Chapter Twenty-Seven
Andi
The blinding light of the sun projects along the hall, from a large mirror with carved peacocks along the frame.
A young girl skips in front of the mirror wearing a bright yellow dress with a blue sash tied around her waist, gazing into the reflection of herself.
Long black curls fall gently around her shoulders with some loose strands framing her face, her hazel eyes stare deeply into the mirror like she is searching for something.
I don’t recognise her, but there is something familiar about her face. She creeps closer to the mirror, never blinking, putting her fingers in either side of her mouth, sticking out her tongue and crossing her eyes. She giggles to herself and skips down the hallway.
Ducking and dancing around servants and maids, she tiptoes down a set of stone stairs, into a kitchen.
Quiet as possible, she hides behind a counter with some other children, two boys wearing clothes not quite as fancy as hers.
From their hiding place, they spy on the cook, removing a tray of cookies from an oven, resting it on the countertop.
The cook turns away, and the children take their chance, rushing out of their hiding spot to steal some cookies.
Dashing out of the kitchen with the cook shouting after them, unable to hide her laughter at the youngsters.
The girl giggles, unfazed at being chastised.
She pushes a set of double doors open, which leads into a beautiful ballroom.
The entrance is lit with blue and gold candles along the floor, while lanterns float high in the ceiling, illuminating the mixture of blue and gold ribbons hanging along the width of the room.
Folk dance in the centre to an orchestra playing from the corner beside two thrones.
The girl, now a young woman, stops at a mirror to fluff out her beautiful pink tulle dress, with light pink flowers trailing down the skirt, and scattered up the bodice; intertwining with pearls that sparkle with each movement.
Her gloved hand tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Looking at the waiting crowd, she turns back to the mirror, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes.
With a giggle, she composes herself and heads into the ballroom, laughing at a young soldier who is trying very hard to keep his composure.
The rest of the night is spent dancing with young men, suitors trying to win the young woman’s heart.
She smiles politely and curtsies when required, but her eyes scan the room looking for someone in particular.
Her heart flutters as she catches the eye of a young man but before she can walk towards him, an older gentleman steps in front of her, offering his hand with a gentle bow.
“Your Majesty,” she says wryly, curtsying before placing her hand in his and another on his shoulder. The music starts, and they twirl around the room.
“You look as beautiful as always, my dear.” His face is weary, his black hair sprinkled with spots of grey that match his trimmed beard, and his hazel eyes are kind. “Have any of the suitors been able to keep your attention?” he asks with an eyebrow raised.
The girl tries to hide a smile. “Only one.” The man spins her under his arm, when she faces him again, she adds, “Please, Father, can’t you give him a chance. We love each other.”
The man leans closer to his daughter, whispering with a coy smile, “Why do you think he is here tonight?”
Before she can say anything, he spins her around, letting go of her hand, and she comes face to face with the young man who made her heart flutter.
The young man is handsome in his navy doublet, his hair slightly tousled, with a smile reaching up to his dark brown eyes.
He bows towards the King, then again towards the woman.
She grabs hold of his hand and pulls him away.
Hand in hand, they run through the crowd, stopping at the entrance door beside the mirror.
The young man spins her, the young woman’s dress transforming into a white wedding gown, decorated with silver butterflies that flow along her dress and down her sheer sleeves.
The young man stands slightly behind her, in a black doublet with silver accents on his lapels.
Unable to take his eyes off the woman, he laughs as she sticks out her tongue and crosses her eyes in the mirror.
The woman turns to her new husband, cupping his slightly stubbled face with her hand, and he lowers to his knees in front of her.
Her wedding dress is replaced with a flowy blue floral dress, and her black loose curls fall over her shoulders.
The man places his hand on her rounded belly, leaning in to kiss it, and whispers.
“We can’t wait to meet you, my little Andrina.”
My eyes snap open, and I sit bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath.
My body is clammy from the heat of the room, my eyes blur as spots sparkle in my vision.
I shake my head to clear the fuzz. Looking around me, I don’t recognise where I am.
The walls are bare white, with a few shelves scattered around, a basin sitting on a table at the top of the bed, surrounded by ointments and herbal medicines.
Pushing up from the bed, I wince in pain as a shooting sensation runs up my arm.
I inspect the bandage—looks clean, like it’s recently been changed.
Where am I?
I lean over towards the window, peering outside. The landscape is filled with trees and mountains nearby, and the ground is coated in a thin layer of frost. My mind is foggy, I can’t remember where I am or how I got here, the last thing I remember is the festival in Cyvail.
I try dragging my legs from the bed, but my muscles don’t obey me and refuse to move. Inch by inch, I shuffle until my feet fall from the bed, scraping the cold, hard ground.
“You’re awake.”