Chapter 2 #3
I turned to Cynthia, giving her an apologetic glance, but she stared past me.
Her face paled, and fear entered her gaze as her pupils blew wide.
My body stiffened and my heart pounded against my ribcage.
Why did she look so afraid? I swallowed thickly, and just as I began to turn, a gruff voice, unnervingly close, boomed from behind me.
“Bastards are supposed to be reported at birth.”
I flinched as the king’s angry voice washed over me. Bastard? Who was he—?
A meaty hand wrapped around my upper arm, and panic overtook me as I sucked in a breath.
Cynthia held my gaze as I was pulled backward and dragged onto the stage.
The king's fingers bit into my flesh so hard that I nearly whimpered from the pain.
He spun me around, and I was ensnared in the queen's yellow gaze, her nostrils flaring as she narrowed her eyes on me.
“You, girl. Who is your mother?” the queen spat, her voice raw and commanding.
“My-my-mother? You-your-Maj-je-jesty?”
“Point her out. Now,” she barked, stepping closer to me on the stage.
My eyes instinctively shot to my mother.
She stood frozen in the crowd, her golden blonde hair braided behind her, her large blue eyes full of what looked like tears.
Her hands were fisted in her worn yellow dress, and I didn’t understand what was happening.
I looked back to the queen, who glared in her direction, and watched her nod to someone I couldn’t see.
Her attention swung back to me, and I flinched at her intensity.
“Come here, girl.”
The king finally let go of my arm, practically shoving me in her direction. A pulsing static coursed through my limbs, and my body went numb. The queen looked at me as if offended and she scowled down at me.
“Pathetic,” she murmured, and her words somehow grounded me, pulling me out of whatever panic I was in. I rolled my shoulders and lifted my chin. It was still trembling, but I forced myself to hold her gaze as I thrust my palm toward her.
She eyed me for a moment, assessing before snatching my hand into hers and pulling me even closer.
The queen smiled cruelly as she lifted the dagger, her eyes blazing with what looked like hunger and madness.
The cool tip touched my skin and for what felt like minutes she dragged it across my flesh.
The cut stung as blood pooled in my palm, and I held my breath.
The queen’s face transformed from one of disgust to one of surprise. Her lips parted and her gaze shot to the king. He rolled his shoulders slightly, a small smile now on his lips.
The queen looked to me and back to the king, and then I was moving. She shoved me toward him, but he didn’t even try to catch me as I slammed onto the wood at his feet. I threw my hands out to catch myself and cried out in pain as the cut on my hand slid against the wood.
“Take her and go,” I heard the queen order, and a second later I was being lifted off the ground and slung over a shoulder.
What? No. What was happening? Had I been selected or not? No, no, no, what did my mother do?!
I struggled against the king's hold, trying to see where he was taking me. Why he was carrying me and where?
My hair kept obscuring my vision, but I could hear the sounds of his massive black boots scuffing against the wood as he left the stage.
I was swung off his shoulder, but he held me tightly in his grip as a sickening feeling wrenched through me.
It was as if something at my center had folded in on itself, and I was being swallowed, sucked into myself.
A moment later my vision returned, but a sharp feeling of nausea crashed over me, and I doubled over and vomited on what looked like the king's boots.
A muffled curse rang out and then a louder command.
“Get the carriage ready.”
My stomach turned again as I realized I was now next to the royal carriage on the other side of the square.
I forced myself back up and frantically searched the crowd for my mother.
My gaze washed over curious, pitying faces until I met the eyes of an elderly woman.
Her face was all wrinkles, but she pointed to the back of the crowd.
A sob left my lips as I spotted my mother being dragged through the square by her hair. A guard laughed while my mother kicked and screamed, fighting to get free, but there were other guards surrounding them, following. They were using some sort of magic on her to keep her down.
Why was no one doing anything? Why was no one helping her?!
“Mother!” I screamed, but I only made it a few paces before arms were around me, pulling me back toward the carriage. The air suddenly left my lungs, and my mother's body disappeared into an alleyway.
I sobbed harder, fighting to break free, to save her. But it was useless; my vision started to darken, and I swung my gaze back to the stage, searching for my friend.
The queen was already back testing the other children, as if nothing had happened.
Through my darkening vision, I saw Cynthia walking toward her on the stage and I fought to stay conscious, to see the fate of my friend. But as the blade sliced across her palm, I saw nothing but darkness.
*
I jolted awake, the vision of my mother thrashing in the arms of the guards stark in my mind. Of my friend walking to her fate, of me being taken away by the king.
I clutched at my chest, sweat dripping down my face as I let out a shuddering breath.
Sitting up slowly on the bed, a sob left my lips and I brought a shaky hand to my mouth.
It was bandaged, and seeing it only made me cry harder.
Tears fell freely down my cheeks and onto the crisp white of the bed beneath me.
Where was I?
My pulse raced as I scanned the room. It was massive, way bigger than our cabin back home.
The four-poster bed I laid on was by itself bigger than the shared room my mother and I slept in.
Moonlight streamed through the large window to my left, bathing the room in a dim, bluish glow that reflected off the smooth, gray stone floor.
A large, unlit hearth sat on the opposite wall in front of me, and the chill in the room made my skin prickle.
The walls were covered in dusty tapestries, and—the door creaked open.
I snapped my head in its direction, my back slamming against the wooden back of the bed frame. Icy yellow eyes peered at me through the crack, and my heart thundered in my chest. The door opened a little wider, and I frowned as the princess tiptoed into the room.
Her hair was braided tightly to her scalp, her olive skin absorbing the light that touched it.
Alana wore a black nightgown that hung loosely from her shoulders, and her bare feet made no noise as she approached me on the bed.
She sat softly at its edge, her head tilting as if evaluating me.
I stared back, evaluating her in return, unsure what to do.
Tears still fell down my cheeks, and my heart continued to pound in my chest.
“I'm Lana,” she whispered as if she were afraid someone would hear.
I whispered back a bit shakily, “I’m Zara.”
“I know.” She paused, seeming to weigh her next words. “I’m sorry for what happened today… to your mother.”
My lip started quivering, and Lana reached out a hand in comfort, her warm hand landing on my shin and squeezing lightly.
“Why did they take her?” I managed through another sob, my voice shaking.
Lana tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “All bastards of the king are supposed to be registered at birth,” she whispered softly. “My mother could smell your scent when that wind picked up at the ceremony. It was almost unrecognizable through that awful stench on you, but—”
“But I’m not his bastard,” I said lamely, and Lana gave another small smile and sighed.
“Your mother broke the law.”
I blinked and her words hung in the air between us as I tried to register what she was saying.
Lana spoke again. “That makes us half-sisters, you know.” She scooted closer to me on the bed.
“Sisters?” I breathed, looking at the tanned, dark-haired girl. The princess.
“Does that make me a princess too?”
My throat bobbed, the words thick in my throat, but Lana shook her head, her face scrunching in thought. “You are the first they have let live past selection,” Lana said, trailing off, her eyes glazing as if she were haunted by a memory. Her shoulders slumping.
More tears fell down my cheeks, and I shivered at the knowledge of what my mother had done, at what had happened to her because of me, because of who I was. But why hadn’t she reported it? Why did she hide me? Why was I taken? Why was I allowed to live and not others?
I rubbed snot from my nose, the endless questions swirling in my mind as I waited for Lana to say something, anything else.