1. Chapter One Rhea
Chapter One: Rhea
M y eyes shoot open as I sit up, gasping for air and swiping the hair away from my sweaty forehead. The silvery light of the moon reflects off the wood floor around me, illuminating the loft and beyond as my heart pumps wildly in my chest. It was just a nightmare.
“He’s not here,” I whisper as I force the memories down, my shaking hands gripping the blankets tightly. He’s not here.
A whimper sounds to my left, coming from the bunched up comforter at my waist. Peeling the bedding back, I look down at Bella, my eyes meeting her big round golden ones. She inches out from under the warmth of the blanket to rest her head on my thigh, my fingers rustling the fluffy fur of her back as I take a deep breath. I don’t usually remember my dreams, like my own subconscious doesn’t want me to grasp them, but I always remember my nightmares. As if living them wasn’t bad enough, the memories haunt me while I’m asleep as well.
Shivering at the thought, I shake my head slightly and look down into the living area below. From the loft space where my bed is, I have a partial view of the tower, excluding the library beneath me. The gray stone walls that surround me suck in any of the light offered by the moon, leaving eerie dark shadows in their wake. Sighing, I flip my pillow over—the coolness of the fabric seeping into my neck—as I lay back down and I close my eyes.
The tightness in my chest persists, tears forming despite my willing them to stop. Frustrated, I turn on my side and gaze out the window to my right. The floor-to-ceiling glass gives me a perfect view of the sparkling silver stars in the pitch black night sky and their reflection on the calm waters of the lake below. When I was a little girl, I used to pretend that each flickering light was waving hello to me, their presence offering comfort when I often felt so alone. Even now, though I’m an adult, I still imagine it.
The bed shifts as Bella moves around my feet to come lay in front of me, her body nearly as long as mine. I bring an arm around her as she nuzzles into my chest, her pointed ears partially blocking my view of the sky. The white of her fur glows from the moonlight streaming in through the window, so stark against the otherwise dark room. Despite the anxiety coiling inside me, my tired eyes crinkle as my cheeks lift into a smile. Bella’s presence alone calms me enough to abate some of my terror. But I know that sleep won’t come for me again tonight.
After her breaths turn even and a soft snore fills the otherwise-quiet room, I gently slide off the bed. Grabbing a long match out of the glass jar on my night table, I strike it and light the candle nestled in its bronze holder. My hair is a tangled, sweaty mess, but I find a ribbon on my white vanity long enough to tie it back away from my face. I’m in desperate need of a haircut again, but Alexi—my guard and only mortal contact besides the king—was so nervous the handful of times he did it in the past that he wasn’t eager to try again. No matter how much I told him the trims always looked fine.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, the taper candle just barely casting enough light to see the normally bright green of my eyes. Tonight, they hold fear in them, the dark circles beneath reminding me that this is the third night in a row of losing sleep. My complexion looks somewhat paler than normal, and even my heart-shaped lips lack their normal fullness, looking more dehydrated and dull. I sigh, but it isn’t like I have to worry about anyone seeing me like this.
Reaching for the candle holder, I move down the wide metal spiraling staircase to the bottom level. My thin white night dress sticks to me as a breeze from a small window near the balcony cools my sweaty skin, goosebumps breaking out across my body.
Alexi would tell me optimistically to call this place my home, as if saying it enough would convince myself that it’s true. I suppose to a degree it is. What is a home, if not the place you dwell all day and night? But something feels wrong calling this confinement a word as comforting as that. My books describe a home as warm and inviting. Filled with love and happiness, friends and family. Looking around, I can’t imagine a colder, more lonely place.
The lower level houses the living area with a sink in the corner. A small black couch is pushed up against the outer wall. The couch faces another wall—the library on the other side—that goes up about ten feet before turning into a black metal railing that frames the loft. A worn white tea table is set in front of the couch, and the green armchair Alexi prefers is off to the side near the glass doors that lead out to a white stone balcony. The entirety of the tower, all the way up to the pointed roof, is made of the same large gray circular stones. The only exception are the floors, both on the lower level and the loft upstairs, which are a light wood.
As a teenager, I begged Alexi to bring me plants and flowers whenever he could. I needed more color—more life— in this tower than just Bella and I. The monotony of all those gray stones nearly drove me insane. He was able to bring in a few arastera plants that I now have potted in the corner near the balcony. Their large bright green leaves shaped like wide stars provide that break against the gray. When he can, he’ll bring me fresh drangyeas from the castle gardens—the tiny blue and purple petals of my favorite flower brightening up my bedroom and freshening the sometimes-stale air.
When I reach the bottom of the steps, I turn left and enter under an arched door frame into the library. The red and gold of a formerly plush runner guides my steps into the room, my familiarity with the space allowing me to move as though my eyes were closed. There was a time when I thought I would never—ever—get close to reading all the books here. The sheer magnitude of having nearly an entire room lined with them overwhelmed me. Now I’m starting to wonder how many years of reading I have left before I’ve consumed them all. It can’t be many more.
Do books count as friends? If so, then I have hundreds—no, more than a thousand—of those. Snorting to myself at the thought, I continue into the room that still takes my breath away after all these years. Almost every wall of the crescent-shaped library is lined with books and tomes, the finely-crafted dark brown shelves reaching far over my head. A window seat, inset into the stone beneath an arched window, is the only one in the tower that allows me to see a little bit of the main castle and the capital city of Vitour that lies beyond it.
The little flame of my candle dances with the slight breeze reaching into the room as I walk, casting a moving shadow on the furthest wall. I drag my fingers across the many colored leather spines gracing the shelves, knowing them like the back of my hand. Even in pure darkness, I could find exactly what I’m looking for. The worn down wood flooring creaks with each step I take, reminding me of the age of this room.
This tower.
This existence .
There. My fingers, stiff from the night air, pull out the book I want. I could close the window letting the chill in, but the truth is just having that small space open to the outside makes the inside of the tower feel less suffocating. Setting the candle down on the stone edge of the window sill, I crawl onto the cushion of the bench seat. The velvet is teal in color and lined with pillows on either side in dark green, yellow, and blue. Spreading a cream-colored blanket over my legs, I lay the book down on top. My fingers trace over the foiled title, the combination of the subtle moonlight and the small candle flame reflecting off the gold embossing. The Little Sun . A small smile tilts my lips, nostalgia washing over me as I begin to read.
Once upon a time, there was a little sun who was sad and lonely.
“At least the Moon has the Stars,” she whispered, “yet I have no one.”
Years and years passed and the sun grew more sorrowful.
“I just want someone to talk to so I am not so alone.”
“You are not alone, little Sun,” said a voice that spoke all around her, feminine and sweet.
“Who are you?” the little sun asked.
“I am a friend. I have always been here, but you have been too sad to truly notice.”
“But I cannot see you now,” the sun cried.
“Almost, little Sun. When you hover over the horizon, look to the east.”
Anticipation filled the little sun. Finally, she had someone to call a friend.
When she floated over the horizon, the little sun looked east as the voice suggested. At first she saw nothing, but then, a circle of silver light grew in the distance.
“Is that you?” the sun whispered in awe.
“It is, my little Sun.”
“But you are the Moon. I did not think we could ever be out at the same time.”
“I’ve always been here, little Sun, waiting for you to notice me,” the moon said softly.
“You glow so beautifully.”
“It is because of you. Your light makes me shine. Just like it makes everything around you brighter.”
The little sun sighed.
“Sometimes I do not feel like I make anything shine,” the sun lamented.
“My little Sun, you bring balance to the Night. This world would not exist if not for you.” The sun could sense the radiant truth in those words.
“Do I truly make you gleam?” the little sun wondered.
“Your light is the only thing that does.”
The little sun felt happy that she had helped make something look so lovely.
“We don’t get much time together, but look to the east, little Sun, and when we’re both in the Middle, between Day and Night, I will be here with you. You are never alone.”
“Forever?” the little sun asked.
“Forever,” the moon answered.
Closing the book, a shaky exhale leaves my lips as a single tear slides down my cheek. I lean my head back against the cold stone wall, finding the moon in the sky—a shining beacon amongst the black—surrounded by all its tiny friends that sparkle like diamonds.
“At least the moon has the stars,” I whisper before holding my breath. I know the moon won’t answer, but that doesn’t stop the flutter of hope that blossoms in my gut every time I utter those words. Hope that a lovely voice will beckon to me, telling me I’m not alone. I sometimes imagine my mother answering although I wouldn’t know her voice if she did—she, along with my father, died the very night I was born. When I’m met with the silence I expect, my eyes drop back down to the book, sadness weighing on my bones.
As if she was summoned by my emotions, I hear Bella’s giant paws pad down the metal stairs in search of me. When she enters the room, her eyes scan mine in question. I don’t know if animals are supposed to be this expressive, this intuitive, but Bella always has been. I shrug a shoulder, the corners of my mouth lifting up in a smile that doesn’t quite make it to my eyes. Bella huffs out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sigh and walks closer to nudge me with her nose, a silent plea to make room for her on the bench. Her warmth seeps into me as she climbs up and curls her body next to mine. I cuddle into her, keeping my gaze on the moon. “The moon may have the stars, but at least I have you,” I say quietly, giving Bella one more scratch behind her pointed ears. Her eyes close, and soon her breathing is deeper, sleep finding her easily. How lucky .
I watch the sun rise from my balcony, reveling in its golden rays as they pour over my skin. Breathing deeply, my eyes fall shut as I catch the scent of the freshly blooming flowers below. It’s spring in the Mortal Kingdom, and while the days are beginning to warm up to a comfortable temperature, mornings and evenings are still quite chilly. Wrapping the blanket around my shoulders more tightly, I urge the wind to dry my post-bath hair more quickly.
My tower is set apart from the main castle, a long stone bridge just out of my line of sight is the only thing connecting the two. It was an old watch tower that not only housed the occasional guard, but also, at one point, weapons and other things that Alexi told me about, which I then promptly forgot.
My attention shifts back over to the dark blue lake, a few boats dotting the otherwise calm water. I imagine the people in them to be fishing or even just enjoying a day off in the sun—none the wiser that the princess they believe is hiding by choice is actually locked up against her will. Would they even help me if they knew the truth?
Bang! Bang! Bang! The knocking puts a halt to my anxious thoughts. I run barefoot across the bottom level, my light blue day dress fluttering around my ankles as I fling the old wooden door open until it smacks into the stone wall. Alexi startles, nearly dropping the large wooden box in his hands, before he shakes his head and murmurs under his breath about how I’ll be the cause of his death. I bite down on my lower lip to stop my laugh from bubbling out and sweep my arm majestically in front of me to beckon him inside. He grumbles again before stepping through the doorway and into the main living area, the boots of his King’s Guard uniform clicking on the worn panels. He’s dressed—as he usually is—in uniform black; the only exception being the gold cuirass covering his chest and back as well as the gold sword sheathed at his waist.
At one time, there was a rug in the middle of this space, plush and light gray in color. The memory makes my shoulders tense. My throat constricts as my hands fist, an array of images playing out in my mind: a nearly lifeless body, blood pooling out on the rug, Alexi’s pale face, my cries echoing out— No . I force the memory of that night down, down, down until my hands relax. Interlacing them in front of me, the thumb from one hand runs along the crescent shapes my nails made digging into the palm of my other hand. My smile wobbles faintly before I force it back in place.
Alexi has been with me since I was around eight years old—an imposing presence that used to frighten me as a child but I have now come to rely on for the comfort of companionship. He is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a parent. Illuminated by the light of the sun, I frown as I study his profile. He looks tired, the purple bags under his eyes visible even with his tanned skin.
“I cannot stay long, Little One.” His voice is low, as if he’s worried someone will hear—even this high up surrounded by stone. Despite that, the nickname he’s called me since I was a child eases some of my concern.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, coming to kneel on the floor next to the box Alexi set down. Twice a month, I get a fresh supply of food as well as toiletries brought to me. Sometimes I even get something special, like papers and quilled pens with tiny pots of ink. My most favorite surprises, though, are desserts.
“The Cruel Death has spread. More than twenty men in the guard alone died last week, an additional hundred or so residents from the capital as well,” he says in a grave voice. “We are short a few bodies in the guard until more apprentices finish their training. The king will be addressing the kingdom later this morning, and all the King’s Guardsmen are required to attend.”
“That sounds almost as much fun as attempting to train a fox to dance so that you don’t go insane due to lack of entertainment,” I snark as I look over my shoulder at him and smirk, watching as he rolls his brown eyes.
I don’t mean to be callous; the Cruel Death is awful, and from what Alexi has told me, the way it kills is horrific. One day you could be healthy as an ox, going about your daily business, and the next you’ve aged ten years and started to waste away. Within a few days, you’re nothing but a skeleton, your soul gone to the Afterlife. It has been this way for a long time, and no one has been able to figure out how to stop it or slow it down.
“You were able to train the fox to use the toilet; I have no doubt you could train her to dance if you really wanted to,” he insists, fighting his own grin.
“You’ll have to let me know what His Majesty has to say about it all. I’m sure he’ll use the opportunity to drone on about how only he has the capability to keep our realm safe and finally end the Cruel Death.” I mimic the king’s voice, remembering what Alexi had told me he said at the last kingdom address he made. He doesn’t care about keeping anyone safe; he only cares about having power over them—at least if his treatment of me is any indication. Alexi sighs but says nothing.
My attention goes back to the items in front of me as I pull each one out of the box: dried meat for Bella and I, apples, bread, nuts, and fresh peas. A familiar scent hits the air, my eyes widening as I squeal, pushing my honey blonde hair behind my ears and turning towards Alexi. I gasp, asking, “Is that what I think it is?” There is no hiding the excited tremble of my voice because Alexi has brought me a surprise.