The blizzard howled outside, screaming in fury at its inability to penetrate the stone walls. The storm screamed on, but it couldn't dampen the thick tapestries that covered those walls. It couldn't cut the warmth of the fire roaring in the hearth, or chill the warm arms that encircled me, the broad chest and thick body that was my father. We sat on a fluffy rug in front of the fire, a book too heavy for me to lift spread on the ground in front of us. Work-hardened fingers traced along the words he spoke, stopping over some fine scrawl long enough for me to sound out the words, trying to remember all the rules that went with the letters. He would smile, neatly-trimmed beard stretching with his grin.

"That's right, sweet girl. You are so smart. Perhaps you'll be emperor someday," He would say, lifting me off his lap into the air as I squealed.

"Don't give her false hope," My mother said from a thick arm-chair, not looking up from her own book. She was a practical woman, with fine, noble features drawn tightly across her face. She had a cold air about her, but I knew there was a warmth underneath the stony frown. Her black hair cascaded down to her waist, curled in soft waves from the tight knot she wore it in during the day.

But I didn't care about that right now. I didn't care if I was smart, or if I could never be emperor. All that mattered was that father was happy, that the corners of his eyes, deep blue, just like mine, would crinkle in delight. That he would keep smiling at me and teaching me all the things that made him so great. We would sit for hours by the fire, sounding out words and learning what they meant. We would read political memoirs, thick histories, business ledgers, or, my favorite, fantasies. It continued until the tell-tale sound of my mother snapping her book shut, and announcing that it was time for me to sleep.

I would be woken the next morning, usually by my mother or a well-meaning servant. As reluctant as I was to get up, they only had to utter that my father was leaving before I would fly out of bed. If they were lucky, I would throw on the nearest crumpled dress that hadn't made it off the floor the previous night. More often, I would race down the hallways in my nightgown and all my six-year-old glory.

"Papa!" I shrieked as soon as I saw him, immensely relieved that I wasn't too late.

He would pick me up and settle me into the crook of his arm, his tawny moustache and beard parting to reveal straight teeth. "Better late than never," he would say, halting whatever important business he was dealing with the acknowledge me.

"And half-dressed," My mother muttered, slipping shoes onto my feet. "Not too late, Torveld. She caught a cold last time," My mother added sternly.

"Wouldn't want that, now would we? Kiss your mother good-bye, Aressa."

I kissed her on one cheek as he kissed the other. My father then lifted me onto the horse, mounting behind me. We rode a short distance outside the city, to a patch of forest where the trees were full and the grass was soft. The horse grazed patiently as we sat in the shade. I squinted at the paper that my father gave me.

"Six… six hundred and forty four?" I said hesitantly, counting on my fingers to double check.

"Aye, and this?" he said, handing me another receipt.

"Nine hundred and fifty six," I said more confidently.

My father smiled again, and shifted through his ledgers to find another paper to give me. He found one and pulled it out of the leather-bound folder, but his hand froze halfway between us. I began to reach for it, but something about his face made me pause.

"Papa-"

"Aressa," He said, his voice was low, the way he made it when I sometimes got in trouble. I immediately started racking my brain, trying to remember what I did wrong. "I need you to go into the forest. Aressa!" He grabbed my shoulder roughly, pulling my attention back to him. He put a hand against my head, smoothing my hair down. "Sweet girl. Go into the forest, and don't come back, no matter what you hear. Stay very quiet, don't make a sound. Don't come out for anyone but me." He paused, listening. I could hear it now too, hoofbeats. "Go, now. Don't make a sound."

I scrambled to my feet and plunged into the forest. My heart beat filling my ears. I looked over my shoulder, safely hidden in the dappled shadow of a bush. My father's broad back blocked most of my view, but there were now at least three other men in the clearing.

"Gentlemen, can I help you?" My father asked jovially.

"You know what we want, old man." One man threatened. I couldn't see his face.. "Go grab it."

One of the other men moved towards my father's leather-bound ledger, and my father moved to stop him, but he stopped in midair. My heartbeat found itself in my ears again, blocking out any other sound. I was terrified that the men would hear it.

My father staggered towards a tree. He looked into the bush through which I had disappeared, then began searching the woods. A red stain spreading across his fine yellow cloak. He fell to his knees before his eyes met mine. They looked wrong. Wide-open, slightly glazed, and no crinkles surrounded them. The man came around, and pulled the dagger from his chest. The red began seeping further, covering his chest.

Someone started screaming as I clawed my way out of the forest. Branches tugged at my dress and scratched my face, as if trying to hold me back. I pushed through anyways, ignorant of the long strands of black hair that the underbrush pulled from my head. I fell at father's body, clawing my way through the red-stained grass. I had just reached him when someone pulled my roughly up by my hair.

I fought back, clawing at the hand and arm that held me, kicking in every possible direction. The screaming continued. I could tell that the men were saying something to each other, but I couldn't understand any of it. The man who stabbed my father came forward, the knife in his hand was still red. I stared at it. The screaming got louder.

I'm still not sure when the guards arrived. I was dropped as the knife angled against my neck. Flashes of swords and armor quickly apprehended two of the men, another guard chased the third as he ran into the forest. I clawed my way back to my father, my hands turning red as I tried to press the wound shut. A guard knelt in front of me, trying to get my attention. The screaming had stopped, my throat was sore. I continued sobbing.

I don't know how the guards got me home. I didn't tell them anything. I might have, if I had been able to speak through the heaving sobs, my tears diluting the blood on my hands until it ran down my arms in pale, pinkish streaks.

But, I got home eventually. My mother hadn't changed from her day gown into her evening robe. Her brow was creased in stress. She automatically took me from the guards, not asking any questions as I buried my wet face into her neck. She finished her business with the guards. She looked over my father's accounts. She wrote all the appropriate letters to all the appropriate people. All with me balanced on her hip.

She brought me to my room and washed the blood from my hands and the tears from my face. She changed me into a sleeping gown, and smoothed the hair from my face, covering me in a thick down blanket. She kissed my forehead, blew out the candle, and left.

The tears stopped flowing as soon as the light disappeared. I stayed awake, staring up at a face in the darkness.