Prologue
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, two kingdoms were at odds with each other; the demise of a beloved king carved the path for a despised usurper to take control. Shadows in the streets grew darker, hunger was more poignant, and hope was fleeting
Chaos was a more present ruler than their new king.
As society faltered, a horrible disease began to spread. Known as the Flare, it took an innumerable amount of lives. No one knew where it originated.
Anyone who was found with the disease was instantly killed, all their belongings burned and their families relocated. Not only did the disease take your life – it took everything.
Because of this horrid illness, WICKED was created. Being the only thing that the two warring kingdoms agreed on, the organization was given free reign to do whatever was deemed necessary. Entire villages were burned in the dead of night, eradicating the threat in that area. WICKED believed that it was the only way.
This harsh action continued for generations, until something extraordinary happened. Immunity. Newborns began outliving their parents, and a small seed of hope was beginning to blossom.
The first immune child was found in an abandoned crank hideout. Starving, filthy, and covered with burn marks – the WICKED soldiers were surprised that the baby had survived that long.
As soon as the king found out about the immune, he devised a plan. Alongside WICKED, they confiscated every child born within the recent years. Infecting all the children with the Flare, WICKED determined which children were immune. Unfortunately, those who were unlucky enough to not be immune perished.
For many years, WICKED scavenged the land in search of more immune children. Populations reached an all-time low. However, one year, nearly all the test babies survived the flare.
Meanwhile, the outside world was in utter chaos. Two militia were created: one made up of cranks seeking revenge, and another of insurgents demanding their children back. WICKED, sensing the eminent threat, boarded all the children on a boat and sent them across the sea. Supply ships were regularly sent every month, but time was running out. Attacks from the militia groups were growing stronger and more violent.
Miraculously, the ship full of infants made it to shore. A lone ship, filled with a few supervisors and young children, was sent back to inform WICKED of their success. What greeted them at the mainland was a horrid and egregious sight: all that was left of their home was destroyed, charred, or rotting. Strewn across buildings and streets were bodies of the dead.
Who won the conflict? WICKED? The insurgents? The cranks?
Did it even matter, in the end?
The survivors could not return, as there was risk that the next generation wasn't immune. That, coupled with the fact that they lacked the supplies for their journey, sealed their fate. They perished alongside their deceased companions.
In the new land, the adults erected pitiful buildings and poor crops. Already feeling the cold winter to come, they doubted how long they would survive.
Thankfully, the older immune children were incredibly intelligent.
They took over for the elders, improving their structures and turning to hunting and scavenging.
Somehow, the survived the harsh winter, and the next one, and the one after that. Overtime, a small society was restored. People had peace, security, and happiness.
Mournful of those that they had lost in their journey, a day was set aside to remember WICKED and their contributions to humanity.
It is on this day that our story begins.
Chapter 1
"We all have a duty, Roan. This one just happens to be yours."
"My duty is to my country, not to my parents," I snapped, spinning to face my tutor.
Janson sighed and came around his desk. "Roan, you will help your country by doing this."
I scoffed in response. "You mean I would be helping my parents. My country has nothing to do with this." I crossed my arms in frustration and looked out the window.
"Yes it does," he replied, walking closer to me. "The alliance between Suecia and Brittannica would be stronger than ever."
"We have enough alliances already." I turned my head away as Janson circled me.
"However, if we agree to their proposal, we wouldn't have to pay importation tax on sending goods through the Maze."
Before I could respond, the ceremonial bells rang in the distance.
"You have until tonight to decide. Just remember that any future prospects might not be as . . . complying and pleasing as this one." He turned sharply and left the room.
I glared at his retreating back and returned to staring out the window. Frost clung to the window, blurring the outside world into a mirage of grays and blues. Not that there was a great view anyway; I was too high up to see anything besides roof tiles.
I huffed and watched the frost spread even more.
Who did they think they were, telling me who to marry? And it's not like I even had a choice; whether or not I agreed, my parents would still force me into a marriage. Ever since my brother came into the picture, I was nothing more than a useless pawn. They only wanted to get rid of me.
The bells rung in the distance again. I hate those dreaded bells, always ordering me around. They told me when to wake, eat, practice the pincello; everything in the castle circled around those bells.
I moved my feet off of the cushioned ledge that I was sitting on. Smoothing my dress, I headed through the chilly room and opened the door.
Servants fervently rushed throughout the hallways, carrying trays of gifts, food, and drapery. The ballroom was almost perfectly decorated, if their frantic trips were anything to go by.
After the traffic subsided a little, I walked as quickly as I could to the west wing of the castle. More servants rushed past me, their shadows distorting in the large windows.
"Milady," the guards announced at the entrance to the throne room, slightly bowing their heads.
I walked inside and was somewhat comforted by the warmer temperature. This room was always warmer than the rest of the castle – probably because of the large torches that were scattered throughout the room. They were supposed to eradicate any bacteria before it could reach the two thrones, which was especially important now considering that my mother was pregnant again.
"Roan, glad to see you could make it," Mother greeted.
"Thirty minutes late," my cousin added.
I narrowed my eyes. "Thomas, what are you doing here?"
A dopey smile dominated his features as he replied, "The celebration, of course. I'd never come here just to see your shuck face."
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. "Well in that case, I suggest you leave now. The celebration this year is going to be lame."
"Roan, princesses don't say lame," Mother reprimanded.
My father, who until now had remained silent, said, "Did Janson speak with you?"
I sighed and responded, "Sadly, yes."
He put his hands underneath his chin and said, "And?"
"I declined. If you'll excuse me, I'll be off to live my days in seclusion on a chicken farm." I turned swiftly on my heels and began walking toward the door.
"Roan, your satire is not appreciated." Mother called. "Come back here."
I closed my eyes and clenched my fist, taking a deep breath before responding, "I don't want to marry anyone right now, let alone a stranger.
"You realize that you must marry whoever we choose, right?"
The flames began to heat my back.
"Yes, I'm aware." I kept my eyes focused on the door in front of me, hoping that they wouldn't force me into this situation.
"We're giving you a chance, dear," Mother said coldly, making me clench my fist even more.
"No you're not. You're already pushing me, and you haven't even taken any legal action yet."
"It's for your own good. Prince Newt is a kind, soft-mannered—"
"How do you know that!?" I yelled whipping around to face them. "You haven't even met him! All you care about is those stupid taxes!"
Father stood next to the thrones, a hand behind my Mother in a silent show of support for her. Mother, still seated on her throne, hadn't taken her eyes off of me. Thomas was standing to the side, looking incredibly uncomfortable and out of place.
"Princesses control their temper; you should know better," Mother chastised, with a warning look in her eyes.
"You can't do this. I refuse to marry him. I'm your daughter, not just some pawn for you to do whatever you want wi—"
"This is not about you!" Mother stood from her throne. "This is about your kingdom, your duty! Every year, hundreds of men die trying to cross that god-forsaken maze! Millions of supplies are lost. No one but the Brittons know how to navigate the Maze. We need them, Roan."
"There are other treaties, other ways to ensure their alliance. You don't have to do this!"
"Treaties are useless, no one fully respects them. I truly wish there were another way, but there isn't. The people need this."
"But what about what I need?"
Mother took a deep breath and said, "Your needs must never come before the people's. You should know that by now."
I looked down and said quietly. "I don't want to do this."
"I know, dear." She had a soft look in her eyes, one I hadn't seen in a while. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced with the familiar cold one. "You'll have a month to get to know your future husband. Prince Newt has many duties in his country, so you'll stay with him. It'll be good for you, getting to know your new husband and your new home at the same time."
"I'm leaving?" I asked with disbelief.
"Well, you're going to be married. You can't just stay here."
I opened my mouth to refuse, but Father cut me off. "Thomas will go with you, to make the transition easier. His parents thought he could use some time away."
I turned to him, a look of pure confusion on my face. He shrugged his shoulders, offering a small smile that was meant to be comforting.
"You can't make me leave! You can't do this! I refuse!" The shout tore from my mouth and echoed off the walls in the throne room.
Mother and Father shared a look before collecting themselves.
"You will not refuse; rather, you will do your duty. Being born into privilege has its price. This is yours." Mother turned abruptly and sat back down on her throne.
"Get yourself ready for tonight; the court expects you to make an appearance when the announcement is made. Thomas, please escort your cousin back to her quarters and make sure she does as I have said," Father ordered.
"You said you'd give me time to accept this," I pleaded.
"That privilege was lost due to your disrespectful behavior."
"Father!"
"Thomas, please."
Hearing the unspoken order, he came next to me and began escorting me out of the throne room.
The journey to my room was spent in silence.
However, as soon as we closed the door to my room, I turned to him. "You have to help me, Thomas. There has to be a way to stop this."
He looked torn, and replied, "Roan, I-I don't think you can work your way out of this."
I grabbed his arm and looked into his eyes, a look of desperation on my face. "Thomas, I can't do this. I won't be turned into a slave, forced to bear children to an insufferable man!" I felt a sudden stinging sensation behind my eyes, and bit my lip to keep tears from spilling out.
"Newt isn't like that," Thomas replied, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I've known him for years. He'll treat you with respect; he would never force himself upon you."
Despite the reassurance, I was unconvinced. "I'll escape. That's it, Thomas! You have to help me escape."
He sighed and said, "As much as I hate to quote your parents, you have a duty, Roan. Privilege comes with a price."
I closed my eyes in resignation, and let the tears fall.
"I-I don't know if I can do this," I whispered, my chest heaving with sobs.
Thomas pulled me into his arms and put his hand behind my head, soothingly rubbing his thumb along the back of my neck. "Yes, you can. You have to."