head to the side. “There’s a chance he’ll be jealous of you. You’re a queen born; he’ll be a king made. Made by you. Something like that makes men feel diminished.” His voice lowers to a whisper then, forcing me to look into his wild eyes.

“Which is why I’m stalling this and your mother as much as I can. And, when the time comes, I’ll make sure his heart is as kind as yours. Any man would be lucky to fall at your feet.”

I scoff, ignoring a smile and a spark of hope. None of those feelings are reflected in my eyes. “Odin Abernarthy wouldn’t be jealous of me. You said it yourself, he’s a general born and bred. I doubt he’d even agree to marry me.”

His eye twitches for a nanosecond. He almost winks. “I have never said he’s the chosen one, but you’re too keen on it. Something you’d like to tell me?”

Heat makes its way to my cheeks. I shrug, feigning disinterest. “He’s the only one high enough here for you to marry me to.” The only one worthy of my hand, I think. Except for Logan. Logan will never make it to the cut. “What about Lucas? Who will he marry?”

Every twist of the conversation is made by me, trying to keep the tide turning before the sea swallows me whole. Distracting father from my life, the choices I seem to be so keen on never making.

Like the master of this game that he is, every turn I make he approaches something more, something convenient. He rubs his hands between his knees, thinking. “The princess of Toyar. It’s a wise move, one less country with the intention of invading ours. Princess Chloesa.”

It’s a strategic move. A smart, shrewd plan. We are bordered by two countries and an empire. The ones who have never pledged their alliance to us by paper but have helped us stand through the flood. If they didn’t, their countries would fall like domino, too.

Convenience makes the strongest allies. With the threat of the brides boiling on our side, and Spilten threatening our eastern borders, we need something to help us sleep at night. Toyar’s allegiance.

It makes sense. If it weren’t for Spilten, the empire, either Lanin or Toyar would’ve already invaded our borders. We’re rich in gold and jewels. Our weather is perfect for crops and animals, providing for us. Why wouldn’t they? Lucas’ marriage to one of our borders takes away a threat before it even begins to be one.

“You never told me. He didn’t tell me anything, either.” I bow my head to hide some of the disappointment, but the bitterness is clear in my voice.

He nods. “If I did, mother would want me to pressure you into engaging too. I’d rather not.” I can only breathe an air of relief. “Don’t worry, your brother’s fine. He agreed with this. You’ll find Chloesa isn’t entirely horrible looking.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not thinking with his head, dad.”

A deep chuckle rumbles off his chest. I smile. “Believe me, I know. But this marriage is a convenience for us all. As soon as I told him if he accepted the betrothal he’d be stalling your wedding, he said yes.”

Oh.

My chest swells, and I try and keep a grin concealed in my features. It sounds just like Lucas. My brother, my protector, my shield. Instead, I force my tone to sound distant.

“Has he made the proposal yet?”

“He will. Next week. But you don’t have to be on it. Neither will I. Your mother and he will travel for it. I can’t leave the country with this... issue.” I nod.

Mother and Lucas are able to travel out of our capital, Denilia, or even the country, while dad and I aren’t. Protection issues, dad says. He’s the king, and I’m the queen-to-be. Still, I wish I could be there to see Lucas propose. Show him my support in hopes he shows me his when my time comes to marry.

Because it will come. Whether I want it or not.

“You understand what I told you, don’t you?”

Father’s voice takes me away from my thoughts of the future I dread. “Huh?”

“You have to be ready to take power any time now.” The words have the power to freeze my blood in my veins. I can only stare at father, eyes wide and skin stinging. I might hyperventilate if it wasn’t for his hand resting on my knee. Mymouth becomes dry, like sandpaper, and I try to swallow.

I’m shaking. It’s all I really know, other than dad’s eyes on me. “I don’t—I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

His hand goes from my knee to my chin, tipping it back so my eyes reach his. I wince at the touch, at his swirling image, distorted by the tears. Shame and pride burn within me, but fear and regret overpower everything else I might feel. “You’re right, Alexandra. You are never really ready to take on power like this. But you have to know it’ll fall on you someday.”

I lick my lips. “I know.”

Dropping my chin, he crosses his arms over his chest, remaining silent. I appreciate the gesture, using the brief seconds to gather myself.

Those words had the power I knew they would. Even stronger. I’m afraid of something I’ve been born to do. Something drilled to my head since I was born. I doubt I’ll ever stop being frightened. I don’t know what the crown can do to you.

What it will do to me.

“You’ll be a good queen, Alexandra.” The sentence is barely a whisper, a caress, but the words do what they’re meant to, placating some of the worry blossoming in my chest.

“I know.”

Lennon sighs, gaze falling from me to the space of the couch in between us. I can almost see his brain working, processing what he’s about to say next. Turn it to something with purpose, crafting each word and each pause.

“You know, I had a sister,” he says finally, eyes never leaving the patterns on the archaic couch.

I pull my lips up in a smile. “Not had, have. Aunt Heaven is still alive.” I feel dumb pointing it out, but I know it’s not all he meant. There’s more.

I don’t want to find out.

He shakes his head, shoulders dropping. My heart beats steadily in my rib cage, but my lungs struggle to breathe. “Not her. My older sister, Joanna.”

I can only limit myself to stare at father. I have never heard the name before. I don’t know what it means to him. What it should mean to me. But it still makes my heart ache. A name wiped from every history book I’ve ever read.

“And?” I prompt. He needs to know I’m still there, waiting for him to continue. He is strong, battling with the painful memory etched in his mind. His shoulders remain low, but his eyes harden, the air in the room warming up.

“She was three years older than me. Looked just like your grandmother, Lorena.” This is a piece of information I had no idea even existed. The realization of it, knowing there’s a person, an aunt I never met, doesn’t shake the ground beneath me like I thought it would. But the pain on father is there, showing itself from the crack of his voice. I will myself not to feel it, but just like water, it soaks me up. It engulfs us both into the power of contained, silent pain. “She died two years before father did. You can’t remember, you were only two.”

It’s like opening a book and not knowing what will happen. I yearn for him, my hands aching to pull him close and provide some comfort. I know better. He’s a king, and kings don’t need support or comfort. They just need to be heard.

“How?” My voice is a whisper, scared of breaking the silence settled around us like a cocoon.

“She was killed by the rebels... as a threat.” It takes him a while to admit it, his eyes never daring to find mine. Tension rolls off him like waves, and his voice lingers on an emotion

I can’t pinpoint. “She’s the reason why Rodrick almost dropped the decree.”

To protect Lennon. And it only got Rodrick killed.

The realization and the words die in my throat. I blink away, chasing the tears. So many things I didn’t know about. Everything is changing around me, as if no matter how much I learn, how many mysteries I unveil, there’s always more being kept from me. Maybe I won’t ever find out the whole truth.

Frustration and desperation claw at my insides, twisting my nerves and making my stomach churn. If he lost two people against the war, confronting the council, how many will I lose?

The brides got to the heiress to the throne, the council got to the king. Everyone was just a pawn, and both were innocent. Whatever hope or idea I had of overruling the council is gone, extinguished like a fire. I can’t do it and risk Lucas.

I can’t do it and live.

Sorrow doesn’t come this time. Not for someone I didn’t know. I wish I could feel something, but dad, always still and now broken before my eyes, is feeling enough for the both of us.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can seem to say. I know whatever ache or rage he’s feeling won’t be diminished by those foolish words, but I can’t keep quiet.

The look in his eyes when he straightens himself enough to look at me is far beyond anything I’ve seen or heard of him. All emotion, even disdain, is wiped from his features.

When he’s in his role as king, there’s disinterest, disdain and blunt arrogance in his face. But now there’s nothing, like a void took his heart and he can’t feel anymore. He seems young again, the wrinkles erased from his bronzed skin. He’s back to the age he was when his older sister was taken away from him.

“The crown has a price on all of us,” he murmurs. “Sometimes we don’t even know we’ve paid it.”

“You never wanted any of this,” I mumble, if only to hear the words aloud. They seem fake, so far away, something I can’t fully rely on. “The decree or the crown... the war.” It feels like admitting defeat, even if it is nothing but the truth. “You did what you had to do.”

Barely, he nods, eyes sweeping from me to the books lining the walls on the opposite side of the room. He wipes at his chin, cleans at the edges of his mouth, frustration leaking through his once-even movements. “I never had a choice.” His hands lower to work in patterns over his pants, drawing circles to distract himself from whatever it is he’s thinking about. “When you were born, Rodrick was so happy. I was too. Of course, back then we didn’t know you were the first heir, that you’d be queen one day. Joanna was still alive. And then, when you were two and she died, it’s when I realized the target I had put on your back. When father died, and you were five, I knew I’d have to sign the damn accord if I wanted to keep you and Lucas alive.”

I swallow. The words cut my throat like sharp razors. I repeat them, if only to listen to my voice, make sure this isn’t a dream of mine. “You did the right thing.”

He’s not listening to me. “Bliss knew what she was getting into when we got married. She was the only one who didn’t see the power I held as a prince; she just saw me. I was twenty when the decrees were placed. She was fifteen. We were young then. We couldn’t care less about the court as long as father had the crown. But I hated it. The thing happening in the future, a crown we all despised would fall on my sister.” He laughs sadly, the echo of a future that never came to be. A worse nightmare took its place. “But this is the weight it has on us all. It will always be.”

There’s nothing I’ve felt more than the truth behind his words. It makes it easier, this weight and ache I always seem to be carrying around. He felt the same way once upon a time. I am not alone.

Taking a deep breath, I challenge myself to lean over to him. I half expect him to push me away. He’d rather not show affection this way. He shows his love with the things he does and the things he says. Tough love. But sometimes we all need an anchor to keep our heads above the water. Logan’s mine, and at this moment, I’m father’s.

I place a hand on his shoulder, taunting his reaction. Shifting in his seat, he pulls himself straight, looping his arm over my shoulders, drawing me in until I lay my head on his chest.

I refuse to breathe for a few seconds. There’s never been a day before where he’s weak and I’m strong. It has always been the other way around. But I see it now, the way the crown broke him, took everything he loved and believed in, everyone he’d kill for, and twisted it.

Power is a horrible thing, especially when you despise it.

He’s heavy and for the first time in my life, he’s allowing me to carry him. The thought is frightening.

If he and I can’t be strong, what will be of us?

The next words come out like silence. Nothing moves, no other sound but his raspy voice. There’s pain in his tone, but also longing. He’s going back in time to avoid whatever is in front of us.

“I remember when you were one. Your first word was Bliss. Your mother’s name. And the time when you were eight and you fell down the stairs chasing Lucas. You chipped your chin.” His voice is a whisper meant just for me. His hand on my arm draws small circles while his chin moves above my head as he speaks.

I feel like I could be drowning.

For all I know, I might be.

“Lucas was crying by the time we reached the infirmary,” I say. The image comes quickly to my mind, like I never forgot it, like I did so yesterday. “I was holding back my tears because I didn’t want him to think it hurt. When you and mom came for us later you laughed at Lucas for crying and at me for falling.”

Lucas feared the blood coming from my wound, and even if he was six, he acted like an adult when he spoke to the nurse. I was there the whole day, chatting with her while she gave us lollipops, waiting for dad to get there.

We didn’t know what was in store for us, what our future held. I want to go back, hold to that innocence a little longer. The infantile idea the world is at my feet waiting for me to take it. I want to go back to late nights and nightmares about monsters under my bed. I would trade anything to be just a child for just one more day.

His grip on me becomes tighter. I don’t want him to let go. “When you were thirteen in your first meeting, how you were so scared to see everyone there knew about you.”

I remember the day clearly. I didn’t think anyone there would know who I was, but when

I walked down the crowd beside dad, they bowed again. Not for him, but for me. Back then I understood little of what it meant, but it was enough. Those people would become my subjects one day, and that day is yet to come.

I was petrified of the way they looked on, stoic, almost like statues, while dad spoke and addressed us all. I wasn’t used to being the center of the attention or the procedures of the meeting, but for some reason, they acted like they belonged. I stood there, still and afraid to move, till the meeting was over.

“I was scared,” I mutter, closing my eyes in the warmth of his embrace.

“And you aren’t now?”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. Otherwise, tears would come out spilling like a river. It’s a bitter taste, remembering everything years after it happened, and learning you took all that innocence for granted.

I’m not scared when he’s with me.

What will happen when he’s gone?

He takes my lack of response as an answer. “No matter what the crown did to me or to your mother, I’m glad I took the chance. I’m glad I got to meet you. You brought me happiness when I couldn’t go on.”

One thought appears in my mind, a dark cloud on a sunny day, and I can’t push it away.

Was I worth it?

“What do you do when it all gets too much?” I ask. God knows I need the answer more now than ever.

He doesn’t even think about it when he says, “You keep pushing on.”

______

hiii! new chapter! this is an insightful chapter to set the mood for what's to come. hope you like it as much as i do. what do you think of the world / lennon as of now? let me know that / if you'd like to be tagged.

thank you for reading

-goldenmel

You keep pushing on.

The words echo in my mind, still and serene, like the water of a fountain on a peaceful day. Today isn’t one of those days. Innocence I took for granted, things I never really acknowledged before contrast with the things I know and feel now. I want to scream and go back to bed, sleep and never wake up, cry and laugh at the

irony of it all. I do none of those things.

Instead, I sit while Corina does my hair, slick and falling down my shoulders in waves, the only measure of protection I have left. Liliana does my lashes, pointing them to the roof, making me look awake when I want to be dead. Behind me, Abigail shuffles with my dress, zipping it up.

I go through the motions, looking at myself in the mirror. I’m not brave enough to look away. Blue eyes stare right back. The maids can cover the under eyes, the pain, but my eyes show it still.

Even the room smells foul, decaying. Just the way I feel. Like it has any way of knowing what’s going on. What happened while I was asleep. What will happen, if not today, tomorrow.

The windows, usually draped with black curtains to stop the light from coming in, are now open, warm air bursting through. It does little to quench my uneasiness, and even less to make me remotely happy. Everything around me keeps moving, the earth keeps rotating and the sun keeps peeking out. But it seems impossible for me to respond in kind. Everything has changed.

The aroma of the garden below filtering through the window reminds me of when I was little. Lucas and I loved to run through the gardens, not a care in the world. Guards would watch over us, of course, and maids were beside us every day, but for some reason, I felt like there, in the wild and with him, I could be everything I wanted. A bird, the sun, a star. I could run and never look back. I was untouchable. Not anymore.

Like a fire I can’t put out, a memory replaying on repeat, a special day comes into mind, one I can’t push away. Corina still works with my hair, making sure it’s shiny enough. Abigail is satisfied with my dress and Liliana stands back admiring her handiwork, giving me some space to breathe.

It was autumn. The leaves fell from the trees in every shade of red, brown, orange, and yellow. The wind was chilly, and I wore a red, sleeveless dress. Dad took off his thick coat, wrapping it around my shaking shoulders as we made our way back to my rooms from a late-night court gathering.

“How can you be so boring, dad?” I whined. “You just stand there and give orders and people follow them without laughing. Maybe the next gathering can be in these gardens.” My voice, small as a mouse’s, echoed through the deserted archways of the garden.

I was ten at the time. Young and naïve.

Innocent.

He smiled down at me, taking my hand in his. His hand was warm as it enveloped mine, strong but careful. “It’s not boring, it’s fun. Have you seen the way Duncan dresses up? He has a tragic style.”

The wind picked up, and I braced my arms around myself, my hair floating behind me. It required me to tip my head back to stare at his eyes. “You care for him, right? He’s your best friend?”

Nodding, he bent down. The muscles in my neck welcomed his effort. “He is. Now, now, you’re a little bit curious, aren’t you?”

The only memory where he wasn’t a king. He was father, the man who would protect me from anything, with whom I was safe no matter what. Looking back, it stood in sharp comparison from what I now know. The memory shatters the pain in me, if only dully, giving way to regret and bone-wrenching tiredness. My muscles ache, my throat is sore, and my body feels numb. My body is no longer my own.

“Is he like Greece is for me?”

Greece and I have been living in the castle since I can remember. She was there for me when Lucas was too young to go outside and play. With two years of advantage over me, she learned how to swim before I did, teaching me how when I was six. We became friends since then. She is still here with me, even if she’s far away.

“Yes, just like her. And just like Logan, too.”

I remember smiling. The thought entertained me. It made me feel happy. Father had someone to look out for him when I wasn’t there. “Logan and Greece are my friends, yes.”

I swung my arm around while walking, his hand on mine repeating the movement, a slow pendulum. “But they’d never go through boring meetings for me.”

“Duncan is a keeper, then,” he whispered, leaning down to pick me up. I screamed once I was in his arms, giggling like only children can. Father’s face barely twitched with the effort. “Was it really so boring?”

I nodded my head, touching the tip of his nose. “They respect you.”

Raising an eyebrow, me still in his arms, he chuckled. “They respect you as well, sweetheart.”

I crossed my arms, shaking my head stubbornly. “Not true. The other day I was with Mrs. Glism and the girl beside me pulled my hair. Told me I was dumb because I got a date wrong.” I pouted, closing my hands in tight fists.

I remember it, too. When I was younger, I used to take classes. History, geography, math, philosophy. And I didn’t do so alone. Sons and daughters of nobles joined, too. There was this one girl, Venice, who was always mean to me, no matter what I did. Her long, vibrant, red hair stands out in my mind, a beacon of light. I felt sad whenever she said something bad about me or pointed out how I was wrong. Now, I couldn’t care less, but ten-year-old me felt like it was the end of the world.

The confession earned me a grin from Lennon. “Is that so?” I nodded. “Well, she’s jealous. That must be it.”

“Jealous?” I asked. “She knows every date and I don’t. Why would she be jealous?”

His green eyes found mine as we reached the hallway to my room. “She won’t be a queen one day. You will. Everyone will bow before you, including her. And there’ll be nothing you will fear, no one will hurt you.”

Back then, the thought made me gleam. Happy, jolly. I would be a queen. Pretty jewels and gowns, power. Money. I was so young.

And he was wrong. Now, eight years later, I fear being alone. And I have just been hurt.

“Is it too tight, Your Highness?” Corina asks, strapping a golden necklace around my neck. I shake my head. I don’t trust my voice yet.

I woke up this morning after a nightmare. In the dream, I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t ask for help. I was stuck at the bottom of the fountain, water finding its way to my lungs. In the bottom of it, when it became clear I’d just drown, that no one would come and rescue me, I saw a crown. Dad’s crown. Golden and imposing, heavy and expensive, sinking steadily, just like me.

Around me, something made the water murky and dark, tasting metal as it went down my patchy throat.

Blood.

And next to me, when gravity did its thing and pulled me down, was Dylan, the child I saved. My younger Lucas keeping him company. I’d recognize him anywhere. Same wild, green eyes, same golden skin. Except this time, his lips were blue, eyes gone to the back of his skull. He was gone, and so was Dylan. I’d be gone soon, too.

I woke up crying.

The pain I felt from the impossible, weird dream, is nothing compared to the jawing pain I feel now. If I could, I’d go back to it and never come back. I’d rather be dead, drowned, than being alone. But it’s not the way this works.

I am told Lucas came back last night from his proposal with mom. I haven’t seen him, but I wish they would’ve stayed behind a little longer. Maybe then mother would still be alive.

Maybe.

It’s weird, this feeling I had this morning before anyone even told me the news. I felt breathless for a second, like something had pulled away all the air from the room and I was dying. Then a sharp tug at my chest, as if something was taken from me. Maybe it was. Faster than it left, the air came back, and I could breathe. But something was amiss.

My bones knew. I knew it too.

I haven’t seen them, either. Part of me is just stretching the time, pulling it back. I’m not ready. I’d rather not see them. But I must.

I could cry, but I won’t allow myself to. Not now, not when everyone’s watching.

You keep pushing on.

I do, once the maids are done.

The hallways blur past me. I’d be lying if I said I feel something. I don’t. I can only hear the air in my ears, feel myself breathe, the weight of my legs under me, the echo of my footsteps on the polished marble floor. Nothing else. I feel numb.

Maids and guards bustle around the castle. Everything is chaos. People scream at one another across the chambers, cleaning everything left to prepare for what’s next. I don’t have a mind for details now. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Guards line each chamber, standing tall and heroic, their silver attires replaced by black ones, matching my dress. They’re in mourning, too.

My brain has the hallways leading to my parents’ chambers committed to memory. It’s no struggle to find them. Still, I feel my legs slowing down without my consent. Growing heavy and numb. I dreaded this moment for who knows how long, and now it’s here. I can’t bring myself to feel anything.

I want to cry. It’d mean something of this got to me. But I do exactly the opposite, keeping my face neutral. My fingers don’t even shake. I’m past all of it. Fear isn’t clawing at me just yet, but it will. Maybe not today or tomorrow. Perhaps the day of the coronation.

Because the chaos before a coronation is always death or blood. I understand now. No one takes the crown because they want to. Abdication, murder, death. The crown could basically swim in an ocean of blood.

The door to their chambers is open, guards and maids hurrying in and out. When I approach, a dead silence sets in. Eyes look past me, through me, but I refuse to give them anything, let them see any crack.

And just like father said they would, they bow. They bow before me.

Before their queen.

I step through the threshold, my high heels the only sound other than ragged breathings all around the room. The air seems to have become thick, and the moment stretches on before me. I can’t escape it. Time might as well have slowed down.

“Your Majesty,” a maid mumbles, tumbling over her feet to bow, low and steady, never dropping my gaze. She regards me with new eyes. Wide, unassuming. Afraid. She knows things are changing as she’s a mere witness. Just like I am.

I can only nod at her. “Are they still here?” My voice comes out loud, strong. Not how I feel at all.

She blinks at me for a moment as she straightens. “Yes. General Abernarthy made us wait till you were ready for the farewell. The people in charge of the bodies are waiting outside.”

Odin saw my parents before I had the chance. Ironic, all of it. “Thank you.” Without another glance her way I pass through the receiving chamber, bows and ducking chins following me wherever I go.

I stand before the tall, oak doors. Two guards wait for me to command them to open them. I can’t.

How did this happen so soon?

I feel the need to turn back. The air is wrong, my body is numb. This could be a dream.

All I want is to wake up. But I have to push myself through it, if only to see them one last time.

Will I end up like them, too?

The news came this morning. One of father’s advisors burst through my chamber without so much as a bow. He said the cursed words like they meant nothing to him. Maybe they didn’t. But they changed the world for me.

“Let her through.”

I hear the voice, the command, but I don’t do anything. I can’t turn. I want to stay right here forever, balanced between the girl I am and the queen I’ll have to become once all of this is over. I don’t want to let go off my innocence.

But the choice was taken from me.

The guards move at Odin’s command, taking the steel doorknobs and twisting them. I could swear I hear how the engines turn, anything to ignore my heartbeat picking up.

Doors open. My mind freezes, and I close my eyes. I have to do this.

Doesn’t mean I want to.

Odin’s hand finds its way to my lower back, lightly pushing me inside. I know I don’t have to pretend being strong with him. I can cry and not hide. But tears still refuse to come.

The air inside smells sour, bitter. Smells like death.

I half expect Lucas to be there. I don’t know if I can go through the motions with him there without crumbling. As his older sister, I’d have to push my feelings aside and be a comfort for him. I’m not strong enough to do that now. I’ll never be. I won’t be able to look into his eyes and play it off like everything will be fine. Because it won’t be. He lost his parents, and he’ll lose his sister soon after, in a way.

Instead of Lucas, the room is empty. Still. A silent, unforgiving mercy. Odin steps through with me. Quietly, I thank him for it. I don’t want to feel grief now with so many eyes over me. If I were here alone, I’d lose myself. I know. I’m not strong enough to keep myself together. But his hand on my back and his breathing next to my ear are enough reminders I can’t let loose the anger and pain I feel growing steadily inside of me. Not yet, anyway.

He doesn’t say anything. I don’t, either. The room is the only thing catching my attention.

The curtains are drawn shut, but a sunray still finds its way through, falling across the carpeted floor. Dust gleams in the light, the room keeps still. I’m afraid to move. I

don’t want to break their peace. All I can think of is how I wasn’t ready, how I need more time.

I do everything to focus my attention on anything but the bed. I trail my gaze across the gold carpet, eyeing the ceiling with the eccentric chandelier. I stare at the paintings hanging behind and above the bed or the bookshelves lining the left wall. The flowers, alive and colorful, in the bedside tables. Anything but them. I can’t summon enough courage to.

Still, silently, I say, “I can’t do it.”

He listens, his hand never leaving my back, keeping me steady. Otherwise, I might go down. Down an abyss I won’t be able to climb back from, a gaping hole swallowing me whole. “No one’s here. It’s fine.”

I know what he means. I thank him for it. But it does nothing to ease the weight placed over my chest or the sudden dread making its way through my nervous system.

Like a toddler, I take a small step, breathing in, steadying myself. My eyes focus on my pale hands. I’m aware of how my skull pulses, and the foul, acrid smell coming from the bodies. But I do not mind.

Another step and the ground shifts beneath my feet. My vision blurs like I’ve just been hit. I feel the tears coming, but I don’t let them drop. I have to be strong. If I can’t, then a mask will do.

I steady my breathing, taking three more steps. The room is cold, unforgiving, like the vision before me.

Lennon and mother are lying down, face up. Their features are the same as I remember.

Still, stoic, calm. Monarchs even after their last breath. Mom’s hair is strewn across her face and fanning the pillow under her head. Father’s hands rest on his stomach, while mother’s hand reaches for father’s, twisting her arm around his.

Even now, like this, it’s clear the love they had for each other. If I didn’t know better, I’d say their love was strengthened by the crown. It pushed weights they never thought they’d have to carry down their shoulders, but they heaved them up, one alongside the other.

They’re a reminder love exists, even in places like this. Even when I can’t think straight.

It’s hard seeing them like this. Both used to frighten me to the core. Their high and straight poses, the disdain dripping from their words, the vicious glares they’d throw my way whenever I did something they didn’t agree on.

Odin’s hand lets go off me when my knees touch the bed frame. I notice the lack of heat and balance Odin provided me instantly, and for a few seconds, I feel dizzy, like I could pass out.

I stare, drinking in the image before me, but I can’t move. If I do, I’ll fall. I just stand there, at their feet, feeling like my lungs just gave out. Air wheezes in and out of them at a rapid speed, and I’m aware of how my hand shakes when I stretch it to hold onto the mattress.

Whoever did this, whoever took them away from me, will pay. I’ll watch as they die. And I won’t have mercy. Just like father didn’t. Like they didn’t.

I turn my head to Odin, praying the image won’t stay behind my eyelids when this is over. If it’ll ever be. “How?” The whisper ripples across the room. I half expect mom to sit up, smile at me and tell me this was all a joke. But she won’t. It isn’t. This is real life, the life I wanted to run away from so badly.

How did they die? How did I not know? How did he not know? How can people be so cruel?

I only get one answer to the thousands of questions that swim through my brain.

“Air syringe to the carotid.” His tone is firm, steady, but there’s darkness in his green eyes. Shame. Pity, maybe. Sorrow. His gaze flickers to the bed table. A syringe. Changed whatever path Alemiss will follow. Whatever life I had left.

Air.

Something as simple, as vulnerable and uninteresting as air took two people from me. Two of the strongest, most unwavering people I’ve ever met.

Air took my parents away.

“Didn’t they—” My voice breaks. I tilt my head back, swallow the knot in my throat and try again blinking up at the ceiling. “Did they feel it?”

They could’ve woken up. Screamed for the guards outside the door.

But how did the person responsible enter here in the first place?

Unless the guards were not loyal to my parents anymore. Unless the council had something to do with this.

And they did. Just like Rodrick, the odds are they committed regicide again. I wonder if I’m next. A sick, twisted part of me hopes I am. It’d save me from so much pain.

Just like that, every thought of sorrow, pain, drains my body, revenge and red fury taking their place. I will have revenge. Maybe I can’t watch the people behind this die, but I will watch them struggle. And if they take me down, so be it. I have to do something to avenge my father, to get the balance even. Something to stop feeling so alone.

Odin’s voice pierces the air. “They were drunk when they got here, according to the doctors. I wouldn’t think they felt anything if it was done once both were asleep.”

Did Rodrick have a painless death, too? Was it even painless? How would I know?

What now?

I feel dumb and out of place standing there in the middle of the room. My embroidered black dress makes it difficult for me to ignore every time my rib cage swells to take in a breath. It’s a reminder I’m alive and they’re not. They left me alone.

The little ten-year-old girl scared at a mean girl is probably laughing now. I wanted to be queen, wanted everyone to bow, to love me. And as long as father remained beside me, I’d be safe, no one would harm me. Now I am queen, and even if everyone bows, the bodies before me are firm reminders all of it is just a charade. I’m as disposable as the soldiers in the field or the garbage outside the palace. The only people left who love me are Lucas and Logan. One of them is in pain now, I’m sure, and the other one won’t matter anymore as soon as I sell myself off the market to fulfill the council’s twisted agenda. I no longer have father, and I’m no longer safe.

It takes all my strength to move aside, the silk sheets a whisper under my fingertips, to reach my father’s side of the bed. I do this without looking back. If Odin is staring, let him stare. Let him see what this war, the war he is fighting, has done to us all.

I raise my hand, my heartbeat still prolonging to my skull, touching Lennon’s cheek. I’m scared of this all just turning to ash, gone away like a memory, the moment I do. Part of me hopes with the touch I’ll finally be able to wake up from this nightmare. I close my eyes, but when I open them again, my dad’s eyes are still staring at the ceiling, calm and collected.

The touch is soft but cold underneath my fingertips. Colder than my hands, now clammy with sweat. I can feel the stubble and his wrinkles, things I never noticed before. I could’ve touched his face, told him how much he meant to me, that night at the dance. Instead, I argued over something that didn’t matter compared to his life, being petty and childish over something I didn’t fully understand.

When did this all come to be? When he was born? When Rodrick was killed? Which step led to this path of misery and fear, revenge and sickness? Was it when the food started to be scarce? When the rebellion sprouted up? Or even the night at the dance. Maybe I brought this doom upon him myself, and I didn’t know.

Lines of age go down his neck, appear on his forehead, even after he’s dead. The crown took its toll on us all, in him more than any. Even now, relaxed, away, he holds still. A king born and bred, prepared. I will never get to see another trace of the father behind the mask again.

He didn’t deserve this fate. I should know by now life is unfair, but not only to me.

Everyone around me, around the crown, ends up gone or hurt, ill or killed, and there’s no way around it.

The crown is a curse on us all.

Is this the sad, lethal fate we all share, no matter how hard we try to make it right?

Relinquish of power.

Was this what the seer meant? Was this death what she saw? Fury flashes across my vision, red and hot. If she would’ve told me I would’ve been able to stop it.

I can’t help but laugh bitterly at myself. Even as the thought crosses my mind, I know it’s not true. The council has its ways, killing everyone who steps out of the line.

And I’ve done just that. So why leave me alive?

Why didn’t they take me? I want to scream. You could’ve taken me instead!

Dylan.

I saved one life to get rid of the other.

The selfish voice in my head thinks it wasn’t worth it. The logical part of me agrees.

I immediately hate myself for thinking about it.

But it’s the truth, the voice in my head says. It’s your fault they’re dead. If you had kept your tantrum to yourself, they’d be alive. Dylan is no one to you. Thanks to him you’ve lost your family.

A shameful deal with the devil.

Carefully, afraid of disturbing his peaceful face, I trace the lines edged on his face.

Wrinkles, freckles, eyebrows, chin, jaw, ears. I taste salt on my lips, my knees threaten to give under me, but I hold on. I must.

“You know,” I begin, my voice strangled, hoarse. I couldn’t care less. “I rarely got to see him for who he was. Before all of this. Not the king of Alemiss, but my father. The man they took away from me. I thought—I thought saving the kid was a good choice. Hell, I even thought I’d gotten away with it. But I haven’t. I didn’t. They’re always watching. He’s dead because of me.”

I can hear him clear his throat, grasping for something to say. No matter what he tries, it won’t be enough. Some wounds will never heal.

Finally, he says, “It wasn’t your fault, Alexandra. None of this is.”

Turning around, I place a smile on my face. I know it won’t reach my eyes. Maybe it never will. “I want to believe that too,” I admit. “So badly.” But I don’t.

He doesn’t have a reply for me, neither do I expect him to. Instead, I take my time walking to the other side of the bed, drawing closer to mother.

She was younger than father, her face still jovial and soft. Untouched. She concealed her scars well. Everything she knew, whatever she had seen, it all has died with her, and before, when she was alive, she knew how to hide it in plain sight.

I don’t. I’d wager my sadness is visible through my features. I don’t have anyone to keep whole for. Odin wouldn’t talk even if I threw myself over dad begging for him not to leave me. I can cry.

I’m safe here. And I intend on taking the advantage. Once I’m out that door, the truth will be palpable, aloud. I’ll be the queen in the eyes of the guards and the maids. I refuse to cry then.

Her brown hair feels slick under my fingertips, raining down my palm like sand. So beautiful. She was beautiful, too. With her sharp eyes, pointy nose and bird-like features, she was breathtaking among the court. Once or twice men would come to her at dances, trying to get a few minutes with the beautiful queen. Mother would decline. Even then, her love for father never showed any less.

Everyone says I look like her. I don’t see it myself. She is perfection and grace, strength and power. Was.

Just like father, she’s gone, too.

I kneel before her, grasping her limp hand in mine. The foul smell around us from their decomposing bodies barely registers in my brain. I’m saying goodbye.

Odin’s eyes burn at my back. I don’t care.

“I’m so sorry, mom.” Tears go down my face, shameful and wet, reminding me I’m alive, that this is happening. I’m alone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to keep you safe.” I draw her hand to my chapped lips, kissing her knuckles. I never got to say I love you. I swallow. “Thank you for everything, Bliss.”

The silence sets in the room, heavy and unforgiving. I stay that way, kneeled, for who knows how long. Odin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push. I hear him sniffling behind me, a faint sound. I admire mom, her beauty, her grace.

Part of me died today, too.

“I love you, mom.”

I can almost hear it whispered back to me. Almost. I know she’s not listening. The words I treasure so much fall around me, covering me in a cold embrace.

Nodding to myself I stand up, my dress shifting against the carpet. “I love you, Lennon,” I whisper. I know Odin will hear me. I don’t mind. Hope that father, wherever he is, is listening to me is sprout by the thought. If Odin, so far away from me, from this, can listen, then so can father. “I really do.”

I commit the image to memory one last time. Mother’s hand on dad’s arm, his green eyes, her silky hair. Their beauty. The life taken away from them, from me, way too soon.

Is this what father felt like when he said bye to Rodrick? How did he die? Will my children be in the same position?

The air I exhale feels heavy, unnatural, once it leaves my lungs. I turn around, facing Odin. Furrowed brows and kind eyes track my movements. “You can have more time here,” he says, shifting his weight.

I muster the strength to shake my head. “I had enough. I want to remember them how they were. Alive.” I’m scared of how my voice sounds. Detached, away, unfeeling. Numb. “Did Lucas come here before me?”

He nods. “This morning. It took me a while to find someone brave enough to... carry the knowledge to you.” Part of me wishes I could’ve heard the news from him. By the way his shoulders tense and his jaw works, I can tell he debated on the option himself.

I take a few steps forward, my hands drawing behind my back. I’m bracing for what’s to come. The thing I have no idea if I’ll be able to handle. “Do they know? The council?”

Saying the words is just pretend. Of course they’d know. They’re the ones who caused it. Still, drunk in pain, I know I had a slip-up with Odin. He doesn’t know the dangers of the council, the price we all pay. I try to conceal my screw-up, playing innocent.

“Everyone in the castle knows. A flag was placed outside, so the capital knows, at least. Not how, just what happened. They’re waiting for an official speech.”

I can only chuckle. “A speech from their new queen, you mean.” Pain flashes in his eyes. “Yes.”

With every step closer to him I feel like I’m letting the girl I was before die. I have new responsibilities, new duties. And new people will follow me along the way. I am alone.

But if I’m sure of one thing is Odin has proved himself to me. I will do whatever it takes to keep him beside me as I rule. In a court full of tricks and lies, he’s the only one besides Lucas and Logan in whom I can rely on. Just like Logan, I’ll keep him close.

“Thank you.” The same words I spoke days ago, now with a different context. Then, he’d helped me get into a council meeting. Now, he made sure I saw the last remains of my parents. “Thank you for giving me the time.” I hope he understands what my eyes try to say.

Thank you for holding me up when I could’ve fallen.

He bows his head. “My pleasure, Alexandra.”

Not Your Royal Highness, not Your Majesty. Just my name. The girl I was, the girl who died.

“What now?” I sound lost, like a deer in front of a car. Fear consumes me with scalding flames. I don’t know what’s next. But I don’t have to. Everyone will have to fill me in either way.

His green eyes find mine across the meters separating us. His tone never wavers, never does he let go off the stare. It’s almost as though he’s proud of what he says.

“You’re in power now.”

_______

hi! i dont know, but i really enjoyed writing this chapter back in the day. let me know what you think/ if you'd like to be tagged.

thank you for reading.

profuse greetings, mel.

“If we make the choice, do you think our neighbor countries will support it? We can’t make more enemies than the ones we already have, and with Spilten growing every day we can’t risk any chances.”

The council’s murmurs rise again as the man, Lord Denly, points out our weaknesses. I understand the whole point of the urgent council meeting. I know I’m not welcomed here. But I don’t have to be welcomed to be the queen.

They don’t want a queen on the power when the decree won’t be dropped. For obvious reasons, they’re hesitant of me. If father was their puppet, I intend to make it a bit harder for them to control me.

The room is spacious, decorated sparsely with paintings of previous rulers with dull faces but similar features. Green or brown eyes. I’m the only one who doesn’t follow the trend.

An antique oak table where we sit, the chandelier above our heads bigger than the fireplace at our backs. Twelve council members lean down, make some notes, listening. I only drift away.

Odin, Lucas and I are the only ones intruding the spectacle. The council is trying to change the line of succession. They think people will agree. They won’t. Even if they did, Lucas is younger than me and would need a regent beside him to rule. We have no one prepared enough to do the job. Even if he’s about to marry, he doesn’t have any heirs, meaning he’s less probable of obtaining the common folk’s understanding. He doesn’t want the power.

I won’t let this curse fall on him, too.

A woman to my left stands up. With strawberry blonde hair, gorgeous features, brown doe eyes and taller than me, she looks like a doll rather than a politician. “If you’re trying to alter the line of succession in hopes the commoners will agree, Denly, you’re wrong. The line of succession is there for a reason.”

Odin sits at my right, Lucas at my left. A strategist and the next in line for the throne flank my sides. I’m glad they do. Otherwise, I might just get up and leave, tired of listening to this nonsense.

Lord Denly bows his head at her in a show of respect. He has a beard. Cunning, blue eyes inspect every false move you make in a face suitable enough for nightmares. “We know Alexandra tends to... lean to the side against our choices. She saved the child. Have you forgotten, Lady Elle?”

I smile to myself, clearing my throat. Beside me, Odin musters a sly smirk. “I wouldn’t have had to save him if you hadn’t decided to murder a ten-year-old in cold blood,” I snap. I don’t need to make my tone fierce. Sharpness bleeds through the pain I’ve felt since yesterday. “Need I remind you we, as monarchs, have mercy on our subjects? You all here are my subjects, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. You just came here to talk nonsense. The line of succession won’t be ignored.”

The man doesn’t reply. He knows I’m right, but he holds on to his hope. Maybe he’ll have an easier, more malleable pawn to control. I look around the room, faces and eyes blending. They’re all the same. Murderers. Of thousands of people, thanks to those decrees. Of father.

The question is which one of them killed him?

Lucas raises his head, green eyes flickering across the chamber. He knows the faces of these people better than I do. He might not know what they did, but he knows enough to be an asset. “For over ten centuries the line has never changed. Why would it do so now? Yes, the heir to the throne isn’t a he, but she has the same power— the same birthright—Lennon had.”

Lennon.

Just the word brings about a sharp pang of pain. Dull, throbbing, it smarts. It’s still there, never leaving, like pouring lemon to a wound. I will have revenge. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday.

I will.

A day after and it hurts the same. Part of me thinks it’ll never go away. I’ll just have to learn how to live with this pain. For however long I live. As a queen who had enemies long before she took power, I suspect it’s not much time the one I have left.

Besides Lucas, a man grins. He’s older than most of the council. Gray hair, same gray eyes. There’s not an ounce of sympathy in him. His face is drawn in boredom. I steal a glance at the page under his hands. Scribbles, drawings, anything to distract him from the idiocy he’s listening to. Whatever little power he wields, he wears it proudly. Poor thing.

“And after ten centuries, the three women who have ruled this country have ended up returning us ashes. Late Queen Sophya reduced the taxes. People starved. She left a dead country in the hands of Rodrick. The accords, the decrees we placed and the troubles we still face for them are her fault. How can we let another woman rule?”

I don’t say anything. Still, calm, I grip the cold sides of my chair at the head of the table, letting my anger bleed through. How dare they say this is her fault? The council, their ancestors, decided the accord was a good idea.

Odin raises his hand, elbow on the table, features drawn. “What about the Late Queen Roel? She was one of the best leaders this country ever had. My country was under her protection for nearly forty years. We are what we are because of her. Saying all queens before Alexandra have done nothing is just a blunt lie.” He smiles, proud with himself, before adding, “Lord Yunil.”

Yunil clucks his tongue. “That was almost four centuries ago, boy.”

“General,” I sneer, eyeing the man. I am not to fear him. He’s to fear me. “He is a general, Yunil. You will address him as such.” I feel Odin’s eyes on me. I would smile at him if I could, but before the council I must be every bit of imposing as I’m expected to be.

Elle, the woman who has dared to speak back to the men, giggles softly, standing up across from me. Her black dress heightens her features, sharp against her pale skin. “How will we know she won’t be a good queen if we don’t give her a chance? Four centuries ago. Yes. Now we have the chance to do the same again, get the same opportunity in hopes Her Majesty will change our country for the better.”

I hold her gaze as she lowers herself to her chair. Thank you.

I’m exhausted by following the train of thought here. This morning I stood by while they put my father and my mother in an oven. They returned with the ashes to place on our church, and then they were gone. The ceremony was small, quiet, private. Half the council members didn’t attend. Their hypocrisy is to laugh at.

Another woman, this one shorter and older than the last one, brown hair with gray ends and what seems like a permanent sneer, stands up, her seat opposite Elle. “You are the first queen for over forty years. Back then, the decrees didn’t exist. When you are queen, can we expect for you to keep them?”

All eyes turn to me. No, I want to say. They’re wrong. Inhumane. Especially the last ones, rules tightened on our people because of the rebels. I can’t say so aloud.

Instead, I smile politely, biting my tongue. This is a game I know how to play. “You trust in me, and I trust in you. This is the only way this will work Lady Martos.” She stares at me, wide-eyed, surprised I know her name. She’s peculiar, the only face I cared to memorize in all the years of tutoring bought for this exact moment. A scar rises at her throat, stopping by her chin. Black pebbles as eyes bore into mine. Scary looking, one might say. I wonder now how she got the scar.

A sour taste remains in my mouth after I say those words. I don’t trust them, and they don’t trust me, either. We’re both on the edge here, about to jump off a cliff. Poker players trying not to let their emotions betray their dealt hands. My reply seems to ease some of them, at least.

If Lucas feels the weight of this conversation, how close they are to strangulate him, he doesn’t show it. His face remains composed, stoic. The only part of him not showing peace are his eyes. They move back and forth, seizing the people before us. Odin’s eyes flicker too, but more often than not they fall on me. I’m not a fool not to notice. Still, I don’t look beside me, only ahead of me. None of these people deserve my attention.

Across from me, directly beside Lady Martos, a man no older than Odin stands. Lucas’ eyes never leave him, like a prey assessing its victim. Odin beside me stills, pulling to his full height on his chair. “Our late king, Lennon Coltrane, died at the hands of rebels. If you have any intentions of giving in to those rebels, they’ll think they are stronger than the crown. Who’s to say your father’s fate won’t be shared by you, Alexandra?”

To the ears of the crowd he’s performing for this might sound fair, sincere. He’s even smart enough to add a tint of concern for me in his voice. But I know better. Behind his perfect charade and broad shoulders, he’s posing another threat, clear as day. I’d be stupid not to see it.

My chest heaves. Is it him? Did he do it?

He’s young, and probably doesn’t have enough support outside or inside the council to pull this off on his own. Or maybe he’s just as cunning and shrewd as father was. His young mask does well to hide him from the rest. I memorize his features, from his set jaw to hazel eyes, shaven face, and talented smirk. He might not be to blame, but I’ll keep him away from me.

Lucas grunts. “As a king, father always knew what he had to give up. Time, patience, safety. No monarch is immune to threats or death. King Lennon knew, and Queen Alexandra does, too.”

I bow my head in agreement. I know it better than anyone.

“King Lennon knew what to do well. He followed his advisors and still got killed. What’s to be expected of this reckless child?” Funny. He looks barely older than me, but already

has more courage and arrogance than I’ll ever have. Power makes people foolish.

“This reckless child is the heiress to the throne, Lord Jacons.”

Next to the empty chair on the other side of the room, father’s chair, Duncan stands up.

His voice booms across the chamber, imperative and loud. It demands to be heard. The others stiffen in their seats. Even Jacons seals his mouth. “As Lucas said before, the line of succession won’t be altered just because a man feels like it.”

I exhale, slow and steady. Dad’s most trusted advisor, his best friend. He’s the only man who has shown me support this far. I need it, even if I certainly shouldn’t. By law, I’m the queen in line. The pettiness of the council amuses me.

“Isn’t she too young, Lord Duncan?” Another voice joins the bickering. By the way Odin and Lucas both wince at the tone of the man, he’s someone who wields power, could sway the whole council his way.

Odin bows his head, ruffling his hair. “For fuck’s sake,” I hear him mutter.

Duncan only stares at the man sitting between Lucas and Yulin. He’s has a body similar to a tree trunk. Chubby face, brown eyes. A mustache makes him look older, even though he can’t be more than fifty. He would tower over me if he stood up. Thankfully he remains seated, his voice carrying away an air of arrogance. “She doesn’t know how to obey her father, let alone rule a nation. We’d need a regent, and we don’t have those luxuries, either. What are you, seventeen?”

His mock disguised as a question isn’t acknowledged. “She’s young, so is Lucas. Younger, in fact. If you need a regent with her, you’d need a nanny with Lucas. She’s not the first young queen to step onto power.” Odin seems bored by this point, voice steady but loud enough. Lucas doesn’t even flinch at the implication; his demeanor never shifts.

Odin has a point, and the man knows it.

“Lord Iges, what do you suggest? I don’t understand why we’re having this meeting if you’re thinking of getting my sister, the legitimate ruler, out of power. We could be planning her coronation instead.” Lucas smiles weakly, showing he means no harm, yet his tone drips venom. Pain and hatred blend in his regal features.

“Excuse us, Your Majesty.” With a lean figure, blonde bob hair and piercing, gray eyes, a woman stands to my left, next to Duncan. Her smile is genuine, bringing crinkles to her eyes. “It seems like people are just afraid of the coming change. Your father left a legacy, becoming one of the most honorable men to ever wear the crown. My companions are a bit weary of the change of power, especially under these circumstances. My condolences to the late king, as well.” She ducks her chin in an even motion.

I smile. Appearances to the last. “Thank you.”

Her thin lips part with determination. “I suggest we put this to vote. Of course, there should be no vote whatsoever. Lord Iges, Lord Yulin, she is the legitimate ruler, whether you like it or not. You could overrule the council any time, my queen, but that, of course, has never been seen for some reason.” Her eyes hold mine for the last part, as if trying to get me to understand. She doesn’t seem as evil as her companions.

“I agree with Lady Genim,” Duncan insists quickly, bald head shining with sweat. “Let’s put up a vote. Of course, the quiet faces around us have voted already, and at the queen’s favor, it seems.”

The faces of the people that haven’t spoken show nothing. No sign of agreement or disagreement. Yet, they must be friends with Duncan.

A grunt is heard from beside Odin. The first man, Lord Denly. “While I understand the future of our country is at our hands, I need vengeance for whatever the king and queen were put through. I suggest an inspection.”

I doubt I even saw him at the funeral. Why would he care whether the people responsible for this get punished or not when he could even be the one with blood on his hands?

Odin shifts forward. His eyebrows attempt to reach his hairline, betraying his surprise. “A what?”

Denly doesn’t miss a beat. The beast in him all but growls. “We should question the personnel closest to the king. The guards, the maids, both of the late queen and of princess Alexandra.” Even after my father’s death, he refuses to acknowledge the power I was given by blood. One more enemy to track down.

Why would he suggest checking the guards and maids if they did it themselves? To seem good? Genuine? I don’t buy their ruse.

I feel myself smile, my hands balling into fists under the table. My nails dig into my palms, anything to seem calm. He expects me to decline. Besides him, everyone turns, waiting for a decision. Even with hesitation and strain, they don’t seem to be too keen on deciding. Twelve pairs of eyes examine. Looking at me, through me. I’d be a fool if I didn’t notice the fear in their eyes.

I have the power of the choice now, it seems. Whether I say no and cover these murderers and prove myself to them—my legal authority. Or I say yes, and I stare at them, weak and frightful. Submissive. The word is out before I weigh my options.

“No.” It’s not a question. I hoist myself up with my hands in the table, my dress sprawling around me. I draw all the courage I can muster, laying my hands flat on the table with a thud. “We will do no such thing.”

Lord Yulin has the nerve to chuckle. Gray eyes twinkle. “Why, my queen? Is there something you’d like to hide from us?”

I don’t pull back. I am not surprised. In fact, I was sure a comment like this would arise as soon as I didn’t say yes. With a wave of a hand, I dismiss his comment. Father’s skills I perfected through the years. “If I had something to hide, something you could see, I wouldn’t be here right now. Lest you decide to strike me down and call it an accident.” I laugh, intending it as a joke, but none of the people here are stupid enough not to notice the hidden meaning behind it. A threat from me to them.

Duncan holds my eyes for a second, his chin barely dipping. I could almost smile if it weren’t for the other eleven pairs of eyes on me. Tracking me, looking to see mistakes in my face. I will not succumb to fear.

“My father and my mother were victims of a country; rebels stared back at us despite everything we gave them. Our stability, our dignity, might, and power, will not be diminished so much so we have to be frightful of the maids. I, your queen, fear nothing.

And rest assured I will stop these outbursts, or I’ll die like father did, trying.”

The room quiets. Some pull back, shrinking, swallowing my words. I lean myself against the table, my palms on the wood, keeping me steady.

I must get to power. Not because of my legacy, of the birthright taken from me even if I despise it. If I want to avenge my parents someday, I’ll have to be powerful, and this is the only way to obtain real power.

My mouth moves on its own, recalling the strength mother displayed, the brutal force of father’s words. “Whoever dared to raise a hand against my former king and queen, my parents, will pay. The crown, you and I, won’t allow the indiscretion to go unnoticed. We will make them pay, tooth and nail, and we will raise this nation from the dead hole the war has us in.”

Look at that. You sound like a queen.

Beside me, Odin moves just so, his thigh brushing against my dress. The reassurance he gives me carries me forward. “We won’t perish against those who wish us evil. We will thrive and work forward, keeping Alemiss together, united, and stronger than ever. As father did, I will. I refuse to give our enemies more power and satisfaction than the one they already have. They may have taken my father and my mother—your monarchs—from us, but they will perish. The Coltrane legacy will succeed.”

I’m aware of how my knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of the table. I pretend I can draw physical strength from it. Like a warm bath, I can feel Lucas’ and Odin’s gazes fixed upon me. More now than ever, I’d die to hug Lucas. I saw him earlier at the funeral, but he said no word. I guess his pain was too much back then. I was forced to conceal my tears, the pain, but he cried freely. I was jealous of him then, and I am jealous of him now.

He spoke for me when I was being bashed, and even if it doesn’t seem like it, it takes a lot of power, courage, to impose the council. I know now.

Taunting, seizing their prey, the eyes of the council fall on me. I can only smile, my face hurting. Switching from a sneer to a gleaming smile, all fake, is tiring.

I know I’m not the one they would’ve chosen. Hell, I wouldn’t have chosen me, either. But now with father gone and the country in need of a ruler, they can’t do much more. Half of my family isn’t royal. They wouldn’t be able to play regents. The other half is in Lanese. I’m the best they got. To calm the riots and the multitudes waiting for an official speech.

I’m their last choice.

Lady Elle stands up, this time her smile is gone, replaced with a frown. Her hair twists under the light of the chandelier, a flickering flame. “Shall we vote now, gentlemen?”

I sit back down, gifting her the space she needs, forcing a glance to Odin. He bites his lip, eyeing the people around us. I feel the same nervousness, if not more. My stomach seems to be coiled, and my hands sweat. Lucas offers a weak smile my way, but I can see through his pain.

Lord Yulin stands. “Against.” I nod. Obviously.

“Against,” says Lord Iges. I want to shave the mustache off his annoying face.

Lady Elle smirks, bowing her head. “My queen. I pledge my loyalty to you.”

I must contain a sigh of relief.

Beside her, an old woman, black hair and wild, green eyes, nods her head. Lady Pert. “I stand with the queen.”

“I am with you, my queen.” Lady Cloem.

Duncan stands, all proud eyes and even a small smirk. I can see the same kindness my father radiated when we were alone in Duncan’s eyes. “You’re the legitimate ruler, Alexandra.”

I stare at the empty chair belonging to father. I need to make him proud. I can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Duncan. He lost a friend and a king; I lost my father. We’re both suffering, struggling with wounds that won’t heal, but he’s still here, helping whatever piece of father was left on this earth.

Genim, the woman with the kind eyes, smiles at me. “She is.”

Jacons and Martos are next. Jacons’ reply was expected. He is against a woman in the throne. I half expected Martos to impose me, too, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood up, bowing before me. I narrowed my eyes at her. “I believe in you, Your Majesty.”

Denly scoffs from his seat, not bothering to stand up. “You’re making a big mistake,” he mutters, flickering lazily with a hand winking with rings.

Bonesm follows him suit. An ugly man. One more beer and the cheap buttons of his suit would burst. “I am against her.”

Nobody expects what happens next.

Heels clank against the wood like thunder on the sky.

“I, for once, am not part of the council, but I guess my opinion still matters. She is the Coltrane’s legitimate ruler. My queen. And yours too.”

If there’s something Aunt Heaven knows how to do, is making an entrance. In a rather risqué dress—black and white, the black for mourning—she stands at the head of the table opposite from me, her face contorted to an angry glare. For once, the glare is not for me. I almost laugh in relief.

Beside me, Lucas’ eyes grow wild. Odin makes a motion to stand. I place a hand to his thigh, glancing his way. Wait.

I don’t allow the shock I feel for having her here disturb me as I smirk. My pulse returns to normal as I hoist myself up. “Council overruled.”

The words taste bitter on my tongue.

For the first time, I understand what power is. I can taste it. And I won’t let go of it.

*****

hiii! i love this chapter so much, but i guess i say that about every chapter lol. sorry. let me know what you think of all this drama / if you wanna be tagged!

thank you so much for reading

- goldenmel

I had to pretend in front of the eyes of the people who were against me. Fake my easiness, the confidence I never felt. I must be able to face them without fear or curiosity, like I know their secrets. Every inch of me despises this. I couldn’t be more different from them if I tried. Their hearts have been turned cold, unfeeling towards hunger, starvation, death.

I’m wise enough to know they’re not reliable. They won’t hesitate to stab my back the second I utter a word they don’t like. My aunt, however, has a relationship with my country signed by the former king, and an alliance. We share blood.She can’t turn her back on us. Still, I’m bewildered of her support. Overwhelmed and secretly pleased.

The lights overhead flicker in the summer thunderstorm taking place outside. Cleansing, powerful enough to erase any footsteps marked on the mud. I wish the pour was strong enough to take away my regrets, my fears. Wash me clean with reckless winds and fat drops of warm water.

I focus my attention on the task at hand. Calibrating Heaven, the reason why she’s here.

As much as her presence comforts me, her clear defiance against the council pleases me, I know she must have other manners to attend here. Supervise the proper speech after my parents’ death. The one I’ve been postponing. Challenge the council with the power she wields in fine jewelry. Her motives spin around a crafted schedule. I would know.

Narrowing my eyes at her, the sky thunders angrily, the gray clouds swarming, visible through the skylight on the observatory. The fragrance the thousands of flowers expel is drunkening. They ease the cord tugging at my chest. Anxiety. “Why would you do that?”

Her dress engulfs her petite figure, every bit as expensive as mine. Born a royal, now a queen, she wears the crown resting on her blonde hair proudly. I’m surprised the weight of diamonds, glass, and marble carefully embedded and twisted doesn’t crack her neck.

She looks young, beautiful and mortal in her dress, green eyes darting from side to side as we help ourselves with tea and bread. No wrinkles are visible, though I know she must be strained. She lost a brother, and she came here in a rush. I appreciate her efforts. Yet, there is no trace of fatigue in her, her smile and sweet voice carrying across her to me.

I wonder how the crown doesn’t weight as heavily on her as it did on my parents, like it will on me. Her face remains perfect, her neck never wavers. Her dress is black in mourning, but longer than it should be, the tail falling in a mess of silk and embroidery around the small table. She basks in being the focus of attention. Golden gems and jewels on her neck and wrists, accompanied by a luxurious fragrance in her aura putting the flowers around us to shame make her dashing and daring. She looks imposing. Subtilty is a word she doesn’t know.

She merely shrugs, somehow making the action seem perfectly royal. “Well, it’s what your father would’ve wanted. What you were born to do. Or am I wrong?” She raises a perfectly waxed eyebrow. I can only swallow. “Those foolish men. You can’t alter the line

of succession when the whole country is already crumbling.”

I look down, the stale bread limp in my hand. “So you know?”

She chuckles darkly. “Of course I know. My best strategist is here for the cause. I hate to admit it, love, but your parents didn’t leave you in a... comfortable position to rule a country.”

A scoff leaves my throat without my permission. “No shit.”

I get no reprimand for the lack of manners. I wish I did. Seemingly, she’s too busy or distraught to notice my lack ofetiquette. We are grieving. I grieve by distancing myself from the power as much as I can, and she does it keeping up her mask and charade.

Wearing her power in every bare inch of herself. Different coping mechanisms.

“How are you doing?”

The question takes me aback. It was to be expected, but my lack of response and knowledge baffles me. I almost choke on the words. “I... I guess I’m fine.” It’s a lie. But I don’t feel like breaking down now. I’ve been trying to hold back temperamental tears since yesterday. The council meeting prodded at my insecurities, my fears, and confusion.

They took advantage of me and my naivety. I had to be rescued by Heaven’s petty attitude from the lion’s den.

Barely moving she blinks at me, tipping her head on her hands. She looks like a well-presented, beautifully carved statue. “You’re fine? You can’t be fine when you lost your parents and now you have the crown to worry about.” She must see something in me, something she likes. The side of her lips twitches to a barely concealed smirk. “The more you wear that sorrow, the stronger it’ll make you. Even as queen, you’re allowed to feel sad.”

Sorrow. A word, a feeling growing closer to me in the last weeks. I know sorrow like an old friend. It seems like it is the only thing queens and kings can rely on. Pain and excruciating thoughts.

I nod but not because I agree. The rings at my fingers are a good distraction. I fidget with them on my lap. Gold, delicate, fragile. I could snap them in half with two of my fingers. They’d bend at my will—unlike the council. “Really? Because if I did, if I ever even showed as much as a crack on my face, they’d riot again saying I’m not fit enough for this role. They don’t want me here. So, no, I can’t mourn the way I want to.”

Her tongue clicks on the roof of her mouth as she watches me. A cat watching a mouse. A mouse she finds amusing. “They don’t need to want you here. The power was in you the moment you were conceived. They are nothing compared to you. Don’t let ants ruin your life.” Her dismissal comes with ease. A shoulder of hers rises up and down, a hand lazily swapping in the air.

I can’t help but wonder, does she know? Does she know in what a treacherous position dad was? That there’s a chance maybe he was killed by the council that holds us, queens, in power? I don’t dare prod at another wound. Joanna. Her name echoes in my mind, bringing with it Lennon’s somber expression. I blink it away. Does she know the danger we all are in, incremented by the brides?

It’d be better if she didn’t.

Perhaps her country is different. Maybe they respect the power the monarchs have, and she isn’t in danger. I dare to believe it. Even with the decrees established in every nation of the continent but Spilten and Nalyn, there’s hope people want to change. There’s hope not all councils are corrupt.

I look at her through the brim of my cup. “I have to be strong. To look like it, at least. To look strong is to be strong. And no one will dare to impose a strong monarch,” I remind her. My voice sounds so much like mother’s. I resist the urge to wince.

A few seconds go by. Finally, her eyes snap to mine after she’s pleased with the toast coated in butter before her. “So your father wasn’t strong enough?”

I feel myself blush. “I never said that.” He was stronger than I knew, or than I hated to admit. He wore power and dignity like armors meant for this life. He wore his armor to the grave.

“I know.” She leans back on her chair, raising her chin high, like she’s talking to an enemy rather than her niece. “He was too kind, though. The new decrees he dropped, the arrangements and alterations he made were too little and too late. If he would’ve made them sooner, maybe he’d be alive.”

My fist balls under the table, gripping the fine tablecloth like a lifeline stopping me from spitting at her and her know-it-all face. Kindness is a word kings should wear. But the last moments I saw of the king, the monarch drilled in Lennon’s mind, no kindness was displayed. The shots resound in my ears. I know it’s a product of my imagination. Heaven doesn’t wince. I try not to. The eyes of the woman before being shot cloud my vision.

I choke back the words. How the decrees are wrong, how the people just wish to be heard. She’s here to help and mourn but asking for her to share the same beliefs I do is pushing my luck.

For some reason, I feel the need to provide an explanation. “He placed them after the attack on the castle. After Odin got here. They—the day after, he held a council meeting.

Shot the rebels. There was this kid and I—” I stumble over the words, her brow furrowed in concern. “And I saved the kid. Maybe the decrees were tightened because of me.” I want to crawl in a hole and disappear. My face burns with shame. There’s no maybe. She knows this.

Instead of giving me the shoulder to cry on I so desperately need she shrugs, sipping her tea with impressive manners. “You need to know kindness will get you killed. There’s no place in this world we know for soft-hearted people.”

My mouth works faster than my brain sometimes. “Odin isn’t a merciless killer.” A childish, desperate remark.

She smirks. The familiar sensation of wanting to mess with her perfect makeup, slapping her, anything to make her understand, stop her from saying the words, takes longer this time to subside. “Not here, while you’re weaving around in beautiful dresses and heels. But he got a place on the battlefield,”—she raises a hand to smack against the table, shaking the cups—“he’s important because he’s not soft.” Her words slam against my rib cage. I feel slapped.

I bow my head, studying the cup in my hand with much too interest. There it was, the thing I’d tried to ignore and keep out of my head, but she has so nicely just pointed out.

He has killed people. Yes, it is his job, and he was protecting my country, aunt’s, but he’s a murderer all the same.

So why do I feel safe with him?

I have no answer to my question. I don’t waste energy figuring it out.

I don’t speak up again. She takes it upon herself to continue the conversation. “Did you and Lennon ever speak about a wedding?”

My head down, I can only whisper, “Lucas’?”

Her eyes travel down my face to my collarbone. I feel them as I raise my head to the sky. Insistent drops pound on the glass. Thud, thud, thud. I shift, my prominent cleavage making me squirm. “Yours. You’re in age already. I’m surprised you’re not married yet. You should be.”

I sigh. “I don’t know, Heaven. I can handle the crown on my own fine enough.”

She shakes her head while smiling at me like breaking the news to a baby. “You can. For now. But the council is set on seeing you without it. And how can you—will you—keep it on your head then?” She makes a pause, raising her eyebrows. Her question is a test. I fail by not answering. “With an heir. The second you give them one, they’ll be off your shoulders. If your brother gets an heir first, the allegiance half the council pledged to you will shift. We don’t want that, do we?” The force of her words astounds me.

I feel like a scolded child. “We don’t.”

“So, you need to marry. Did they ever—”

I cut her off before she goes on. I’d rather hear it from my own lips. “Lucas spoke to me about suitors. Nothing formal or decided. I don’t know any of them.” I desperately look for ways to stir the conversation away from me marrying. I wait for her to finish chewing before I ask her the question I’m dying to know. “Why are you here?”

Never losing her manners, she picks up her napkin, dabbing at the side of her mouth. When she speaks, her voice lowers. “I’m here because my brother and my sister-in-law just died. But even more important, I’m here to help you stay in the position you were born with. And that will take you to form alliances and to marry.”

“I wonder why they killed them and not me.” The thought leaves my lips like an instinct, something I must say so I don’t drown. I recover quickly, slipping on the rage mask. It takes everything in me not to wince. Stupid. “I mean, the purpose of the rebels is to end the decrees. They knew if they killed my parents, a new ruler would take power. They accomplished nothing. Why kill them and not me?”

She laughs. She must find the cracks in my voice hilarious. “Oh darling, they think you’re weak. They think you will twist and bend at their will because you’re inexperienced, naïve, young.” Her body leans forward. Instinctively, I inch backward. Her eyes narrow. I’m reminded of a snake. She strikes. “I am here, and the council, so you don’t fall.”

I gulp. “Should I say thank you?”

Amused, she stands up with agile, toned legs, clearly done with the conversation or the food. Maybe both. Her perfume chokes me with her swift motions. “Don’t thank me. Thank Odin. He’s doing most of the work here. Keeping the battlefield and the castle safe.” She turns but thinks better of it, sneering over her shoulder. “Plus, he looks unbelievably handsome doing it.” I wince as she winks.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better.”

I stand up, too, smiling. Anything to cover my pain. The words sound confident. I will them to drip eagerness, even if I fear them. “So it’s official then? I am the queen?”

She wraps me in a hug when I reach her side, whispering in my ear with her sweet breath.

“You were always. Now it’s just official.” I let her warmth envelop me, inhaling her delicate scent.

“Oh, my bad,” she says, pulling back, eyes wide. She runs a hand down her dress, smoothing invisible lines. She’s scared of physical contact as much as Lennon was. “I almost forgot I brought a little something to cheer you up.”

My eyebrows rise. “You did?”

She nods, shrugging. Secretly, she loves being the center of attention. Her smug look confirms my suspicions. “Lady Greece has never been the best at staying away, has she?”

_______

this one is a shorter chapter but writing Heaven was so much fun! also, im severely sleep deprived lol so im gonna take a nap. let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to be tagged.

thank you so much for reading

-goldenmel

I have no idea what possessed me to come to his door. Or why he would agree to meet me. Why I chose him over Logan or even Greece, even if I disregard the comment as soon as it flashes through my head. All I know is I’m at his door, waiting for his guard to tell him about my wishes.

“Her Royal Majesty wishes to have a talk with you, General Abernarthy.” The title is still odd sounding, new, and I always wince when someone else says it. I doubt I’ll ever get used to it.

The door is ajar, through which I can see how amused the guard seems and hear how Odin shuffles behind it.

He bristles, heavy steps on the floor. “Right now?”

The bulky guard smiles uncomfortably, craning his head over his shoulder to look at me. “Well, guessing she’s right behind me, I’d say so, sir.”

I have to laugh at myself. I don’t necessarily regret being here. I’m searching for something. What, I don’t know. Validation? Redemption? Understanding? Maybe I just want to be heard.

“Let her in.”

His chambers are on the opposite side of the castle. Still for the noblemen, but I seldom come here. Only when Greece hates to get out of bed, or when Lucas and I ran through these hallways when we were little. It’s been years since I stepped a foot inside, and whatever I was hoping to see is totally different from what my eyes witness.

The room is bare. Empty. New. No trace of anyone living here, save for the rumpled sheets and the cups upon the oak table beside the fireplace. The carpet in my room decided it wasn’t fit for a general, because white marble floors reflect the daylight coming through the only window.

Odin stands by the closet as I shove the guard aside, pushing the door wide open. His back is to me, buttoning a white shirt. My brain buzzes. Shirtless. He wanders around in his room shirtless. Such mundane knowledge baffles me, sets my cheeks on fire. He wears black pants and polished black shoes, as though he’s about to go to a wedding.

To the guard lingering behind me, I say, “Leave us.” Odin doesn’t turn around, never noticing the flush I feel spreading over my cheeks. “You have somewhere to be?” I take a few steps inside, carefully eyeing him.

He shakes his head, sighing low and slow, before turning around to face me. “No, but when the queen requests your presence, you can’t really be in trousers, can you?”

He smirks. I gulp.

Men will be men.

I clear my throat. He hums as if he can somehow read my

thoughts. “Don’t worry, this isn’t any official meeting, I just want to talk.” And it’s true. I mean no harm. “I must apologize, of course, for coming unannounced. I just couldn’t really... wait.”

I trace my fingers along the edge of the silk duvet, smiling softly. Even now, his presence has calmed me like Greece’s failed to. “Don’t apologize, my queen.” There’s no jab or disdain from his voice, a simple lighthearted mocking tone. “Am I being fired?”

Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but smirk back. “You wish. You signed papers with the former king, and I expect I have your support.”

No hesitation. “You do.”

“Good.”

The dress I’m wearing is odd. I shouldn’t be wearing it so proudly. If I were to follow the rules, I should still be in mourning. But the black dress and grim faces everyone pulls whenever they’re reminded of my parents make me feel pathetic. I changed my wardrobe in hopes of feeling more... queen-like. The dress I wear instead is blue, electric. Just like my eyes. For once, it is a miracle I don’t feel bare anymore. Even as I looked at my face in the mirror this morning, I could tell it was a good day. Not inside. My insides still shake and bend, trying to understand and digest the newinformation and titles. Duties I don’t comprehend. But to look powerful is to be powerful. I silently bask in the knowledge I look nice.

My suspicions are confirmed with Odin’s lingering eyes. “I’d rather take and use the time you have under my servicepurposefully. Getting to know each other.”

With effort, I take a seat at the small table attached to the empty wall, watching Odin as he crosses the room to me in three long strides. Raising his eyebrow, he smiles. “Is that so?”

I nod. “So how’s it going? You leading your troops for good?”

He huffs, his broad chest rising and falling with the movement. “I guess so.” Stopping for a while he surveys the room, eyes falling on mine a few seconds later. “We’re winning, if it’s what you’re asking. Suddenly, keeping the war at bay is so much more important. To keep you safe.”

“That’s what my aunt says, though, right?”

His shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “It doesn’t mean she’s wrong.”

“So I hear.”

He dips his head, green eyes flashing with the sun. “Why are you here? Small talk? I’m kind of terrified, I won’t lie. It’s not every day you get a queen to your chambers, if you know what I mean.”

I laugh darkly. “Well, it’s not every day I come to close strangers for advice. It’s awkward.” I busy myself with my hands, twirling my wrist to distract myself from looking at him.

Lowering himself in the chair beside me, he crosses his arms. The wooden chair squeals under his crushing weight. “A queen seeking advice from me?”

I shrug, hating myself for coming here in the first place. “You were good and logical at the council. It’s not really for advice I just...” My mind rambles on, and I try to know what I’m going to say before the words are out of my mouth and I’m babbling. I don’t want to make a fool of myself. “The court life is hard, and after the council meeting, I don’t know who to trust. I just want to be heard. Talk for a while to get my mind off things.”

A muscle works in his set jaw. “I never got to say I’m sorry.” His gaze focuses with laser attention on the table, avoiding my eyes. It’s hard to be all smiles one second and look confused the next. I do that, and he replies in kind, only with a more serious tone on his voice. “My condolences.”

Oh, that.

“Thank you, I guess.” I take a deep breath, taking my time to make the words leave my lips. “You know, it’s so surreal. Having you and everyone else address me as queen.” At my comment, his eyes perk up, focused on me. I don’t feel as uncomfortable as I thought, the words come out almost naturally, so I continue. “I always knew I’d be the queen someday. Every time we spoke dad never failed to mention it, always teaching me small lessons so I could use them in the court. At first, when I was younger, I thought it was a nice thing. Power.” I roll my eyes at the word. “It wasn’t until I turned twelve when it really hit me. I didn’t want this. It was too much. But I can’t run away from this, too.”

He tips his head. “I didn’t take you as the runner kind. You don’t run away from small things, Alexandra. It’s in your demeanor. If I were you—and don’t take this the wrong way—I’d run from the crown, too. Who can really blame you?”

In fact, everyone can. Everyone is.

“The councilmen seem to think this is my fault. Like I actually wanted this.” I chuckle, but it comes out hollow, wrong. “Lucas was always thrilled with the idea of his younger sister being queen. He made me promise him I’d get him a car and a horse as soon as I took the crown when he was eight. Seems like he’s forgotten now.”

He nods sharply, smiling to himself. “He is a little bit too immature for my liking.” When

I frown, he raises his hands in mock surrender, chuckling to himself. “Kidding. I’m kidding.”

I narrow my eyes at him playfully. “You’re not very mature yourself,” I shoot back.

He clucks his tongue, balancing my reaction before saying, “I like to make jokes around the people I find stunning.”

That makes me laugh, a belly laugh taking even me by surprise. When the laughter dies, I focus my eyes on him, tipping my head. “Are you serious? Is that your best pick-up line?”

Vivid, green eyes twinkle with mischief. “What? It’s not good enough?” he asks, placing a hand to his heart in fake hurt.

I can only roll my eyes. “You’re a general and you can’t flirt?”

“And you’re telling me you don’t flirt?” he retorts. “Even if it’s just for fun? You’re a queen.”

It sobers me up, cutting through me with such ease, for a moment I don’t remember where I am. Logan. I should be with him rather than Odin. Why am I not?

My brain tries to scramble for a reason, even if I know I won’t find an honest one to satisfy the guilt I feel. The reason I’m looking for is nonexistent. Of course, Odin knows what this life means.

Power, monarchs, nobility. He’s a noble himself. The same can’t be said for Logan.

I tell myself that’s why. Because I want to keep Logan safe for as long as I can. But I know I’m lying. I gulp down my guilt.

“Did I hit a nerve?” His voice carries smooth and steady, calm and collected. I break my thoughts, shaking my head to dissipate the fog.

I clear my throat, gulping in air before answering. “I... I do. Flirt, I mean. Not now, no offense, I kind of, um, have... something... with... someone.” This is the first time I admit it to anyone else besides father. But father knew, father used it for his advantage. Odin won’t. There’s some kindness I can feel radiating off him, the same one father lacked. I stare down at my hands, bending my fingers to distract myself.

He nods, smiling lightly. “That isn’t a sin. Especially if he—or she, no discrimination here—helps you get through this life.”

“He,” I say. I know the meaning behind the sentence, but I don’t add anything else.

“How is that going? How is... he?”

He isn’t you, I want to say. He isn’t a noble, he’s not a foreign general with whom I could marry if I wanted to, no questions asked. He isn’t like me. I don’t say any of those things.

Instead, I take a breath, wrapping my arms around me. “His name is Logan. He is a treasury accountant. He came here when he was really little. His parents left Nalyn when the war became too much there. They weren’t... independent back then. We never thought they would be. But here we are.” Gray eyes flash in the back of my head. I add, “He’s... he’s nice.” I mentally grimace at my choice of adjectives.

The next words are tinted by a strong accent. “But he’s not like us.”

I scoff, hurt. “No.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he says, huffing. His soft eyes find mine. He’s the one to look away. “What I mean is you won’t be able to marry him in normal circumstances, much less with the council trying to get rid of you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He ignores my pessimism. “I’d rather not see you getting hurt anymore. You just lost two people... and I don’t want my queen to be a mess of emotions with the crown on her head.”

He’s right. And he’s wrong. “I’m not your queen.”

Bristling, he takes his time to answer. “Right, you’re not. But I’m here to fight for your country, and I want you to be safe and logical. Think with the mind and not your heart.”

His words sound similar to Heaven’s.

Kindness gets you killed.

I choose to ignore his attempt at giving me advice. It’s a lesson I know already. He was there when I saw my parents. He’d know. I use my head when I don’t trust my heart.

“Greece is from here. She’s my best friend. I keep both with me, so I don’t go insane.” He stares at me, intent. If he notices my desperate attempt to swerve the waves, he doesn’t show it. “But it seems like you’re here to make me do exactly the opposite.”

He spares me a sad smile. “I get that.”

“I’m done talking about me,” I tell him, ghosting my hand on his knee. “What about you? How are you settling?”

He laughs freely. “In a palace? I know barracks as well as I know my scars. This is luxurious.”

I lazily shrug. “It wears off with time, you wait and see.” “You’re always so optimistic.”

I wink at him. “I have my talents.”

His goofy demeanor shifts again before my eyes. His eyebrows furrow, his tone deepens. “Everything went well for the first couple of days. Your dad and I... We had the chance to make some strategies before he—Queen Heaven is now directing the whole thing, and you’d be too, but I doubt you want to be involved in this.”

Forcing an understanding smile, I nod. “I know nothing about the council, let alone the battlefield. I doubt you want me messing with your men.” I shiver at the thought of having to do with the deaths on the field. What Heaven said about Odin. I push those thoughts outside. “And, I want nothing to do with it,” I add.

“Understandable.” He takes a hand to his hair, combing it, the other one tapping on the wood. He thinks before he speaks, something I’ve noticed in him. “Anyway, the council meeting with you made me weary of it all. I don’t trust them, and neither should you.”

Crossing my arms, I can only smirk. He might be older than me, but these fake smiles and vain greetings aren’t common to him. I can smell a lie a thousand feet away. “I don’t.”

“Good,” he says. He rubs his hands together, his face relaxing. Fondness replaces the concern, his eyebrows shooting up. “Mom is thrilled about being here. She loves visiting foreign places. And dad’s—Well... he asks me about the new plans like a child waiting for candy. I never asked to take his place, he gave it up willingly even if he was young enough to carry on. My family is... complicated to say the least.”

Before I think it, the words are out. Harsh. Insensitive. Dumb. Numb. “At least you have a family.”

He winces, drawing his gaze from me to the door behind me, dodging my gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I rap my fingers on the wood for him, anything to concentrate on the motion rather than the pain of the memory. I change the topic. “What about marriage? Seven years older than me, you should have children by now.”

He shrugs. “Well, being on war and the risk of losing your life at any second drains whatever desire you have for friendship, let alone a relationship.” His face flickers with emotions, a book for me to read. Pain, nostalgia, defiance, determination. One after the other present in his features.

“I don’t know. You seem pretty good to me.”

Chuckling lightly, he tousles his hair again. Nerves. “I don’t know if it was a compliment, but I’ll take it as one.” I smile, feeling my cheeks burning. “And you? Why aren’t you married yet?” He nudges my shoulder playfully. I let him.

“I’m sure I’ll be. My aunt isn’t here to protect me, she’s here to make sure I end up in bed by the end of the spring, pregnant. Secure an heir and stuff. Dad and I spoke about that. He was... postponing it.” This time, I’m the one breaking eye contact. “I mean, I am too young and Logan and I...”

He doesn’t allow me to finish. “Makes sense.”

I huff. “I wish it didn’t.”

“So, Lennon was the jealous type then?”

I take my time answering the question, rejoicing in the memory of the father I knew, the man who would put everything and anything below her daughter. “He was, yes. Though he wanted me to marry too, to secure my place as monarch, he took things slow. Mom, she was waiting for my first period so she could start looking for suitors. Father was the one to hold her back.”

His words are wavering but unexpected. A warmth without warning. “You’ll be a good queen, too. With or without a husband.”

I dip my chin in gratitude. “I might, but if there’s something I know is men and women aren’t the same. Not here, in this life.” I try not to let my sourness peek through my voice. I fail miserably. “If I were a man, I’d have the whole realm secured, even if I never were to marry. Being a queen is different. I need an heir if I am to keep my head.”

He doesn’t say it as a judgment, just plain sympathy. “And you hate it.”

I feel my pulse quicken, my brain scrambling at miles per hour to say what I want to say.

To not give a damn about my words for once and for all. “Women are and can be equal to men. The decrees, selling them off like objects, it shouldn’t be. That’s why the council is so hostile towards me.” Mentally, I raise my middle finger at the council. Such a pain in the ass. “They know I’ll do whatever it takes to get to the day those decrees are forgotten. I could be a powerful ruler if they gave me the time to be one. For me to adapt without being pregnant and without them on my heels since I was younger. But it won’t happen. Because I’m a girl.” He nods, unassuming. I continue. “I hate it. Hate them gone. I don’t know what to do, who to confide in anymore. Who will give me the advice and poke me when I bend my spine? They were taken away from me by deceit and manipulation and I’ll get revenge.”

After the words, I feel lighter, as if I could float. My feet weigh less, and I can see my mind calming down as my heart resolves to a steady rhythm. To my eternal amusement, his eyes don’t betray judgment. Understanding floods from him to me in soft waves.

“You said something before,” he mutters, brows furrowed. He twiddles his thumbs.

“‘They’re always watching.’” I keep my face straight but my stomach drops. “What does that mean?”

You can trust him, Alex.

Can I? He’s proven himself to me in more ways than one. With my father, allowing me in the bloody hearing, the morning with their bodies, and my first council meeting. I tell myself to get rid of any hesitation. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust him.

Or knowing I have no one left to trust fills me up with dread.

“I—I don’t... it’s stupid.” How could I even begin to explain the two former kings were assassinated by the council without sounding like a total nut-job?

He shifts forward, taking my hand from across the table. The sudden touch makes me jump, his warm hand in sharp comparison to my cold fingers. However, the warmth soothes, and it calms me. I don’t want him to let go. He doesn’t draw back.

“You know you can trust me, right?” I want to believe it. I really want to. His next words make me do just that. “Nothing you say will be heard by anyone else. It’s all here, between us. It’s my duty to protect you, Alex.”

Duty. I could allow myself to feel hurt, or even a tiny bit offended by the word. I chase the thought away.

I force air down my lungs, praying he doesn’t call a doctor once he hears my conjectures.

“The decrees were placed by Rodrick, my grandfather.” I shudder, my breath becoming ragged. “Before mom died, she and I spoke about it. She never said the words, but she let me see clearly enough. Before he died, Rodrick was close to dropping the decrees. And father, well, I was foolish and took the entire council against the rules they’d given my father and I... I’m the reason why they’re both gone.”

My body’s aware of how he begins tracing small circles on my wrist, holding my gaze.

This is the closest I’ve felt to someone since father left. I will this moment to last longer. My adrenaline floods my veins. Softly, he says, “It wasn’t your fault.” The same words he

whispered to me back in my parents’ chambers. A whole new sensation.

I bow my head, blinking away the hot tears formed in my eyes. I hate crying, but I do it often. “How can you believe that?” Disbelief tints my voice.

His thumb stops above my wrist. I hold my breath. “Because I know you. If you would’ve known you would’ve never done it. You’re kind, Alexandra.”

I bite my lip. “So, you believe me then?”

He taps on my wrist, drawing my gaze up. “After facing the nasty council with you, I do. And I’m terribly sorry about it. For as long as I’m here you don’t have to be afraid.”

Little comfort is in his words. He’ll leave soon. A sad smile twists my lips. “You’ll be here for two months,” I remind him.

He smiles openly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Air leaves my lungs like a punctuated balloon. “Okay.”

“Tell me more about Greece,” he prods, clearly eager to change the topic once again. I nod.

“Her father is noble. When dad sat on the throne, he changed most of the noble houses, to people who had served him and his father. Greece’s father was one of those. While growing up I was lonely. The older child with mother and father always away, left with nannies. She was the only one to play around for the first years. Eventually, it grew to a strong friendship. Logan became part of our circle as well, and that’s the way it has been since I can remember.”

“Sounds like a children’s book.”

I huff, ignoring his sarcasm. “What about you?”

To my dismay, he draws back, taking his warmth with him. I shouldn’t want his warmth. I have Logan’s. But the knowledge does nothing to get rid of my sick desire.

He bends forward, elbows on his knees. “I had a few friends here and there. In the training and the barracks. None of them permanent, though. For obvious reasons.”

I force the words out, spilling from my lips. “What about girls?”

He raises his eyebrows at my question but doesn’t offer a snappy remark. “Sure, in the court, women are stunning. But for me, the character speaks more than beauty. So no, I haven’t been messing around with ladies.”

I blink at him. “Meaning you’re a... virgin?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even flush. “Is that surprising?”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I laugh awkwardly at my

question. “No. No, I mean—” I giggle, placing my hand to my mouth. “No, I—Excuse me for my manners.”

He chuckles too, his green eyes twinkling. “Apology accepted.” He leans back in his chair, wiggling his eyebrows. “Now, if I do have manners myself, am I allowed to ask the same question?”

My eyes widen. “If I’m pure?”

His right side of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “Nothing wrong if you’re not. You’re allowed to have fun.”

By that point, I’m pretty sure I’m blushing furiously. I fight with all my might not to break into another laughing fist. “I’ve done... things. But no... sex.”

It’s his turn to giggle. His laughter booms across the room, his chest rising and falling. I sit there, watching him, hand over my mouth, perplexed. When he’s done, I ask, “What’s so funny?”

He shrugs. “Your face.”

He sets us laughing again.

When we’re done crackling and I can breathe through my nose again, I blink at him, his plain expression offering no indication he was laughing at a queen two seconds ago.

“You should laugh more often,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Oh,” I shoot back. “Don’t remember asking for the advice but thank you for it anyway.”

Shaking his head, he smirks. “Smiling looks good on you.”

“There we go again with the lame pick-up lines, Abernarthy,” I tease, quirking my eyebrow. My faint smile breaks replaced by a sudden tug in my chest. I clench at my neck, as if I can somehow stop the pain from rising. “I don’t laugh often anymore. Since I— since father and mother are... gone.” The word is still foreign to my mouth, odd sounding, and as I speak it into existence, I realize how true it is.

I’ll never see them again. Never hear their voice or look into their eyes. I won’t hug them ever again.

The realization knocks the wind off my windpipe. “They are really gone.” My voice is a thread, thin and invisible, threatening to snap.

I do instead.

As though the laughter broke the dam holding my feelings and the desolation I felt at bay, I start crying. Hot, fat tears burning my face and splashing the makeup perfected through hours. I couldn’t care less. I’m finally mourning for something I tried not to think of as lost, gone.

I’m not empty anymore.

I’m aware as I stand up, pushing the chair aside in frustration, desperate to cover my face. Shame and guilt eat at my insides, but they do nothing to overpower the sorrow I feel growing like a river’s tide in my heart. The chair topples, and I turn around, bowing my head and hiding my face in my hands.

I don’t say anything; sobs are my only form of communicating.

This is it, Odin. What you think is stunning. A broken, lonely, naïve girl turned queen. Is this what you thought?

Strong arms wrap around me, turning me around before I’m engulfed into his chest. For a moment I can’t breathe, feeling underwater and suffocated by his strong, earthy smell and his warmth. His hands trace my back, his chin resting on my head, and he doesn’t speak. I stain his shirt with mascara. For some reason, I doubt he’ll mind at all.

I cry. I cry like I’ve never done in front of Logan or Greece. Like I hadn’t done since I was little.

Why did they leave me? How am I supposed to move on from losing the only two people I knew?

Fear, regret, sorrow, decay, and nostalgia all pull me in different directions. I cry for every one of them.

When I pull away, my breathing coming in uneven puffs, his eyes remain closed for some instants, like he’s afraid to look at me. I understand why. A queen breaking should be something no one witnesses. Yet, I’m sure mother and father broke down before each other thousands of times. Their love was strong. Naked, bare, and no one judged.

“I’m sorry.” Hoarseness rips my throat, my tongue sandpaper.

He shakes his head slowly, opening his eyes in slits. His are cloudy, away. Pained. Pity for the queen. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” His voice has the power to rip the thin calm, making me succumb to tears again. I swallow as tears stream down my face. He continues. “When you show your emotions, it means you’re alive. It means you love.”

Warmth floods every cell. “I loved them,” I choke through sobs.

He places a hand on my arm, squeezing softly. “And they love you too.”

I blink back even more tears, pulling away from his touch. I can’t keep behaving like a child in front of him. “I can’t leave here like this. They’ll think we—”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Nodding, he paces across the room to the bathroom. Goes inside for a minute, returning with a damp cloth. “Here.”

I nod, thanking him quietly, before I walk to his closet, staring at myself in the mirror attached to the oak wall.

I look young. Scarily so. Black lines trail my face, and my paleness could mean I’m sick. I have an eerie and distant look in my eyes and my lip trembles against my will.

Sweeping the cloth all over my face, I get rid of the smudges, the paint to conceal my paleness, and any exterior wall I had this morning to keep me safe. I talk just to fill up the silence, to assure myself this isn’t a dream.

My voice drones on, monotone. “The funeral was rushed. I wanted to have more time. But the council pushed, and Lucas and I didn’t get a say.” I dab, anything to keep myself occupied. “Half the bastards didn’t even show up.”

I find his eyes on my reflection. “It was quick, yes. But then again, probably better. To still your position against the council.”

I shrug. “Maybe.” My skin is cold, my fingers warm with the cloth. I focus on the circular motion on my cheek. “Maybe not. I will be put up front tomorrow. Like a fucking beauty pageant. I will tell them all I’m unharmed and ready to continue Lennon’s legacy. I hate it. I’m not a beauty queen and whatever Lennon did I want to undo. Those people have lost people, too. And I’m being a hypocrite.”

“You’re doing what you have to, to stay alive.” He sounds closer, footsteps echoing behind me. I no longer see him in the mirror.

He’s close enough to reach a hand and touch me if he wanted to. He does not.

“So what then? I’ll live afraid of what they’ll do to me, never changing anything to remain alive? I owe them better than this,” I growl.

My frustration doesn’t face him. He remains as steady as a river. “You’re no good dead,” he mutters.

“Neither am I alive.”

***

“You were in Odin’s chambers earlier?” His tone is subtle as he steals a glance my way, his heavy footsteps thundering behind his booming voice.

I shrug. Secretly, I’m glad he hasn’t brought up anything related to father. Or mother. Or anything at all. Odin is something I can focus on without much thought, and it doesn’t make me feel anything. Anything wrong, that is. Odin means safety. “I was. We were discussing... things.”

“Things?” he asks, never breaking his pace. A sly smile splits his features. “He loves talking about war, but you have little to no information about it. Is ‘discussing things’ a new slang for hooking up?”

I nudge his shoulder, rolling my eyes. “We’re friends. And he’ll be gone in two months, so there’s nothing you should worry about.” He retaliates with a shove of his own. “I’m not worrying. In fact, I kinda like the guy. He could make a good king.”

“Lucas,” I warn. “I’m not marrying him.”

He limits himself to raising his eyebrows. “Of course. You’re not.”

“Plus,” I say, tilting my head to look up at him, “we’re here so you introduce me to your betrothed, not for you to talk about my wedding.”

He never misses a step, walking briskly. “Which should be happening any time now. The

council needs an heir, and you need one too.”

I gesture to my stomach. “Well, it’s not like I’ll be fat and bursting by the time they put the crown on my head. If they can wait, let them wait.”

He smirks darkly. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” If the title hurts him, he doesn’t show it. My mind fills up with images of father, and I wince. So much for avoiding a ghost.

Chloesa’s family awaits in the throne room. New to Alemiss, they will remain here a couple of days, making sure everything is fit, planning for the wedding. We don’t know the specific date yet, but we have to find a balance between the mourning and the need we have for an alliance. To be honest, a party would be not only mentally healthy for us but for the kingdom, something to distract us from the news.

It’s exactly what they want though, right? To distract people and you from the other million or so dying by rape or starvation, cold winters and harsh conditions.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

Inside the air is cold, raising goosebumps all over my arms. The sun blasts through the skylights and the thrones are empty. Father’s is majestic. Velvet embedded with gold and silver. Mother opted for a simpler version of precious stones and black marble. I ignore the sight, biting my tongue. I have yet to sit on the throne. I’m not strong enough to remove mother’s.

To the side, half a dozen guards in a diamond formation, their colors strikingly different from the brown and red ones of Alemiss, stand. Vivid blue and fiery orange against the pale white of the marble floor. At my command, the guards part. They obey their soon-to-be queen now.

In the middle, a boy no older than eight, and a girl, fourteen or fifteen, stand. The boy’s eyes scan me, curiosity plain on his regal features. His height reaches my waist. The girl’s face doesn’t show curiosity. Instead, her cunning eyes betray mere dismissal. Her posture is stiff, chin raised high and hands behind her back. Sure of herself, a princess born in high cribs. A blue dress marking the colors of her country makes her pale, green eyes light up with the sun. “Queen Alexandra.” She sweeps in a low bow, never breaking my glance.

I smile at her. Her smile could easily be mistaken for a sneer.

The boy next to her smiles at me, crookedly. He misses a tooth. Gray eyes and the same pale complexion marking their blood. Chloesa’s auburn hair and her brother’s raven hair are the only difference between the siblings.

Behind them, three people stand. Between the two, a boy with wicked, infantile features, no older than Greece, grins at me. He has rocky blue eyes, similar to mine, but deeper.

Still, he looks like a teenager. Auburn hair and crooked teeth, he stands with arrogance and disdain, every bit of the heir to the throne he is. Flanking him, a tall bulk of skin looks on. He doesn’t bow, doesn’t smile. Gaze fixed upon a prey.

“King Welmiam. Queen Juliett.” The woman allows a secret smile, brown eyes sweeping from Lucas to me and back again. Her chiffon dress moves with her, blue as the sky, ripples of the rivers. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The heir speaks up. He’s at least two heads taller than Chloesa. “Your Majesty. We’re sorry about the current situation in the court. King Lennon and Queen Bliss were taken away from us too soon.”

I swallow the razors in my throat, nodding along. I address his parents again, focusing on Welmiam’s blue pebbles. “Indeed. However, there’s no greater distraction than an alliance. I’m so happy we get to keep stable monarchies by the union of my brother and your gorgeous daughter.” My eyes fall to her out of habit. Her perfect porcelain skin gleams in the sunlight. “Alemiss will go to any lengths to keep your country safe.” I smile through the pain, just like I always do.

I know they must be aware of Alemiss’ precarious position. We barely have the men to guard ourselves, let alone take care of another country. But they need the alliance as much as we do, even if it is as empty as dying words. They need our crops and metals. We need their support. It’s an even trade.

Finally, the broad man speaks. An older version of the heir. Blue eyes, arrogance present in every word. “Likewise, Your Royal Highness.” His voice is surprisingly high for a man who cuts such a startling figure. High and sweet. His exterior is just a façade. “We wish our visit could’ve been under better... circumstances.”

I laugh darkly. Don’t we all?

Lucas chuckles, squeezing my shoulder. His charm kicks into overdrive. “Nonsense, my king. What better circumstances than to have a beautiful bride plan our wedding? We need to get to know each other, Chloesa.” He speaks at ease, confident and chirpy. Like he didn’t just lose two parents. Like he didn’t just lose his sister to a queen. I admire him for that. Jealousy prickles in my stomach.

If Chloesa likes being the center of Lucas’ attention, she doesn’t show it. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t even steal a glance, keeping her gaze focused on me. I don’t mind, but I’m sure it’s a blow to my brother’s ego.

I bow my head, smiling. “Forgive my brother’s eagerness. He’s dreamed of this day since he was younger. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a council meeting in a short while.” The lie leaves my lips easier than it should. Chloesa meets my eyes for a second. I can tell right away she senses the lie. I don’t care. “We’ll make sure your chambers and guards are at the utmost. King Welmiam, Juliett.” I dip my chin in a sign of respect. Taking my brother’s hand, we leave the courtroom in silence, swiftly.

They’re not dumb. Even with our castle security, they’ve traveled in a parade down the Kleterc river with dozens of men to guard their shoulders. They know how deep a rebellion can go, spread its roots like a disease.

Lucas doesn’t speak until we’re well out of earshot. “What was that? There’s no council meeting. I wanted to get to know her.” He sounds like a whining child.

I scoff. “You wanted to get to know her when you haven’t said a word to me since Lennon and Bliss...” I trail off, blinking away. I can’t cry before him. I must remain strong, if only to provide a sense of normalcy for my younger brother. With a sharp breath, I regain control. “How are you?”

A weak smile appears on his lips, but his eyes remain a void. “How should I feel? I’m an orphan.”

“Lucas—”

He holds my gaze, nodding, matter-of-fact. “It’s the truth. And on top of that, I’m not just a prince anymore. I’m the heir to the throne now. Until you’re pregnant, anyway. And I can’t help but feel like I just lost you.”

I think I just lost me, too.

“I’m still here,” I say. My voice cracks at the last part, when we turn to the hallway leading to the gardens. “I’ll always be here.”

It takes all of me not to run in the opposite direction, away from this conversation. My skin tickles with embarrassment and a feeling I can’t quite explain.

His voice is dark, quiet, but it carries the strength of a raging sea. “But you’re not Alex anymore. My Alex. You’re the queen, too. My queen.”

I can barely stomach the thought. The words sound harsh for a queen. “Don’t address me as such.” It sounds like a command. He sees in my eyes it is really a plea.

“How do you feel?” he shoots back, ignoring my comment.

I chuckle lightly, stopping at a corner. He leans on the decorated wall, his tall frame decreasing a couple of inches. “How am I supposed to feel, Lucas? I doubt it even has an answer at all. I’m devastated. But I can’t say so. I’m scared. Can’t say that, either.”

He doesn’t mute. “You’ll be a good queen, Alexandra.”

If one more person repeats that.

“I don’t know if everyone else believes that or they just want to make me feel better.” Logan, Odin, Lucas. Mom, even. I can’t believe they think so when I can’t begin to stomach the fact I am a queen by name, if not by crown yet. “I’m supposed to give a speech tomorrow. About how father’s death didn’t affect us. But it did. They think it’s...” The rebels. But it’s not. And he can’t know. I recover quickly. “They think we’re not humans allowed to mourn, too.”

He flicks a hand in dismissal, dark lashes against his bronze skin. “You’re strong, you’ll get through this.” His voice never waivers, never leaves more to wish. He remains strong. For himself and for me both. The same strength father always showed.

Green eyes, just like father’s, look down at me. “And you?” I ask.

“I’ll keep pushing on.” The sentence makes me gasp. His gaze flickers, amusement crowding his face. “What?”

I clear my throat, shaking my head. The words replay in the back of my mind, even when

I’m asleep. “It’s something father said to me. Before he...”

Pain bleeds on his eyes just for a second. He clears his throat. But I see it in his eyes, the way his hand quivers next to his leg. He is hurt. The hurt he is not letting me see. “He was right, then.”

I step forward, touching his arm. A fleeting touch but a comfort all the same. I don’t know if the comfort is for him or for me. “Thank you.”

He raises his eyebrows, squeezing my hand in return. “What for?”

“Don’t be silly. I see right through you. You accepted the wedding to postpone mine. Thank you, Lucas.” His smile is brief, sweet, secret. Short-lived. “It means a lot.”

“I’d only do it for you,” he says.

We’re not allowed to say I love you anymore. We’re royals. I am queen. He’s the heir. We can’t make promises, hold vows, when our lives could be taken away as easily as they came. I hear the words all the same though, there on the tip of his tongue. I long for them, even knowing I won’t ever hear them from him. Actions have to be enough to show our love. Actions will have to do.

Because now, words all hold a different meaning.

______

ooops i skipped a week but school has been hectic. this is one of my favorite chapters of ALL time. hope you enjoy + let me know if youd like to be tagged!

thank you for reading

-goldenmel