Chapter 3 #2
I swallow the lingering ball of emotions bobbing in my throat and resign myself to my fate. If these are to be my last hours, I don’t want to spend a single second thinking of the horrors yet to come. Not when there are still beautiful moments to behold.
I sit back and truly admire my handmaiden’s work, her delicate attention to detail. A talent like hers is wasted on someone like me. Sure, the jagged gash across my throat is easy enough to hide with ribbons. But the ghostly pallor of my unseeing eye or the sunken hollows below my cheek bones?
Tragically unavoidable.
Yet Peony still manages to make me feel beautiful despite it all.
“It’s lovely, P. Thank you.”
My handmaiden offers me a coy smile, her frail hands giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze before moving on to my makeup.
While she busies herself readying the eye shadows and finding the perfect shade of lipstick, I reach into the vanity’s drawer and pull out the small box containing my ribbons.
I open it slowly, careful not to pull the worn wooden lid free from its rusted hinges. Inside are ten ruby red ribbons, the newer ones brighter than the others, but none are more favored than the first.
My fingers glide over the frayed slip of fabric, because really, it’s a memory I’m holding in my hand. I had just turned ten when this box arrived at my door. No note, nobody waiting in the shadows to watch me open it.
At first, I thought it might have been a mistake.
Dropped by a tailor, or a parcel meant for one of the ladies’ maids whose bedrooms flanked mine.
But then another appeared the following year.
And the year after that. They just kept coming.
Every year on the same day. The anniversary of the day I was born.
It took me some time to understand what they were. I had never received anything like them before.
A gift.
From whom remained a mystery for many years. Being as there weren’t many here keen on celebrating the occasion, and even fewer who knew how I feel about my scars, the pool of possibilities was nearly stagnant. It wasn’t until one night, on the eve of my seventeenth birthday, that I figured it out.
I waited up, my breath bated as I listened by the door for footsteps I knew would appear on the other side.
It was almost too easy, I think now, giggling at the memory.
The way the box fell from his hands, like he hadn’t been prepared for me to open the door.
He bolted toward the end of the corridor, faster than I’ve ever seen him move.
But the shadows did little to hide what his speed could not, and it was in the dim lighting that I saw it. The silver glint of armor.
I should have known it would be him. Rhidland. Who better to know my secrets than the man who chaperoned half of them?
Yet even as I fashion the cherished ribbon around my neck and into a small bow at its side, I can’t help but wish I didn’t need it.
If Peony notices the insecurity blooming in my pale cheeks, she says nothing. Her gentle hands continue to work their magic, concealing the dark bags beneath my eyes and restoring the pink to my purpled lips. I almost look normal. More like a princess and less like a beast.
Knock. Knock.
Peony and I turn at the soft rap on the door.
Surely Father hasn’t sent for me already?
I haven’t even had the chance to change into the gift he’s laid out for me—a stunning gown with deep red bell-shaped organza sleeves and a matching satin bodice, tailored to my exact measurements.
A detail I didn’t believe him privy to, but then, Peony would know.
Though, she has been rather cagey about the gown.
I suppose I can hardly blame her for appearing just as surprised as I upon seeing it. The mere fact that the king and queen took from the reserves to have a dress made is enough to have the castle buzzing. But to have had one made for me? It’s simply unheard of.
In all my twenty years I have never received anything from them that wasn’t deemed an absolute necessity.
I own a single stained nightgown and one ash-gray day dress.
Not that I’m ungrateful for either; if anything, it’s touching to think my mother cared enough to offer me what she no longer used.
I have more than most. A semi-warm place to sleep.
At least one hot meal a day. It’s all a girl should ever want for. And yet…
Another round of knocks sounds at the door.
This time my handmaiden looks to me. “Perhaps I should see who’s calling?”
I hesitate, twisting my fingers in my lap.
There are only so many people that could be waiting for me on the other side.
How many of them are aware of tonight’s plans?
Considering Galahand’s words and Peony’s silence, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m the only one who wasn’t made privy to the details of my fate.
“Sunday? It’s me.”
Xander.
I exhale, leaping up off the upholstered stool and dashing across the cold marble to the double doors. I fling them open in a single breath, and before the air can even return to my lungs, I’m jumping into my brother’s arms.
“I’m so sorry, Sunday,” he breathes, resting his cheek atop my head as he wraps me into a tight hug. “I have failed you. I don’t know how to save anyone anymore.”
I peer up at my brother’s normally stoic face to find his lilac eyes bloodshot, his well-practiced coif in tangles from where he’s raked his hands through it, a beard’s shadow dusting his sharper-than-usual jawline.
For the first time in our lives, he looks a little like me. Broken.
I hate that tears are all I have to offer him. I wish I could make everything better. For him. For Ella.
I lean into his chest, only to find the muscles that lined it before have been replaced by bone.
The load he’s been burdened with is too much for his body to carry.
This curse is eating him alive. Where I have never known a sky that wasn’t without a sun, his tawny skin has paled in its absence.
His slumber disturbed by the same haunting refrain that lulls me to sleep.
Even his heart beats threadier than mine.
Thump. Thu-Thump. Thump.
He wasn’t born for this realm.
Thump. Thu-Thump. Thump.
I think of Gally, who’s all but lost his mind.
Thu-Thump. Thump. Thu-thump.
Of the king and queen, who have locked themselves away from the very people who put them in this castle.
Thump. Thu-Thump. Thump.
None of them were made to endure this.
But I was.
I have.
A tremor moves through the hollow of my chest. A truth unfurling, warming me from the inside. Not resolve. I don’t think I will ever be ready for death. No, this, this feels lighter. Calming in a way.
And then it hits me. The answer to the question I’ve spent years asking myself.
Why me.
I was born for this era, the very thread of my existence sewn into reality by one woman’s scorn. Made to be the hand that exacts her revenge. Little did she know her pain would become the driving force in my search for peace. A force that I have not fully embraced. Until now.
“You didn’t fail me, brother. For I was never yours to save.”
Xander’s brows furrow for only a moment. It’s not long before understanding creeps across his features, twisting his confusion into a look of helplessness.
I can’t help but smile at his frustration. It’s been the only constant in my life. My ever doting brother.
“Sunday. You’re to be—”
“Don’t tell me.” I gently remove myself from his arms and step back into the tower’s chamber. “I should like to pretend I don’t know. I believe it’ll be kinder this way.” To know the blade is coming only sharpens the pain.
“Besides, there’s a dazzling new gown waiting for me. Would you like to be the first to see it on?” I grin, reaching for any warmth I have to offer, hoping it’s enough to make him smile.
It’s been so long. I’d like to see that one more time.
He nods, then turns to wait outside as I shut the door and slip into the dress made of dreams.
Peony steps back to give me one final look when her expression morphs into one of awe.
“My heavens, your highness. You look absolutely radiant.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks at the compliment. Probably because I’ve never been on the receiving end of one before. A shy smile dances on my lips, and grateful tears pool in my eyes.
“Oh, don’t cry princess.” My handmaiden rushes over to catch them with a handkerchief before they fall. “We wouldn’t want to ruin all my hard work,” she teases, gently dabbing the soft cloth beneath my eyes.
Without thinking, I pull her in for a hug. She doesn’t hesitate, throwing her arms around my shoulders. Neither of us says anything, but I can feel her silent sobs, can hear her muffled cries. Her reluctance to let go only solidifies the last threads of my suspicions. This is goodbye.
“Thank you.” I choke back my own tears, careful not to smudge her handiwork as I stroke my hand over her graying hair.
The corners of my mouth lift as I recall the days when her wild curls used to glow like the sun.
I truly believed she was a star, sent by the heavens to guide me. To be with me always. And she was.
I watched her grow old. She watched me grow up.
Maybe that’s what love is? Presence.
The thought makes me hold on for just a little longer. “Thank you for everything, Peony.”
“It’s been my honor, Sunday.” She offers me one last sad smile before pulling away to fetch the door.
I take the opportunity to look around the tower’s chamber, affectionately referred to as my room. There isn’t much to it. A single window high above my modest bed. A few aged bookshelves, which now sit empty. And the vanity, where I can see exactly what made Peony’s eyes glisten with wonder.
I suck in a shaky breath as I stare into the small mirror. I hardly recognize myself. I look like a princess from the fairytales. I look like a curse breaker.