Chapter eight
the daughter of the queen
Elwyn
T he candles did little to illuminate the food on the table. Rivulets of water dripped down the cavern wall and splashed in the puddles on the rock floor. We did not speak. Only the echo of the droplets broke the silence. A man sat across from me. He piled a spoonful of food into a mouth surrounded by a sharp, grey beard. His cheeks looked like small, round apples, tinged red from the drink in his hand.
They often were these days.
His warm, comforting eyes met mine. They made the silence a little more bearable.
My father. My king.
A cadaverous woman sat at the head of the table. Her skin fell, withered and leathery, from her bones. Years of dwelling inside the mountain had robbed it of any colour. Vibrant blue veins snaked across any part of her body that remained bare. Her once blonde hair, now completely white, circled her head in a wiry, unbrushed crown of tangles. No longer able to sit upright, she slouched heavily against the chair. Her pale hands rested in her lap. A ring, a golden and crimson jeweled monstrosity, adorned one of her twig-like fingers. Her lips parted as an invisible hand carried a spoonful of food to her mouth.
The Queen.
Fur brushed my leg. Careful not to turn my head, I glanced below the table. A small brown critter stood on his hind legs. Tiny paws grabbed the edge of my dress.
Leshy.
He pointed to the table, and then to his mouth. I picked a bit of meat from my plate and snuck it to him. My eyes darted to the Queen, making sure she hadn’t noticed. My father winked. When enough time passed, I pushed away my plate, still piled high with food. “Ahem.” I coughed in my father’s direction. I tilted my head toward the door. He nodded, dabbing his lips with a napkin.
“I think that’s quite enough for me.” He patted his stomach. “I believe a little walk is in order. Is that alright?” The Queen responded with a guttural noise. Whether that meant yes or no, I wasn’t sure. Father leaned over, and my body tensed as his hand touched hers. His voice was warm as he said, “Thank you.”
My father followed me into the dimly lit hall. We walked arm in arm through the paths carved into the mountain. “Why do you get close to her like that?” I snapped. “What if she hurts you again?”
Father, supported by a thick wooden cane, hobbled beside me. The cane appeared shortly after an argument with the Queen. Though he’d never admit it, I knew she’d hurt him. Father dismissed me. “The Queen loves me. She won’t hurt me.”
His stupidity was infuriating. “She will!” We rounded a dark corner. A man bumped my father. I cried, “Watch where you’re going—oh!” My cheeks flushed. “Darragh!”
Darragh kept his head bowed, gaze trained on the floor as he addressed us. “Daughter of the queen, my king.”
“Why don’t you use my name?” I stooped, trying to meet Darragh’s eyes. “Why don’t you call me Elwyn?” It upset me when he called me by my title. It was unfamiliar and emphasized the distance between us. Neither of which I wanted to encourage. Darragh smiled but said nothing.
Father raised a knowing brow. “Why don’t we postpone our walk for tonight, Elle?” He embraced me and then hobbled down the rocky hall.
Darragh tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. He was so grown from the boy I used to play with—though, playing with was a generous insinuation. He was at least ten years my senior, and most of my childhood involved chasing him and Bowyn about, hoping to be included.
Overjoyed it was now just us, I asked, “How are you?”
“Darragh!” the Queen’s commanding voice boomed behind us.
“Goodbye, Elwyn.” Darragh walked around me. My fists clenched as I watched Darragh walk away from me, toward her. The Queen put a decrepit hand on Darragh’s back and ushered him into her chamber. Her feet several inches from the floor, the Queen drifted silently toward me.
“Stay away from him,” the Queen croaked.
“Why?” I lowered my voice. “Why can’t you even consider him a match for me? He’s powerful. He—”
“Tsk,” the Queen spit. “The people would never see you as a queen with him beside you.”
“What does it matter what the people say? Together, we’d be strong enough to destroy anyone who stood against us.” An invisible hand struck me. The force sent me sprawling against the cold passage wall.
“I will not consider it,” the Queen hissed. I pushed off the rock and stood straight. A bruise blossomed on my cheek. “Stay away from him,” the Queen repeated. With that, she drifted away.
I ran through the stone hallways. In a dark passage, I bumped into a slender woman. Clothed head to toe in a flowing black dress, she was one of the Queen’s many guardians. She examined the lump on my cheek. “Are you alright?”
“Get out of my way!”
I made it back to my room, wrenching the door open and storming inside. The door closed with a furious bang! I collapsed in bed, buried my head in the blankets, and wept.
Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.
I fanned tears away and opened the door. Leshy’s arms pumped with determination as he scurried into the room. Doubling over, he struggled to catch his breath. He straightened and stretched his paw to give me something. A tiny shard of ice. I laughed and dislodged a fresh set of tears from my chin. The ice melted before I pressed it to my bruise, but I continued with the motion anyway. I sat down and focused all my energy on the purple stain spreading across my cheek. I pulled at the bruise and, slowly, it healed. As the bruise faded, so did the terror in Leshy’s eyes. He struggled onto my bed and placed his paws where the bruise had been.
“Gotcha!” I scooped Leshy up and tickled his belly. His delightful squeals filled the room as he squirmed away. “Oh, no you don’t!” I pulled him into a tight hug. Leshy was a gift from Darragh, six years ago, on my twelfth birthday. His words lived affectionately in my memory: ‘ A friend to keep you company in this lonely mountain .’
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door edged open and my father peeked in. Leshy scrambled under the bed. Crossing my arms, I looked away, refusing to acknowledge my father. Beside me, the bed bowed under his weight.
“The Queen told me what happened.”
My teeth ground each other.
“I brought you a gift.” Father placed a parcel tied with fragile paper and ribbon on the bed. I tore it open and found an intricate dress of cream and mauve. I tossed it aside.
I had six just like it.
Father pulled another tiny gift from his robes and held it over the edge of the bed. After a pause, two paws took the parcel, retreating with it under the bed and out of sight. Paper tore and Leshy squealed. Pulling on a tiny red vest and hat, Leshy scrambled to the floor-length mirror across the room. He stood on two legs, admiring himself. He cooed at every new angle the mirror revealed.
Despite the obvious bribes, I hadn’t forgotten about the Queen.
“I hate her.”
My father glanced at the door, and the creases around his mouth deepened. “Be mindful of what you say, Elle.” He fumbled with the head of his cane, an intricate griffin. “She wasn’t always like this.” He withdrew a lacy white glove from his robe and handed it to me. “Remember her how she used to be.”
The glove tingled, and I embraced the memory it held. I saw the Queen through my father’s eyes. A breathtaking young woman, with long, cream-coloured curls and lavender eyes. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled a contagious, perfect smile. He loved this version of the Queen so much. The way she looked back at my father, I knew she loved him too.
This woman was not the Queen I knew.
What happened? How could this wonderful young woman, so vibrant and full of life, have turned into the monster that held my father and I captive? Not wanting to see more, I tossed the glove down.
My father held my cheek. “You look so much like her—when she was young.”
“Why do we stay?” I shoved his hand away.
The king paused before he said, “I love her.”
“You love the person in this memory. That’s not her anymore.”
“Maybe one day she’ll—”
“And what about this?” I thrust my hand in his face. An ugly silver ring wrapped my index finger. For as long as I could remember, the Queen forced me to wear it. She told me I’d had an accident when I was a child and nearly killed us all. To protect me, she forced me to wear the ring. It made me weak, limiting my power to the basics. Every year, she promised me the next year, I could remove it. I had hoped on my eighteenth birthday, it would come off, but the day came and went several months ago. Furious, I’d tried to remove it myself. It electrified my entire body, and I’d spent three weeks in bed, unable to move. After that, the ring remained untouched.
My father groaned as he stood. We’d had this argument many times before, and it always ended the same. “The Queen is protecting you. She knows what’s best for us.” My father closed the door and left me alone. I snatched the glove and dug my fingers into the delicate lace. The glove tore, and I tossed the scraps aside. I grabbed the vase on my dresser, another gift from my father, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered, sending bits of porcelain and dust billowing out.
A brawny guardian opened the door and examined the carnage. “Clean it up!” I screamed and stormed across my room. I tore open the shuttered window and breathed in fresh air. Leaning on the windowsill, I wrung my hands. The silver ring felt bigger than ever.
I’m powerful—I feel it. Bubbling beneath my skin when I’m angry, or scared, begging me to let it out. I looked out over the woods and the plains that led to the far-off town. One day I’d leave this place. I’d take my father and Darragh with me.
No woman, no matter how powerful, would stand in my way.