chapter seven

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.”

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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.