I sit bolt upright in bed, freeing myself from the sheets that tangled around me as I thrashed in the night, sticking to the damp sweat that coats my body. Just like last night, the night before, and every night I can remember, I'm pulled from my sleep from a nightmare. When I'd talk to Cal about it, he'd brush it off, say it's just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. Still, it's hard to shake of a dream that's almost the same every night. The cold metal of a crown resting on my head. The blood on my hands, not only red but mingled with silver. My mother standing by my side, her hand on my shoulder, not reassuring me, but as a reminder. I am nothing but a figurehead. She rules this country. But the worst of it, my brother, who I love with all my heart, dead at my feet, by my order. Obviously, I stopped talking to Cal about my dreams. "Mother!" I cry out. My mother is not like she is in my dreams. She only wants the best for me.
Mother waltzes into my chambers, looking not at all surprised. Tears pool in my eyes, threatening to fall. "Do not cry, Maven," Mother chides. "It is not kingly."
At that, a tear slips free. "I don't want to be king," I whimper.
"Oh Maven. I wish you'd understand. I only want the best for you." I feel her presence in my head. I don't cry out in discomfort anymore. She does this so often I've gotten used to it. She only does it to help me, after all. At Mother's bidding, the tears immediately dry up, and slowly, the panic from my dream seeps away. Mother goes as far as to make me lie back down and become drowsy again. Am I nothing but a puppet? I wonder.
Mother's voice responds in my head, no, you are my puppet. Goodnight, Maven.
I fall asleep before I can fully comprehend her words.
The sun streaming through the windows wakes me. Groggily, I rub my eyes, and roll out of bed. Noticing I am awake, a maid enters my chambers and hands me my outfit for the day. Thankfully, it's not a training suit but a pair of black pants a blue jacket with gold trim. The outfit was most likely chosen by my mother, making sure her house is represented in the color of my clothes. I don't dare to remind her that I am not of her house, but of my father's. If only to gain approval from him, I wish to wear the colors of house Calore, to remind him I am his son too. I send the maid away before she has a chance to attack me with her brushes and powders to try and hide the dark circles under my eyes.
Once I make myself relatively presentable, I make my way to the dining room. Cal and my father are already seated, happily discussing war maneuvers. My father barely glances up as I enter, a hint of disapproval in my eyes as he takes in my outfit. But he doesn't say a word as I sit at the opposite end of the table. Neither does Cal. Mother enters just a moment later, full of elegance and in no hurry. She is never late, things only began when she arrives. I can't help but notice how her dress matches my suit.
Mother sits next to father. I feel her question in my mind. Why do you not sit closer?
I try to control my thoughts, shield them, hide them. Still they rush through, no doubt in full view of her ability. Why pretend to be close when you distance me already? Do you see my clothing? Do you see the way father looks at Cal? The way he looks at me? Mother doesn't answer, but i sense her displeasure. I will be dealt with, disciplined, later.
But she only wants the best for me.
Soon, reds shuffle in carrying trays of food. Mother and father act as if they aren;'t there. The reds, to them, are so barley human that they don't even register. I'm worse at controlling curiosity. Younger. I still haven't mastered the art of being a pompous royal, above everyone. They don't look that different, on the outside. How come they are so inferior?
The reds are leave as quickly as they entered. Ghosts, catering to our every need. Although food is before us, father doesn't touch it, so neither do we.
"I have an announcement," he says. I try not to think about all the terrible things that could mean. "My son," he pauses. Cal. "My son," he repeats again as if the words are suddenly unfamiliar. "Maven, will have the army of joining our noble fight against the Lakelanders." Father looks at me, really looks at me for the first time in a while. "It is a tradition, as you know, for the sons of House Calore to go to the front as part of their training. An honor really. A wonderful experience."
I glance at mother, my heart pounding. What does she think of this? Her face is blank, a well placed mask. I cannot find any cracks in it. Her reaction, at the moment, seems to be nothing. It is my chance to decide how I feel. A son of house Calore, he said. That can't make her to happy.
Cal isn't as good at controlling his emotions. The room may have even heated a degree or too.
"Well, son?" Father asks. Son. He called me son.
"I would be honored." Terror, pure terror courses through my veins. War is not something I'd face bravely. But to please my father? I suppose I'd chance it.
Later that day, mother summons me to her chambers. She is standing at the window when I enter, hands clasped behind her back.
"Have a seat, Maven." she says as I enter, her voice quiet but firm. Without turning to face me, she continues speaking. "Who does he think he is, claiming you like that? And nevermind that, but Maven, you are not meant to be instrument of war, brute force and hotheadedness. Your brother, yes. He is strength and power in the physical sense, but nothing more. You're mind is your weapon, Maven. You won't win the throne with flame but with your head. You will go to the front, I can't change that. Your only job is to stay alive. If the king thinks he can get rid of you this easily, show him he's mistaken."
We sit in silence for a moment. I don't know how to respond to that, and thankfully, I don't have to, as I surrender control of my muscles to my mother's will, and am walked out the door.
A legionnaire informs me I will go to the front tomorrow. That night, my dreams are filled with blood and shadows and death.