Adelaide sat beside her mother. Her eyes were fixated on the steaming body of the roasted boar that lay on the table. The eye sockets were empty and the flesh had been charred a deep red—matching the skin of the apple in its mouth. An assortment of bright colored vegetables circled the boar. It smelled delicious. Adelaide's mouth began to water as she trailed her eyes along the length of the table. Platters of chicken, beef, and fish sat among the bowls of stew and the baskets of bread. Cups upon cups of ale and wine were scattered along the table.
Laughter and music filled the Grand Room, making it hard for the princess to hear her own thoughts. Her father erupted in hysterics—his feet stomping on the floor and ale sloshing from his cup. The queen ignored him, keeping her eyes on the party that played out below them.
As tradition, the royal families sat in the balcony that overlooked the Grand Room. Their guests mingled below on the main floor where several more buffet tables lined the walls. The bride's family sat to the right of the table and the groom's to the left. Banners with their respected crests were draped over the balcony in front of them.
Both kings were seated in the middle of the table. Their queens were beside them, followed by their children. Adelaide was relieved to have four people between her and the prince.
Once the celebratory boar was carved, she would be free to roam among the guests. Adelaide's eyes flashed to the long knife that protruded from the back of the pig's neck. As much as she didn't want to socialize with the strangers dancing below, the idea of sitting next to the queen for any longer made her palms itch.
Adelaide looked around the balcony. Two guards stood close—one at each end of the table—and two more were by the door. She stretched her neck to peer over the table and down to the main floor. The guards posted along the walls looked bored—one even had his eyes closed. If someone truly wanted to kill the royal family, now was their chance. All they would need is a bow, an arrow, and excellent aim.
She turned her attention back to her father. His belly laugh was growing louder. His fist pounded against the arm of his chair. She had missed the joke—but looking at her mother's face, it most likely wasn't funny. Adelaide leaned forward and looked past her father to the Adhemar family.
Vicar Adhemar was fat. His stomach bulged in his sun-yellow tunic and there was a dark stain from ale on his chest. His legs were short and resembled tree trunks thanks to his brown pants. Adelaide had always hated the colors of the Adhemars' crest. Yellow and brown were a terrible mixture. History books told that the colors represented the sun and the soil.
Adelaide moved her attention to the king's face. Sagging cheeks met to form his overlapping chins and thick neck. His face was red and sweaty, making his balding head shine. Adelaide wondered how a man as grotesque as he could possibly rule a kingdom. Had he gone into battle in that state? She shook her head slightly—Vicar ruled Mirella which was home to the Black Knights.
The Black Knights were Mirella's one and only form of defense. The army consisted of thousands of men hailing from far beyond the Great Eastern Mountains. They were taken from their mothers at birth and thrown into intense training. They mastered swordsmanship, archery, potions, and hand-to-hand combat before their twelfth birthday. If they failed, they were killed. Many legends told that the Black Knights were born from the witches that still dwelled in the wastes beyond the mountains. It was the only way to explain their unmatchable agility and strength. No one except King Vicar knew how the Black Knights came to serve Mirella—and no one dared to ask.
Adelaide's eyes moved to Queen Catherine. Her face was made of narrow eyes, sharp cheekbones, and pale skin. Her long, blonde, hair flowed around her slender neck and over her shoulders. Everything about the queen of Mirella was small. She had a small face, small hands, and a small stature. She looked like a child—the only proof of her royalty was the crown on her head.
A tap on her shoulder caused Adelaide to jump. Her head whipped around. Allister, her twin brother, sat beside her. A smug smile played on his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest and slumped in his chair. "Admiring your future lover?" he purred.
Adelaide scoffed and sat back in her chair. Her shoulder blades sank into the velvet cushion. Allister watched her, the smirk never leaving his mouth. Her blood boiled and she had to stop herself from smacking the smile off his face.
Allister's eyes were as dark as the Eralevudd Sea—as were Adelaide's. He had their father's strong jaw and chin. They shared their mother's chestnut hair and piercing eyes. Adelaide inherited the queen's high cheek bones and slender face. Some days, Adelaide thought her looks were the only things she had in common with her mother. Most days, she was right.
Although they were twins, Allister and Adelaide were different in every way. They had been raised on opposite ends of the castle. Allister spent his days with the king, learning how to fight, hunt, and be a king. He had the fun lessons.
In the east wing, Adelaide learned to sew, play fortepiano, and proper princess etiquette. Her mother was by her side every moment to make sure the unruly princess behaved.
While Adelaide struggled to stay awake during her music lessons and the queen's lectures, Allister was learning useful skills. He trained with the King's Guards in the sparring ring nearly every day. When he wasn't dodging strikes and punches, he was studying the maps of the kingdoms and learning battle plans.
In the ring, and in front of their parents, Allister was a perfect gentleman. He bowed respectively to every lady-in-waiting that fetched his water. But when he wasn't under the watchful eye of the king, he was off wooing that same girl. There wasn't a morning that passed by when another girl wasn't slipping out of his chamber. The guards simply turned their heads—pretending nothing happened. Some even went as far as asking the princess why they never saw strange men tiptoeing from her chambers in the early morning.
In the last few years, Allister seemed to calm down. The numbers of his random conquests lessened greatly—resulting from one lady-in-waiting refusing his advances and making a fool of the prince. Allister was enraged. In his fury, he dragged the girl from the castle. She was banished and branded a whore. The commotion caught the attention of their father and Allister received a lashing for every girl he tricked. He hadn't named them all—yet his back was striped with scars.
Adelaide watched Allister as he scanned the sea of people below. The familiar glint in the darkness of his pupils told her that he was hunting. The corner of his mouth twitched. He had spotted his prey. Adelaide followed his gaze, her eyes landing on a simple-looking girl.
"Allister," she spat his name. "Did you learn nothing from father?"
His eyes remained on the girl. "A lion must hunt to stay alive, sister."
Adelaide rolled her eyes. "Only female lions hunt. The males sleep all day."
His mouth twitched again but this time it was in agitation.
The girl that held Allister's attention looked bored. She stood by the entrance and held a paper fan in her gloved hand. She lazily waved the fan at her face, the tiny gusts of air rustling the girls at her temples. Her cinnamon-red hair matched the shade of her intricate gown. She wore white gloves that covered up to her elbows. Her skin was peppered in freckles, making her appear tan from far away.
Adelaide studied the girl's face. It was nothing special. Her features were plain. She wasn't ugly but she wasn't pretty either. With a glance down, Adelaide understood why her brother was so entranced. The girl's dress dipped dangerously low in the front—her breasts nearly spilling out. Adelaide curled up her lip and kicked Allister's leg. He jumped and snapped his eyes to her.
"Pig," she growled. He flashed a wolf's grin and bounced his eyebrows up and down.
"Come on, Ad," he said her nickname. "Let a guy have some fun. I have needs."
She opened her mouth to rattle off another insult when her father began drumming his cup on the table. The room fell silent as the king stood. Adelaide looked past her father to see Rowan watching her. His expression was similar to Allister's. Her stomach churned—she was not his prey.
"I'd like to begin by first thanking everyone for attending." The king bellowed. His voice echoed in the Grand Room. The guard who had been sleeping snapped to attention. "If it were not for my lovely wife, Jocelyn, this party would merely be ale and bread."
A few chuckles sounded from the guests. Adelaide could tell they were laughing out of pity. Her father had never been the best at giving speeches. She tried to stay focused on the king's words but her skin itched from Rowan's stare.
"Secondly," the king continued. "I'd like to welcome the Adhemar family into my home to celebrate this engagement. In a month's time, our children will wed and we will become one. Mirella and Endrias will be sister kingdoms once again, and will aid each other in times of need. And in their marriage, Prince Rowan and my daughter, Adelaide, will rule their own kingdom together. So please, join me in raising a glass to the future King and Queen of the sixth kingdom!"
There was a moment of still ness as the guests sipped from their cups in celebration. Adelaide nearly spilled her wine when applause erupted from the crowd. She set her cup back on the table and swallowed. The overwhelming feeling of nausea swarmed around her. She knew of the engagement—she's known since she was nine—but not of the responsibility that came with it. In her eighteen years, no one had mentioned her wearing the crown of a queen and ruling a kingdom. Her mother prepared her for the wedding and nothing else. She was told she would have to wait until Rowan's father passed away before she needed to worry about ruling. Allister was the only male heir of the Deveraux bloodline so he would take the throne after their father died.
The Adhemars ruled Mirella, Deverauxs ruled Endrias, Virewen and Brerrald belong to the Thylbalt brothers, while the kingdom of Haigos was property of the Lone King, Geoffrey Rowe. That only left one kingdom for her and Rowan to rule—Glassmerrow.
Her ears were ringing from the loud clapping. She looked to her father. He was smiling widely at her, his cheeks red from ale. He looked proud. Her mother clapped less enthusiastically, but still held a smile. Adelaide glanced to Rowan. His face held the same shocked expression.
Did he know the ancient tales of Glassmerrow? Was he aware of his parent's plan to ship him and his new bride to the cursed wastes? Did he know the burden that he would soon carry? Did he want the weight of the Cursed Crown on his head? Adelaide knew she didn't. She wasn't ready to rule an entire kingdom—let alone one that was cursed. She wasn't ready to have people looking up to her and relying on her for their safety. She wasn't ready to care for anyone but herself.
So she ran.