Chapter 15 The Royal Family
Chapter fifteen
The Royal Family
Though Beauty and her Beast lived long ago, their legacy lives on in the Vencia line. It is the duty of the House Vencia to uphold the history of Meridea long after magic turns to myth.
-Tales from Meridea, Volume I
How did Lucinda Blackthorn end up holding a croquet stick beneath the warm spring sun, since Gladys said.
Internalizing a groan surrounded by an alarming amount of royalty?
Poor life choices.
Indeed, one masquerade ball and mistaken identity later, and she was fighting back the nausea that built in her stomach every time someone said the fateful words,
“Your turn, Luci.” Prithat would have shaken the ground beneath them, Luci stepped forward, pointedly ignoring Prince Ira’s wide grin and the way he leaned on his stick, which somehow managed to emphasize the definition in his arm through his loose white shirt.
He was enjoying this far too much. If Brielle hadn’t begged her to join them, Luci would have been content spending the day with Noah in the infirmary. Instead, she batted her baby blue eyes that filled with the hint of glistening tears and pleaded with Luci not to abandon her.
It was a ridiculous game. Hitting the ball with a mallet into hoop after hoop.
Though six was a small number, it was taking far too long for their party to reach it, so the game would end.
In fact, it was suspiciously long. Princess Gladys, Prince Ira, and Prince Lucien were making a show of missing their shots, though at least Lucien had the decency to roll his eyes every time his sister glared at him in reminder.
“Remember that the ball is meant to go through the hoop, Ms. Blackthorn,” Lucien said.
Ignoring him, Luci squared up her shoulders and eyed that bright yellow ball like it was an overgrown mouse. It might as well have been for how hard it was to hit it in the right direction.
The breeze rustled the trees that stood in observance of Luci’s lack of athleticism, and the smell of flowers ran over her.
The courtyard was large and shadowed by the castle at their backs, but it still felt like a new world.
Lush green grass that held a slight bounce to it, trees that witnessed thousands of years of history, and a maze of gardens to the north.
It was beautiful, but Luci still preferred the hominess of Blythe.
“What? I’m trying to help!” Lucien said.
Raising her eyes from her quarry, Luci found Lucien holding his hands up and hiding a smile.
He should have been born ugly. It would have been more fair.
“You are doing great, Luci,” her traitorous best friend said.
If only glares were enough.
Pulling back her arm, Luci whacked the ball hard enough that it flew right over the magic damned hoop and into a solid willow tree that hung overhead with a resounding thunk.
“I can’t help but feel like she was picturing my head,” Lucien said. “I don’t think she cares for me much.”
“None of us do, but we tolerate you all the same.” Prince Ira said.
“Your form was– lovely.” Gladys tried.
Luci groaned and raised her eyes to the sky. If magic existed, may it strike her down where she stood and save her from this torment.
The sound of melodic laughter ripped Luci from her divine deliverance to find Brielle Treveon covering her mouth, a small snort ripping from her. Her eyes went wide as she took in the royals standing behind Luci, and for a moment, no one blinked. No one moved a single muscle.
Prince Ira’s deep laugh ricocheted against Luci’s chest and into the air around them, permeating the garden with its richness.
Gladys was next to break, her chestnut hair tumbling forward as she bent over, holding her stomach as laughter erupted from her.
An airy sort of sound that reminded Luci of the elves in stories.
Even Lucien, who might have been evil incarnate, shook with amusement.
“I’m sorry, Luci–” Brielle snorted once more, sending the royals into further fits. “It’s just you look–,”
The words were stolen from her as she struggled to rein in her laughter. Normally, the sound would have been music to Luci’s ears, but croquet was a crime against humanity.
Just as she was about to stomp back to the castle and lock herself in with potions that didn’t laugh, Prince Ira retrieved the ball and began walking towards her, tossing the ball up and catching it with a wide grin.
He should have been born ugly, too.
The green in his eyes reflected the garden around them, a shine echoing in their depths as amusement radiated off of him. Setting the ball down in front of her, he held out his hand.
“May I?” he asked.
“Probably not,” Luci answered on instinct.
He leaned in, the side of his mouth curling up, and Luci forgot to breathe.
“Are you ready to see my secret weapon?” he asked.
Luci choked out a sound that stuck deep in her throat.
It only encouraged him, and he spun, facing Brielle, who was watching them with a wide smile on her face.
All at once, it hit Luci square in the chest, and she was suffocating on the sweet flowers around them.
Brielle was stunning in the way that poets spend their whole lives trying to put into words.
Happy. Fulfilled. Whole.
“Brielle, will you please tell Lucinda that she should refer to me as Ira?” The prince grinned wickedly.
Bastard.
Brielle opened her mouth and feigned shock that was undone by the color in her cheeks and brightness of her eyes.
You are the sickness.
It hollowed out Luci and made the world spin in a blur of greens and reds.
“Of course, she should. Luci, why are you being so stubborn?”
There was no condemnation in the words; they were light and airy. Easy, simple. Like they didn’t matter in the least.
“Are you impressed?” Prince Ira leaned in, his breath sending a shiver down Luci’s spine.
Oh no. Nausea rolled in her stomach, battling against the sinking dread, swallowing her whole. Brielle’s smile faltered at whatever she saw in Luci’s face, and Lord Treveon’s words rang in her ears.
You aren’t the cure.
“Luci?” Brielle asked, coming towards her.
Her blond hair blew in the breeze that ran across her like a lover's caress. She was ethereal. In just a few days at court, she appeared healthier than in all the years before. All because of the man standing next to Luci. He’d been the cure.
“I’m fine. Just terrible at croquet. I think I might take a break.” Luci said.
Next to her, Ira’s grin faded, and he scanned her, searching her.
“I was only teasing, Lucinda, you don’t have to–”
Luci waved a hand and stepped towards Brielle, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Luci–,” all humor was gone, and wasn’t that just what Lord Treveon was trying to say?
All that joy was eradicated because Luci felt like the world was erupting around her. Selfish.
“I’m fine, don’t stop having fun on my account. I’ll see you later tonight.” Turning to face the royals, Luci bowed her head. “Thank you all for including me. I’m honored.”
Every footfall was a monumental effort to keep pace. All she wanted to do was run. Run to wherever would stop this cracking in her chest. Brielle was happy and fulfilled. It was everything Luci ever dreamed of for the woman who owned her heart and soul.
So why did it feel like Luci was drowning?
The walk back to the castle was an eternity long, servants nodding to Luci every few steps.
Not quite deference, but not quite the acknowledgement of an equal.
They were just as confused as Luci about her place in the world.
All because Brielle willed her to be more than she was.
She presented Luci as an equal, and the world took note.
Without half a thought more, she stood in front of the library door, staring at the ornate trail of gold over white.
She’d meant to go to the infirmary. To lose herself in herbs and healing.
Yet, all she could see in her mind's eye was the vision she endured within the glass hall.
Brielle was standing among those flowers in the field of Blythe.
Her cheeks full, her body bigger, healthy.
There really wasn’t a choice. She may have been sick once, but she wouldn’t stay that way.
So it was that Luci opened the door and stepped through, finding Max at his desk with papers strewn about. Quill in hand, writing furiously with his brow pulled tight together.
“Are you Brielle or Lucinda today?” he asked without looking up.
If Luci were going to believe in magic, it would be because of the little prince in front of her. She swallowed hard, pushing down the despair of minutes ago and summoning the courage that lived somewhere inside her. Deep, deep, down.
“I think it was a map,” Luci said.
Nausea blanketed her, but she knew what she needed to do. For days, she’d hidden from it, but the truth was always buried under her own selfishness. Her need to keep Brielle close and, worst of all, her need to be needed.
“Obviously, it was a map.” Max sighed, but never looked up from his work.
Instead, he shuffled through the papers and handed a sheet to her. The moment she took it from him, she knew everything was about to change.
It was a crudely drawn map with exes and vague shapes such as lakes and mountains. Exactly what she would expect a seven-year-old to draw.
“I combed through every map we have, and while there were two possibilities of mountains, I found this,” Max reached down and pulled out a navy leather-bound book with gold foil. “The Ruby Shoes. Are you aware-”
“Yes, of course,” Luci’s heart beat like an anvil in her chest, crushing.
Unaware of her growing panic, Max opened to a marked page.
“In this one, Dorothy falls asleep in a field of poppies just as you described in the vision. More than that, Ira was right, why create a glass room if not to communicate with future generations? It’s probable it was referring to Glass Mountain just as Dorothy fell asleep in the poppies at the base of that very mountain.
I know you hypothesized the winged creature could be a wyvern, but nothing else points to the blue mountains.
I’ve scoured for any mention of glittering caves or lagoons, but I can’t find anything. ”
Bile crept up her throat, but Lucinda Blackthorn was no coward.
“There was a constellation in the sky. A rose,” she whispered.
Max’s eyes lit up, a child-like joy that was odd on him despite his age. Luci was convinced that he was at least an eighty-year-old soul trapped in a child’s body.
“It’s north! It’s the Blue Mountains!”
The stars shone in his eyes as he stood and covered his mouth with his hand.
Rare was it that dreams came true, but for this prince, the thing he loved most was real beyond a doubt.
Every story, every glittering ballroom, and every magic spell was real.
It was more than enough to burst through her chest. It was odd that something so beautiful could feel like a death blow.
“I suppose you will send a party to retrieve the flower.” She said.
Max’s smile faded, and he tilted his head, studying her like she was a mystery.
“I’m only seven years old,” he said. “I don’t actually have any authority.”
The laugh tasted sour in her throat.
“Your brother will,” she said.
He stepped forward and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Why do you look like that? Like you dropped your favorite dessert on the floor?” he asked.
What a conundrum the young prince was. Precocious, but still a child. He saw more than most did, but through the lens of a child.
“It’s been a long day,” she said.
“It’s not even lunch time,” he countered.
“So it is.” Luci hummed. “I think I’ll head over to the infirmary.”
Max’s brow pulled down into nearly impossible depths, and a pang of guilt shot through her that she was confusing him.
Reaching over, Luci ruffled the little prince’s hair that was light and curly beneath her fingers.
He swatted her away and backed up, but his brow was more relaxed, and he fought to hide his smile through a harsh sniff of his nose.
“I am a prince, you know,” he said.
“Is that so?” she winked.
Huffing out a long breath, he gathered his papers.
“Have you seen Ira?” he asked.
Wasting no time, it would seem.
“Croquet,” Luci answered.
The prince rolled his eyes and stepped around her to the door.
“I hate croquet,” he lamented.
“Me too.”