7. Reign
B efore exiting the throne room, I take a good look around and scoff. The size of it is probably bigger than my entire house back in the Drifts. The large throne, with its elaborate gold patterns, sits high on the dais, looming above everything as if whoever claims that seat is superior to all others.
The massive throne may be just a chair, but it casts a large shadow of secrets under the flickering candles, and the torches that seem to beg the question—what evil secrets are they hiding? The room flaunts red carpets and gold accents everywhere—a display of the king’s wealth. The royals may have an abundance of wealth, but no amount of money can make up for the morals they lack.
The weight of the prince and king’s exchange hangs heavily in the air as I leave the room, not to mention the horrible image of the decapitated prisoner that is haunting my mind.
An almost palpable sensation prickles against the nape of my neck, feeling the prince’s lingering gaze on my back. The prince has a smug arrogance about him. He is undoubtedly reveling in the discomfort he stirs within me. As I reach the threshold, an instinctual urge compels me to glance back, catching him in the act.
Sure enough, he’s watching. His piercing green gaze probes mine with an intensity that sends a feverish shiver along my spine. The corners of his lips curl into a mocking smirk. A silent challenge reflects in those mysterious, enigmatic eyes of his.
Refusing to be intimidated by his audacity, I shoot him a glare laden with disdain—a silent warning. No—a promise, a vow of impending troubles to come. Yet to my surprise, instead of recoiling under my withering stare, he chuckles. The sound is as infuriating as it is beguiling.
With a huff, I turn back around, ignoring him as I walk through the corridors of the castle, following the royal guards to my room. Every step I take echoes in the vast corridors, my heart pounding against my ribcage as a mixture of defiance and trepidation courses through my veins. The royals are responsible for my placement in the Hollows. I know they are dangerously evil, so I need to watch them closely.
After many corridors and flights of stairs, we are split into two long hallways. Elm and Larah are in one hallway, and I am in the other. I don’t think this is done purposely; it’s just the way they split us. However, I will never underestimate the royals.
The castle is a breathtaking display of opulence and a solid fortress. It is so massive I can’t even fathom how big it truly is as I walk through it. It is a true testament to the power and wealth the royals contain.
The corridor’s walls are littered with intricate tapestries, detailed canvases, and sparkling chandeliers. They are lined with white and gold marbled floors with contrasting luxurious red carpets that cascade down the center walkway.
There are candelabras every couple of paces with white pillar candles burning in them. The candle flames cast a flickering golden glow over everything the light touches; however, I still notice the shadows—the secrets that linger and lurk in every darkened corner. I pass royal guards stationed outside of the many doors in the hallway—silent but always watching.
As beautiful as this castle is, I will not forget where I am and why. The palace’s dwellers wear secrets darker than the deepest dungeons. The royals scheme and plot. Their hidden agendas are filled with malice. Their hearts are stained with evil intent and wicked ambition that casts darkness over the luxuriousness of the surroundings. The contrast between the castle’s beauty and the malevolence that lurks within each hall serves as a gut-wrenching reminder—even the most radiant exteriors can hide the most nefarious deeds.
We continue halfway down the hall, stopping in front of a white door with gold trim. The guard stationed outside gives me a polite, curt nod and opens the door. Before I head in, the guard stops me, removing my shackles. He gives me a look that says I better not give them any trouble. I want to laugh, but I don’t.
As I walk into the room, he shuts the door, locking it behind me. Great . This is still a prison—just an upgrade on the scenery.
The first thing I notice in the room is the four-poster wooden bed—wood, not stone. There are layers and layers of luxurious blankets with multiple-colored threads. The reds, golds, and whites weave in an intricate pattern. The fireplace is made of some sort of glinting white stone. The roaring fire is setting a beautiful radiance around the room giving a false sense of calm.
The room has a white leather lounging chair in front of the fireplace. The leather is so buttery soft, I just want to lay on it and sleep for an eternity. To the right, there is a table with two wooden chairs, and to the left, near the fireplace, is a door I assume leads to a washroom.
Before heading to the washroom, I open the armoire near the bed and grab a soft, silky white nightgown—white, not gray.
I go through the washroom door and see a deep marbled tub. I was hoping for a shower. The vanity holds many oils and soaps with invigorating scents.
I turn on the tub and let the water get hot while I pick out a bath oil and soap for my hair and body. I pick a scent that reminds me of vanilla and berries. Once the tub is filled, I remove my bloodied gray tunic and pants discarding them like vile trash on the floor.
I go to step in the tub but hesitate. Memories surge—the tub at the prison. I remind myself that this is not the prison. I will not have a sack tied around my face and neck, while practically being drowned. I step one foot in. The water is hot and soothing, yet I can’t seem to put the rest of my body in.
My heart begins to race. I don’t think I can get in. I am breathing quickly, trying to steady my nervousness. It is just water, and I am alone. I will be fine, I tell myself. I step another foot into the tub but cannot bring myself to sit down.
I decide this will have to do. I wash my hair and body with the amazing smelling soap and rinse myself off. It is so nice to have warm water. I will never take it for granted again. Once I am clean, I step out of the tub, heart still hammering away, and dress in my night clothes.
The material is luxurious. It glides over my skin, hugging me ever so slightly. Once dressed, I brush my hair, and head back to the room, climbing into the bed. The bed is soft, yet firm. I can definitely get used to having a mattress. Laying on this bed is like resting on the most supportive cloud. I pull the blankets up around me, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what tomorrow might bring. Suddenly, the blankets feel suffocating and oppressive, like they are their own prison trapping me to the bed. I kick them off and lay there bare in my nightgown. I decide to close my tired eyes and try to drift into a dark slumbering abyss. The last thing to skitter over my thoughts is a pair of bright green eyes before darkness claims me.
I wake to the sound of knocking. I sit up in a daze, confused. The sun is up. A slice of light is peering through a crack in the thick drapes over the window, leaking warm radiant light into the room—the sun! I groggily run to the window and draw the drapes. The sun is bright and warm and… bright . Despite its golden rays stinging my eyes and making me squint, I welcome it.
For the first time in a long time, I smile. I never thought I would feel the sun kiss my skin again. With each cleansing breath in the sunlight, I feel the weight—the darkness of the Hollows slowly lifting away.
Knock, knock, knock.
I walk over to the door, swinging it open. The guard knocking takes one look at me, his gaze traveling down my body, and back to my face. I notice his cheeks redden.
The guard clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Ma’am, you are… you are in a nightgown,” he whispers.
I glance down at myself. The thin-strapped, silky nightgown clings to my body. I didn’t even think about what I was wearing, I am so used to wearing my prison grays. I partially shut the door, shielding myself behind it.
“Ah, what can I help you with?”
“You are to head to the seer momentarily. Here… I have breakfast for you.” The guard hands me a tray. I take it as he pulls the door shut. I place it on the table, and examine the food: eggs, fruits, bread, bacon, coffee, and juice. My stomach growls just looking at it—well, all of it except the bacon. After my late husband forced me to butcher a pig for our wedding night dinner, I can no longer stomach the taste of pork. There is a reason for the saying ‘bleed him like a pig’. I shake my head, ridding my mind of the thought.
I pick up the goblet of orange juice and take a sip. It’s cold and refreshing. The sweet and tart notes are amazing. I devour the eggs, a piece of bread, and some fruit.
After scarfing down my food, I head to the armoire to grab an outfit. There are only dresses—no pants or tunics. Darn it. I pulled out a beige dress and brown shoes, which I don. I go to the washroom and grab my palm blades that are in my pants, stuffing them under the corset on the bodice. This will have to do for now; however, I need pants so I can hide them better in the waistband. Then, I head to the vanity to brush out my messy hair. I don’t actually care how I look, but I guess I am expected to look semi-presentable.
Once I am content with my appearance, I open my door. The young guard that saw me in my nightclothes has his back to the door but turns around when he hears the door open.
“Much better,” he smiles, shyly. “This way. I will take you to meet the seer now.”
He looks young—too young to be a royal guard. I can’t help the question that slips out. “How long have you been a guard?”
He swallows hard. “This is my first week ma’am.”
Double burning hells! They practically have a child guarding me—a prisoner… a murderer. I scoff. I guess they do not think of me as a threat. Perfect. Larah, Elm, and I can plan the demise of the royals easier that way.
We head down many hallways, a labyrinth of sorts, it seems. After stepping off the grand staircase, I notice Vanna at the end of one of the halls, with two crying children beside her—a little boy and a little girl, each on opposite sides of her. Her arms are wrapped around them both in a comforting way as they disappear through a doorway. Odd. I don’t believe there are royal children.
We continue walking, and the guard stops in front of a heavy metal door.
“This is it.” He gestures for me to open the door. I walk in as he waits in the hallway, shutting the door behind me, making it click loudly.
Thick drapes block off the rest of the room. The room is dim, but I see the familiar flickering of golden light from nearby candles behind the drapes. The smell of incense in the air wafts my way.
“Hello?” I call out, unsure if I should just walk behind the curtains.
“Hello, my child. Come in,” a raspy voice says.
Opening the thick, red curtains, I head further into the room. There is a heavy, round metal table with candles lit upon it. In the center of the table sits a bronze bowl filled with what appears to be water, beside a dagger and multiple vials of dark, swirling liquids that move on their own. There is a fireplace behind the table with kindling in it, barely lit. The seer is sitting at the table, watching me as I examine the room.
The seer is a blood magic wielder. They are said to be extremely powerful and sought after by every kingdom. If a kingdom finds one, they capture them because of their rare powers. They can make curses, break curses, see things, and perform all sorts of intense types of magic with the right training. Some kingdoms have ancient books with different curses or spells. My father said spell books were just as much sought after as blood wielders themselves. I have never met one before… until now that is.
“Have a seat child.” Her voice—it’s so odd. It has an otherworldly quality, as if she hails from another time. It is almost indescribable.
Holding my arms at my sides, I clench my fists nervously—nails biting into sweaty flesh, making crescent-shaped indentations. My veins flood with trepidation as I walk to the wooden chair and sit down. The seer has stringy silver hair and white eyes. Despite that, her face doesn’t look old. She wears a thick black cloak with golden swirls sewn into the fabric.
“Give me your hand,” she says, holding out her own.
Without hesitation, I extend my right hand. I know I am a Nomatrab—or at least I suspect I am. She clasps my hand in hers and dunks it in the bowl of water. As she reaches for the dagger, my leg bounces underneath the table—my heart rate picking up.
“You are going to be fine, child. It is just a little scratch. I need some blood, but it will heal,” she reassures me with a sweet smile.
Maybe not all the palace dwellers are malevolent creatures.
Nodding, I watch as she draws the blade across my palm. The cool edge of the dagger cuts into my skin, releasing crimson droplets into the water. She quickly douses a cloth in a strange elixir from one of the swirling vials and presses it against my wound before letting go of my hand.
The seer dips her finger in the mixture, stirring my blood with the water, and then touches a drop to her tongue. Instantly, the smoldering fire behind her roars to life, filling the room with fierce heat. The candles flare, their flames stretching higher. Her white eyes widen, glinting with alarm.
“Cursed… double burning hells,” she mutters.
I glance between her and the blazing fire. “So… am I a Nomatrab?”
“What magic did your parents have, my dear.” Her demeanor has changed, and I am not sure why.
“Both my parents had lesser plant magic—practically Nomatrabs themselves,” I reply.
The seer looks at me with those eyes, devoid of color and feelings. “I see… you have fire magic.
“How strong?”
“Until you train, we won’t know for sure… but I sense an ample amount.”
I have magic! I hold up my hands staring at them in amazement, like I could actually see the magic flowing through my veins. I notice the cut on my hand is now healed thanks to whatever elixir she placed on the cloth. There is a knock on the door. I assume it’s another prisoner. I get up to leave and as I do, she grabs my hand.
“If you ever have questions that need to be answered, come find me first, okay?”
I stare into her depthless, white eyes for a second, not sure how to process what she is saying. What questions could I have that she would need to answer? I politely nod at her and leave the room to follow the guard, hoping I see Elm and Larah so I can tell them about my magic.