Katherine
I wake up with a startle. The phantom touch of my stepmother's hand lingers in my chest, making me lift the covers in doubt. In the pale shadows, an unpleasant-looking scar carves my skin in mismatched patterns.
It has turned into a new habit to assure myself my heart is not there. That I am a living corpse, once more left to fend for my well-being.
I sit up, slowly taking in deep breaths, my eyes wandering around the badly lit room. The small space seems bigger than ever. The feeling of home has dispersed with Peter's departure. And along it comes the thought of returning to Saldrian, a place that currently brings painful memories.
Am I prepared to face them again? To truly see them in time and space? I question myself every day, but I never obtain an answer, only uncertainty.
I get out of bed, wrap a warm woolen blanket around my shoulders, and go downstairs. The inn is relatively silent, for the exception of a couple of guests mingling in the dinning hall. I follow the side-corridor to the kitchens, where I serve myself a cup of milk.
It brings a sense of comfort, easing my mind for a brief moment. I crouch down by the hearth, and steer the dying embers in an absent-mindedly manner as the remaining comforting drops of milk slide down my throat. The thoughts return more persistent than before.
The meaning of home.
In a place of pain, is it possible to find solace?
In a place of loneliness and oblivion, is it possible to find certainty?
I have been stripped of a place to call home for the past years. I do not have somewhere to return to, to settle down and enjoy the everlasting peace I so desire. It is odd to even think of a place like that.
Yet... I believe I have someone to return to.
I stand up, and serve myself a second cup of milk before I leave.
"What are you doing here?" I turn around, nearly chocking on the milk. Mrs. Serene is not unfazed by my presence. She must see the cause written on my face. "Having nightmares again?"
"It is nothing serious," I assure her.
"Then it must be something else," she points out, walking about the room. "You wouldn't be here, at this hour, if it was a mild bad dream."
"I am all right, Mrs. Serene," I insist. I place the cup by the washing basin, and head for the entrance, only to stop under the threshold at her words.
"That boy," I hear her murmur to herself.
I watch her store utensils inside the cabinets, her hands working to the beat of a daily routine, familiarised with every detail and shape of this inn.
"Mrs. Serene."
She turns around. In her eyes I sight a sentiment of concern; it is gone in a split second.
"Mayhaps..." I clear my throat. "Mayhaps the time has come for me to return. Home."
There is a pause.
Mrs. Serene halts her task, and cleans her hands on her apron. The hint of a smile shows up on her face.
"If you believe it is the right choice, Katherine," she says. "It has been a month, though."
"I am aware."
"Don't feel obliged to stay here out of respect, girl," she interjects. "I like you very much, but I am not one to hold people back. If you have to leave, then do. On your own terms, of course."
I smile at her response, endeared by her solicitude. For a brief moment, she reminds me of a motherly figure, the apprehensiveness that blooms within their chest at the thought of their child following a new path.
"I like you, too, Mrs. Serene," I declare. "I will not forget what you did for me."
"Foolish girl," she says, the smile on her face wavering.
"Good night, then."
She nods, and returns to her chore.
"Try to sleep," she berates in a teasing tone. "I don't want you here in the late hours of night."
"Yes, Mrs. Serene," I answer, taking one last look at the kitchens, at her.
Back in my room, I look for some paper. I write a short message to Lord Paylor, drawing every word without hesitation, only to halt the pen with a quick glance at the wooden box before me.
I am prepared to return somewhere, to a place that will bring me closure, be it duty or stability. Nonetheless, this first step will dictate how the rest unfolds. My hand holds on tightly to the pen, and I finish the message.
...
...
Standing outside under a mild drizzle in the early hours of the morning, I take in the sight of my home for the last months. It nurtured me, cared for my well-being when I did not have the will to; it brought me to life, restoring a sense of being I had lost.
With a final look at it, I make my way to the docs, where at first arrival I find someone to deliever my message. A few boats are returning from the nightly fishing, some workers unloading boxes of fresh fish onto the port. My head strains to the sky in search of a Saldrianian flag, in hopes of finding a ship about to sail away.
The soft drizzle grows vigorously in density.
My eyes at last land on a familiar flag. A small merchant ship is loading up it's deck, ready to depart for the long journey. After asking around, a sailor guides me to the captain, to whom I pay a generous sum of coins with a quick exchange of words.
I quickly embark the ship. The cool early-morning breeze caresses my face, the salty scent of the sea fills my nostrils, bringing forward the thought of what is to come.
I wait by the sides of the deck, looking at the docs.
The plank is lifted.
Bluemoon slowly fades into the horizon.
...
...
The gulls cackle above my head.
In the distance, a castle rises from within the cliff, it's silhouette one of grandness.
After five days, I am here.
Saldrian.
As the ship nears land, the city walls present themselves clearly. The port harbours a few ships, but the docs look empty. In my mind, they had been rebuilding the city since the day I left. They were thriving, but it looks unchanged.
A horn sounds, announcing our approach.
The ship is moored to the port. As soon as the plank is safely placed, I disembark, my feet touching the soil that birthed, educated me, and... Unexpectedly, my eyes catch sight of a figure standing near the plank. He eyes me, followed by a courteous smile.
"Welcome back, Your Highness," Lord Paylor answers, stepping closer. "Shall we go? Since you refused a carriage, the walk to the castle must not delayed further."
"You only had to wait by the gate, not the docs, Lord Paylor."
"I am at peace knowing I escorted you back home safely," he says, taking the first steps.
I follow behind, and then match my steps with his. The streets look empty. Not many people walk about. The few who stand outside give away a feeling of indifference to their surroundings. They are not thriving. They are falling deeper into an abyss of oblivion.
"Everything is unchanged," I comment.
"I do not want to over-well you this early, princess, but the council has been in an uproar since your departure," he admits. "Plans for rebuilding were delayed, while we tried to find a solution for the ruling problem."
I halt my steps.
The weight of guilt falls heavily on my shoulders.
"Your Highness." A hand rests on my arm. "You are not the culprit, so it is better for you not to blame yourself for this situation. It will only cause you harm."
I glance at Lord Paylor. He is fully committed to ease my mind.
"How can I not, my lord? This illness in me cost the kingdom a chance to prosper."
"I am certain you have overcome it."
"It is still here, just asleep."
He sighs deeply.
"For the time being, ignore this situation. For your well-being. I guarantee you we will return to it soon," he declares.
I consent hesitantly, and fall back behind Lord Paylor, too lost in thoughts of guilt. We reach the grand plaza before the castle. Two street vendors sell products on mismatched stands, but with no costumers to sell to, they sit on wooden crates waiting for the day to end.
I immediately reach for my coin pounch; Lord Paylor stops me from approaching the street vendors.
"I have a few coins to spare, my lord," I insist, freeing myself from his hold.
"You are making yourself feel better to ease the sense of guilt," he points out. "Do not indulge in it, princess."
He pushes me forward, trying to keep me from committing a mistake.
I believe I am better than this, but why is this sentiment too hard to dismiss? I let go off the guilt, the self-pity, and yet here they are again, making me wallow hopelessly in the consequences of my choices.
Lord Paylor removes his hand from my back as soon as we arrive at the gate. Beyond the stone walls is the place that haunts my mind. It is true a decision was made: to return and to find closure. Nonetheless, the fear at the sight of the castle is too strong to ignore. Memories of happiness have been tainted by tragic ones.
Out of the shadows of the gatehouse comes a man dressed in guard's attire. He stares, and for a moment I believe he recognizes me, but his expression morphs into one of indifference before he addresses Lord Paylor.
"Are you personally bringing in the help, my lord?" the man questions as he orders the guards to open the gate.
Lord Paylor glances at me.
"You could put it in that way, Commander Caius."
I have a better look at the man. Something in his posture and in his appearance seems rigid, like he has a high regard for himself, which clashes with his pleasant, somewhat people-pleasing speech.
"The castle is lacking. Placing high-ranking people doing a servant's job," the commander comments as Lord Paylor and I cross the gatehouse. "The princess's return from her days-off is overdue."
"I am certain she will return on her own accords, Commander," Lord Paylor interjects. "If you will excuse me."
"I would advise you from developing an acquaintance with Commander Caius," he says as we walk down the courtyard. "He used to be Alma's commander."
"He is not very fond of me."
"He abdicated her sovereignty to escape beheading. Nonetheless, the ideals still cling to him."
Perhaps Commander Caius not recognizing me is a good thing. Having to relive old, painful memories at the place that birthed them so suddenly will affect what is left of my stability.
We reach the castle, and once inside, a kind of emptiness strikes me at the sight of naked, cold-looking walls. The castle vibrates with something past and forgotten. The memories of walking these corridors now disposed of decorations resurface, halting me in the middle of the path.
"Is everything all right, Your Highness?"
"It feels empty."
Lord Paylor glances around the corridor. It is evident he does not feel the same sentiment, but he tries to be understanding.
"It needs colour," he says with a humourless smile.
It, too, brings a sad smile to my face.
It needs life.
He leads me to a chamber that houses private council meetings. A knock on the door, followed by a soft murmuring of voices beyond it cause a mild flutter in my stomach. Lord Paylor steps into the chamber, and I am left alone in the corridor.
My ears quickly pick up on the noises outside. The drip-drops against the window panes signal a rain quickly turning into heavy pouring. In the not-so-far-distance, the crash of the waves against the earth remind me of an angry wind forcing itself through a window left ajar. Inside the empty corridor there is merely silence.
And something else.
The door opens.
"Your Highness." Lord Paylor steps to the side, inviting me in.
With a hesitant foot, I step into the chamber.
Five men rise from their chairs at my presence, a sign of respect betrayed by their bitter expressions, and a ting of irritation in their watchful eyes. I approach the end of the table, and stand quietly by it, waiting the judgmental words.
The council looks among themselves. The bitterness and annoyance fade away as the five men silently play a childish game, taking turns throwing around the weight of a trivial activity such as speaking. In the end, the task falls on the councillor at the head of the table, Lord Flemyng, if I recall.
"It is an unexpected return, Your Highness," he affirms. "If the council had been notified properly, this meeting would have been quite different."
"I did not want to burden the council with formalities," I say, playing along.
He nods, and then sits down. The other four men follow him.
"Nonetheless, you notified Lord Paylor," he points out, accommodating himself in the chair.
It is clear the irritation in his affirmation, the sense of favouritism in confiding in Lord Paylor. The jealousy.
"Lord Paylor paid me a visit, my lord," I declare.
The two councillors to my left lower their eyes.
"Ah, yes. We were told of your... growing stability," a lord to my right reminisces.
"I do not favour anyone, my lord, if it is what you are ruminating about," I say, looking directly at Lord Flemyng. "He merely helped me."
"I am not affirming Your Highness favours a member of our council."
"It was implied," I interject.
"I was just verifying your rationality," he admits, presenting me with an expression of condescension. "Are you certain you are able to continue your duties, Your Highness?"
I do not answer right away. I debate over his words, savouring the word duties like the taste of a rotten fruit in my tongue.
"There is nothing stopping me from fulfilling them, my lord," I declare.
"The council hoped to see the good in your situation, yet what transpired months ago cannot be ignored," he continues. "And with the kingdom in such ill condition..."
"Mayhaps you should not have returned," the lord to my right comments once again.
"Mayhaps I should not have returned, my lord," I repeat a bit louder. "Nonetheless, a sense of obligation to my people brought me back. I did forsake them in favour of my selfishness, but I grew in the past months. I learned to accept my deep flaws, my condition. And so I believe I am prepared to face what may come from this choice of mine."
The lord's lips are sealed shut. He cannot bring himself to respond, and so he busies himself with staring at his hands.
Lord Paylor rests a hand on my shoulder, easing me back.
"His lordship is at fault, Your Highness. Do not work yourself up, because of a mindless comment," Lord Flemyng stands up. "This meeting will continue tomorrow, my lords."
They all stand up, and leave their seats.
"I will gladly conclude this meeting today, my lord," I dismiss his suggestion.
"It is imperative that you rest, Your Highness, after such a long voyage. I bid you a good day then."
He bows, gathers a couple of parchments in his hands, and leaves the room, followed by the rest of the council. Like a flock of little ducks following their mother.
"I will call upon a maid to aid you," Lord Paylor affirms, guiding me out of the room.
"I am certain I acted accordingly, my lord," I interject, stopping him outside.
"Too accordingly, Your Highness. I believe you might have frighten them."
I wanted them to see I am not incapable of ruling a kingdom, that I am not the quiet young girl they regularly witnessed standing by her father's side like a shadow. Yet, if they are somewhat afraid, I have something advantageous in my possession.
Lord Paylor must see something in my expression, for he gently pats my shoulder, a sympathetic smile flourishing across his face. Without a word, he resumes his walk to the kitchens.
It is a place of quietness, aside from the noise of pots and chopping. The servants work at a stable pace, their faces void of emotions. Then the feeling of indifference has, too, come into this place... And before I have time to indulge once more in self-pity, a young girl approaches me.
"It is good to see you, Your Highness," she declares.
Something about her looks familiar.
"We have met before, have we not?" I question.
A soft glim colours her eyes.
"You are Master Bernard's daughter."
"Delilah, Your Highness."
I am quickly reminded of how she did not question my solemn humor, and the tears that usually fell. She catered to me silently, but as a soothing presence. I smile at her. At least I have one more person I can trust in this place.
"It is good to see you, too, Delilah."
"I see you are making acquaintances, Your Highness," Lord Paylor remarks as he approaches Delilah and I. "It will be easier to communicate, then, for Delilah will assist you from now on."
I glance at her. In a moment of gratitude, I grab her hand.
"Thank you."
She is somewhat taken aback by my comment.
"You are welcome, Your Highness."
"For the time being, please address me by my birth name," I request of her.
She complies hesitantly.
Lord Paylor accompanies Delilah and I to my new chambers, and quickly leaves us to attend to other matters. Delilah is quick to busy herself with chores, in spite of not having much to do at the moment.
I hesitantly walk inside, getting acquainted with the unfamiliarity. Being home does not soothe me. It makes me fearful of what my eyes cannot see... The room, comparing it to mine at the inn, is three times bigger with a lot of empty spaces pleading to be filled with furniture. I walk to the window, and outside the rain falls heavily as the waves crash against the sand violently.
For a brief moment I am reminded of my father's burial, how the shock felt like waves on a tempest day. I was pulled and pushed in countless directions, unable to find a string of security and understanding.
How words of regret were, and still are, stuck in my throat.
There were times when dependency on my father morphed into annoyance and discomfort, which lead to harsh words tantalizing me afterwards. A letter of apology, and a word of forgiveness from him would stabilize the matter. Nonetheless, Alma knew of these personal letters the longer she kept him company.
I am certain she created the fission between my father and I.
And with the opportunity to amend our relationship stolen from me, I am left to live with this sorrow.
I quickly wipe away the unexpected tear sliding down my cheek, only my eyes catch the sight of a green ribbon tied around my wrist.
In the past days, there was not a thought related to him. I left him in Bluemoon, in that tiny room at the inn. Now a flood of imagery plagues my mind, and it is impossible to overlook what I feel at the thought of him. The sense of warmth and comfort he provides in moments of solitude, his embrace, his lips...
I rapidly shake the imagery off my mind. No more hasty thoughts.
...
...
Peter
Under the passageway, I watch the rain fall around the courtyard. No one walks about it at such a late hour, only phantoms, and I. The clink of the raindrops against the stone ground and an earthy scent ease my weary mind, blocking out the events of the day.
I thought it would get easier with each passing day, but exhaustion is nearly getting the best of me. It is impossible to ignore, to become oblivious to the world and its problems now that a crown weights on my head.
It, too, is impossible to escape the nightmares that wreck my mind every night. The feel of a whip, of a dagger, of bones cracking, of my morality being lost. It is something I will never be able to erase.
My hands go for my pants' pockets, and one comes up with a thin piece of fabric.
A ribbon.
A smile flourishes on my face at the sight of such a trivial item. How long has it been? It feels like an eternity since I last saw her. That tiny room. All a distant memory.
"I thought you would be enjoying that wine of yours."
I startle at the voice behind me. It is hard to fully see his features, but I would recognize that voice anywhere.
"It was too stuffy in my chambers."
Finnick stands beside me, somewhat lost in the beauty of the rain. I stuff the ribbon back in my pocket, placing the good memories where they cannot be disrupted.
"It is not getting easier, is it?" he inquires.
"It is merely another chapter of my life," I affirm, taking a deep breath.
"You do have a choice," Finnick says, this time glacing at me.
"What choice, Finnick? I bound to it."
"Baluster and Saldrian are the only kingdoms left, Peter," he states. "I am certain Saldrian will not remain one for long, though. Sooner or later..."
"I am not giving it up, Finnick."
"I am not asking you to give it up. Turn it into something more, and let others take the reigns before you fall off," he says. "And I am not telling you this as your subordinate."
I am used to his concern, only this time it feels off. I look at him, study the shadows that dance around his face, trying to unmask what is under the odd sentiment.
"I knew the hardships when I accepted this role, Finnick," I say. "I cannot let others taint my father's legacy for my own egoism. Also, I have barely began, so giving up is not an option."
It is not, and it will never be an option. The idea of abandoning what my father built and died for causes me great pain. I was not given a last chance to amend our relationship, to part on good terms. Due to my selfish actions, I arrived too late.
In the end, what kind of son would I be if I handed the kingdom on a silver platter to a no-one?
That, too, is another sentiment that consumes me at night.
We fall into silence, the raindrops being the only sound that echo around the courtyard. I glance at Finnick. With two of his fingers, he absentmindedly turns the amulet his beloved offered him. Anne, that after Finnick returned from Saldrian, at last accepted his request.
My hand toys with the ribbon in my pocket.
"Mayhaps," I start hesitantly, "I should have stayed like she asked me to."
He does not comment.
"If there was an opportunity to go back in time, I would have seized it."
"You should not mourn what you did not do, Peter," Finnick declares with a sigh. "It will only grow into a greater grief."
He places a hand on my shoulder, after turning to leave.
"You should go rest, at least to look presentable in the morning." He lingers; a soft sigh leaves his mouth. "Take my words into consideration. Please."
I am left alone, the rain suddenly sounding deafening. His last word hangs in the air, not as a plead, but as an urgent appeal. One a father might ask of a son. I glance back at the entrance he left by, understanding, at last, the odd sentiment.
...
...
Katherine
I look behind me, a gentle ringing echoing in my ears. The corridor is void of people apart from Delilah and I, and the windows are closed. I have certainly not imagined it, for it suddenly burst inside my ears like a melody from a flute.
"Your Highness?" I glance back at Delilah. She eyes me with concern. "Is there something bothering you?"
"No. I just..." I look once more at the end of the corridor. A guard suddenly rounds the corner. "It is nothing."
Delilah studies me, deciding on to inquire me further or to accept my assurance. She decides on the latter with some hesitation. We arrive at the appointed chamber, and several thoughts rapidly surface as I wait for the council's arrival, worsening the impatient feeling in my stomach.
Am I truly prepared to take on this role? Looking back on yesterday, I realise I spat out words in a moment of adrenaline, not fully grasping their meaning. I wanted them to look at me as fellow scholar, not a little girl. However, today I am clearheaded, which certainly does not help me to present a cool image.
"May I say something, Your Highness?"
"Katherine," I remind her. "Go ahead."
"Feeling nervousness is futile, Katherine," Delilah says, surprising me with her choice of words. "The council has a lot to lose if they try to stop you from becoming queen. When you were away, there was some talk about them wishing you wouldn't return."
I am mildly surprised by her confession. There was a possiblity of them going against me, and trying to block me from ascending to the throne. Only they did not act on it while I was away. Now that I have returned, it seems it is slowly becoming a reality.
"You must not fear them. Your presence is enough to scare them."
I place my hand on her arm.
"I must apologise for not acknowledging your presence back then, Delilah. We could have been good friends."
"Oh, Your - Katherine." She smiles shyly, "You shouldn't apologise for such a thing. Your well-being was more important than a trivial acquaintance."
"Having someone to trust and confide in would have been a great aid, though."
"Thank you," she nods, "Katherine."
I offer a smile, the impatient feeling vanishing at Delilah's words of encouragement.
"Lord Flemyng, Your Highness," she speaks.
I become aware of the council's loud steps. They move as a whole, lead by Lord Flemyng, and as I scan the group I do not see Lord Paylor. It confuses me greatly as to why he is not among the councilmen.
Delilah gives me a soft nudge before curtsing and leaving.
Lord Flemyng bows in accordance. "Your Highness must be eager to begin. I take it you rested well."
"I would not want to delay the meeting, my lord," I respond, instantly aware of the falseness in his demeanor.
"Then after you, Your Highness."
He motions for me to go first. As the councilmen enter the room, conversing in murmurs among themselves, I choose the chair at the middle of the table. Everyone eyes me, mildly confused by my action.
"Your Highness should sit at the head," a councilman points out.
I glance at the head of the table, at the chair intrically built, and at the man standing beside it. His fingers rests on the arm of the chair as if he is clinging to it with his teeth.
"What authority do I have to sit on that chair if I am not queen?" I look at the councilman. "Yet."
The councilmen look at each other silently, and simply sit down, unable to answer my question. They are all tamed dogs, afraid to rebel against the one that feeds the pack.
"Your Highness is more than welcomed to sit on this chair," Lord Flemyng declares. "But seeing you are already seated, let us not delay the meeting. There is a long day ahead of us."
It was certainly a busy day: listening to debates, studying how the councilmen act, and how some are easily persuaded by their leader. It makes me question what transpired during and after my stepmother's ruling period, if a silent war of actions, backstabbing, and bribery were at play for only one councilman to grasp leadership.
The more their words pound inside my head, the more I comprehend where their current goals lie. They might have the people of Saldrian's well-being at heart, but in the end it is about who benefits the most. And Lord Flemyng will benefit greatly from my abdication.
I huff, tired from their noisy voices, and pass my by chambers to fetch a cloak before leaving the stuffy castle walls. I take the route to the beach by the cliffs, the one my father and I used to walk down in search of sea shells and pebbles, away from the village and from the castle's prying eyes.
In spite of a gray sky foreshadowing an in-coming rainpour, the sea calmly embraces the beach as the waves slide up the sands in a caressing manner. I close my eyes, and breathe in the salty breeze, emptying my head of any worries. At moments like these my desire for a mundane lifestyle overcomes my thoughts, which takes me back to that first month at Bluemoon.
How disconnected I was from reality. A phantom wandering aimlessly... I would spend my days in my room at the inn or walking the streets until night time in hopes of finding a purpose. Only when Mrs. Serene stepped in did I find something to occupy my troubled mind.
I finally took the time to appreciate Bluemoon's beauty, and to breathe in the sea air, to ponder how peaceful it felt to lead a mundane life.
I open my eyes. Worry floods my mind once more, while the castle watches over me, coated in a mild gloom at the top of the cliff. It feels like an impossible dream, one I might only dare to accomplish in another life, because as long as there is a force holding me captive to this kingdom, the thought of mundane peace is a trivial desire.
I resume my walk along the shore, straining my ears to listen to the sound of the sea, the gulls flying overhead. Anything, but the persistent worrisome thoughts.
...
...
Two months after
Lord Flemyng's voice becomes background noise as my focus turns to the councilmen watching him like a flock of birds caught in the piercing gaze of a hawk. Their lips part with ideas flowing from their mouths that are quickly dismissed. Their lips settle on to a straight line, a repressed growl.
It has turned into a habit of mine to study the council. It is an entertaining show to see them opinate and to then supress their anger. At least Lord Flemyng's voice does not echo in my head.
His eyes fall on me. He does not avert his gaze, while he speaks. I offer a smile, which quickly turns into a yawn without intent. It is enough to make him look away.
After some time, the meeting comes to an end. I wait the councilmen to leave to then exit the room.
"Are you bored, Your Highness?" Lord Flemyng questions, stopping by the door.
"As a matter of fact, I am quite entertained, my lord," I declare, pushing the chair against the table. The scrapping noise cuts the tense ambient.
"Entertained? I did not expect such an answer. What entertains you then?"
I stop by the door. Delilah awaits on the other side.
"How the little birds silently desire to kill the hawk." A smile, and a nod before I depart.
I walk at a quick pace, making Delilah nearly run to match my step. I slow down when we reach the corridor to my room.
"I apologise, Delilah. I had to leave that room fast." I spot an hesitance in her face. "Do you have something to tell me?"
She hands me a letter without a response. At the sight of the seal, a cool sweat runs down my back. I take the letter hesitantly.
"I'll leave you to it, Katherine," she affirms. With a quick curtsy, I am left alone in the corridor.
Inside my room, I sit at the window, and carefully rip the letter open.
Katherine,
Some times I wish I could go back to that night.
It is my greatest regret in the current days. What I could have prevented if I had stayed by your side like you asked me to.
I grow tired with each passing week.. Returning home after our departure has been a great ardous journey. The nights are short. With the coronation day approaching, they are non-existent. The thought of becoming king weights on my body.
I doubt my capabilities. I might not be the right person for this. I am not prepared. I know my worth, but do the people of Baluster deserve me as their king?
I think of ending what pains me. However, the thought of my father is enough to put a stop to any plan. I must take responsibility for my actions.
Tell me, Kat, do you feel the same way?
I now see you were right in leaving it all behind to find peace.
- Peter
The paper trembles in my hands. A heavy pressure settles in my chest. As his words unfold in my head with a second reading, I realise that my empathy is not for his sorrow. It is empathy for his loneliness. He is lonely, having to turn to someone far away to listen to his words, to comfort him. Someone that is equally lonely.
His worries are not new to me. Since I set foot on Saldrian, they have constantly assaulted my mind. I doubt my capabilities the longer I listen to the politics discussed by the council. I doubt my worth the longer I stay in this castle. And the nights do not get easier. They are, indeed, non-existent.
We are two lonely beings in search of validation.
Yet I do not need it. Validation from deceitful people is a pat on the back with a dagger to our throats. The more I think of it, the harder it is to ignore that I returned to appeal to people that want me gone, not to recover what my father lost to my stepmother.
Deep down I am not made to rule. I know it since childhood. My father knew it. And having taste a peaceful, simple life, it is difficult to say good-bye to it.
A knock on the door startles me. I leave the letter on the window seat, and open the door. Lord Paylor greets me with a curt nod.
"Would you like to accompany me on a visit to the village?" he asks. "I have to take care of some matters, and a change of scenario would do you good, Princess."
"I would like to speak to Lord Flemyng first."
"What is the matter?"
I step outside, and close the door behind me. "You will see in a moment."
I make my way to Lord Flemyng's private chambers with a clueless Lord Paylor trailing behind, unknown to what I am about to do. I knock on the door a bit too harshly before I step in at the sound of his voice.
Lord Flemyng stands by his table, fussing over a couple of papers. His expression changes when he looks at me. He is not pleased with my presence, but he forces out a courteous smile at the sight of Lord Paylor.
"I want to speak to you, my lord," I say immediately, preventing him from having the first word.
"Can it not wait for the next meeting, Your Highness? I am-"
"I want to abolish Saldrian's monarchy."
His face morphs into distress hidden by a smile, followed by laughter.
"Princess." Lord Paylor pleads, gently pulling me back.
"Your Highness has dwelved deeply into the art of politics," Lord Flemyng points out, "Of all the ideas you could have, you chose this. It is such an absurd idea that I advise you to rethink your opinions promptly."
"It is only absurd, because you cannot benefit from it."
The smile falls from his face.
"It is not a secret that you despise me, and that you do not want me as your queen, my lord," I declare, ready for a war.
"Lies, Your Highness. You believe in lies," he persuades.
"The castle has ears, my lord."
"If you go around believing petty rumors, Your Highness, then you are not fit for the throne," he affirms.
"Lord Flemyng," The name leaves Lord Paylor's mouth as a warning.
"What authority do you have to prevent me from doing what is best for my kingdom? You are just a councilman."
Lord Flemyng takes a step closer to me.
"I am more than a councilman, princess," he spits the title. "I did everything in my power to prevent this kingdom from meeting its' downfall. Just because you are the daughter of a king, it does not mean you are entitled to be a sovereign."
"Enough, Lord Flemyng," Lord Paylor threatens, stepping forward. "Watch your words."
"I know my place, Lord Paylor. The child needs to know hers."
I stop Lord Paylor from taking further action.
"Abolish the monarchy, and I will leave Saldrian," I declare.
"You may leave any time, Your Highness," Lord Flemyng says, returning to the table. "Nothing prevents you from staying or leaving."
"I know what you did with my stepmother," I blurt out.
A pause. Lord Flemyng's shoulders tense, while a heavy atmosphere grows around the room. He does not dare to look my way.
"I told you the little birds desire to kill the hawk," I remind him. He does not answer. "Pass the law, and you will never see me again, my lord."
"Lord Paylor, you may take Her Highness back to her chambers," Lord Flemyng speaks as he remains focused on the papers.
Without hesitation, Lord Paylor guides me out of the room. I struggle somewhat against his hold, insisting on staying at Lord Flemyng's chambers.
"Your Highness, please," Lord Paylor pleads, walking to a quiet place far from the chambers.
"You should not have forced me out."
"What were you thinking, Princess?" he questions. "What are you trying to accomplish with such behaviour?"
"To find a way out, my lord," I confess.
"What do you mean?" He watches me, confused.
"I do not want the throne."
A servant walks by carrying a tray. Lord Paylor registers it after a few seconds of perplexity. He pushes me lightly forward to somewhere. The stairs narrow down until we reach the tombs.
"Why are we here?" I inquire, looking around.
The air is cold, stained with humidity. I trail behind Lord Paylor, having to watch my feet due to the weak light. I do not remember much of the tombs before my father's death, for I was always advised not to visit them in any circunstances. Even my father did not take me there. To pay respect to my mother, he built a shrine on the beach.
Rays of light stream through the ceiling, casting me under a spot of light. Lord Paylor stops by a stone memorial. Carved on the wall is my father's name.
I approach it with caution, hesitant to look upon my father's grave as if it will strip me of my defenses. A tiny jar holds long-withered flowers that decorate the dirt-stained stone.
"Why did you bring me here?" I glance at Lord Paylor.
"To remind you why you were allowed to return." A pause. He sighs. "You are the king's daughter. You are who the people want."
"I am not," I answer. "The people of Saldrian do not want another sovereign. They want liberty, my lord."
He looks at me, "What brought you to such an idea, Katherine? You were so determined-"
"A friend inspired me to speak up."
It takes Lord Paylor a few moments to understand who I am mentioning. He releases a heavy sigh, rubbing his hand over his forehead in exasperation.
"Baluster is not Saldrian," he scolds.
"Saldrian will not get far with this council, my lord. All they do is sit idly, and discuss how they can benefit from the rebuilding," I say, my tone getting a bit too loud.
"You must know that the majority of the council is trustworthy."
"Mayhaps, but under the hawk-like figure of Lord Flemyng how can they show what they truly stand for?"
"I am doing my best to gather more councilmen to depose him from his position," he says, his tone one of desperation. "What about your father's legacy then? Bringing you here has no effect on you."
"My father..."
I reminisce about the hardous journey my father took to mantain the kingdom afloat. It is a fatal blow to his legacy as a king, but he only needs to be remembered as my father.
"How can you think of abolishing what your father created?"
"How can I give the people of Saldrian a way out when my hands are bare, Lord Paylor?" I argue, my tone also turning into one of desperation. "Mayhaps initially I had their best interests at heart, but I soon realised I was merely trying to please a distrustful council. This is the only solution."
I glance at my father's name.
"He would understand my decision." I look back at Lord Paylor. "At least I do not have to choose a tragic path."
"You are mad, Princess." He moves away from the memorial, distressed by my comment. "How do you consider that another solution?"
"You said it yourself. I am who the people of Saldrian want."
"They certainly do not want you to sacrifice yourself once more for the kingdom."
"What is left for them to believe in if I am gone? The council sees them as pawns," I point out, hoping Lord Paylor understands my point-of-view. "By then, there will be only one thing to do."
"The people are too devastated to cause another uprising."
"You clearly do not know them, Lord Paylor." I walk to the spot of light. "It is when they are most down that the fire burns brighter. The desire for change is greater."
He stays silent.
"I cannot believe I am agreeing to such an idea."
"I promise, my lord, that you will be given a proper postion in the new future," I state.
"There is no need for false promises, Your Highness. I will not be needing a reward."
"It is not a reward, Lord Paylor. It is a new duty."
He watches me, confused but intrigued with my comment.
"Your newly-found commitment reminds me of something your father said."
"My father?"
"I always ignored the words, but it seems I have to acknowledge them." He smiles sadly as he eyes me. "'My daughter is fated for unexpected events.'"
The thought of my father watching me, feeling proud of who I am and of what I will become brings a smile to my face. I am glad he thought I was destined for something more than to sit on a throne.
Lord Paylor takes me back to my room in silence, leaving with a mere head nod. My hand grabs the door knob, and suddenly a ringing noise echoes in my head. I glance around the corridor, but it is void of people.
With hesitant steps I walk to its end, the ringing still echoing in my ears. When I round the corner, I find an empty corridor yet the sound becomes clearer. I am quickly reminded of that day two months ago...
It was certainly not my imagination.
I follow the sound until it is no longer ringing in my ears but echoing around the hallway. A door to a room I had not seen previously is ajar. It creakes softly when I push it open, presenting me with an empty chamber, bare of furniture and coated in dust.
I step inside, curious about its purpose. The walls are naked, without portraits or curtains, for the exception of a covered circle-like object leaning against the window. It prompts me to uncover it, to behold what lies beneath: a mirror with a golden frame, while the surface reflects my figure in a distorted manner.
"Katherine."
An icy shiver crawls up my back.
"Katherine."
It repeats louder. I quickly grab the cover, and block my reflection.
"Katherine."
I freeze. It called from behind me.
"Who are you?"
I take a tentative look behind me. I am spinned around, and grabbed by the neck. The air is rapidly cut off as the hand squeezes hardly. A hand that should not be able to touch me, a figure that should not be alive.
Before me is my stepmother.
"You should be dead," she says. I claw at her wrist, desperate for air, as she backs me off against the wall. "You should be buried under the earth, food for vermins."
"Why..." I choke out.
"Just die like you were supposed to."
Her nails sink into my skin as the next blow to the head erases my consciousness.
...
...
I startle awake crying out for air. Lying on my side I heave heavily, raspy gulfs of air scratch my throat as air is inhaled frantically. My hands grab on to something soft as I sense a gentle touch moving up and down my back.
I glance up, and find Lord Paylor and Master Bernard watching, both equally concerned.
"Sit her up, my lord," Master Bernard pleads, while I try to make sense of my surroundings.
I am in my room, in my bed, safely away from what I encountered in that damned chamber. Tears flood my eyes as I am reminded of the hatred plastered on my stepmother's face. It felt as vividly as if I was back to the place my memories show.
"It's all right, Your Highness," Lord Paylor assures, his hand never stoping its soothing motion. "You're safe."
The intakes of breath subside as I become more comfortable with my surroundings. Someone knocks on the door. Lord Paylor leaves to open the door to Delilah, who enters with a tray in her hands.
"Do you recall what happened, Your Highness?" Master Bernard questions as his fingers feel my wrist in search of a non-existent pulse.
"She..."
Lord Paylor steps closer. Master Bernard looks up. The word catches on my throat, while a few tears fall out. I rapidly wipe them away, embarassed to see them watching me cry.
"Alma."
They grow confused with my declaration, unable to comprehend it.
"Are you certain?" he inquires. "The queen is dead, heart cut out with no chance of returning to the world of the living."
"The mirror," I murmur.
"What mirror?"
"It called me," I say, exasperated. "It called me to that room. Maybe it was her calling me..."
"Have you been feeling ill recently, Your Highness?" Master Bernard glances at Delilah. "Are you looking after her properly?"
Delilah hands me a warm mug, her eyes lowered in shame.
"Do not blame Delilah, Master Bernard. This is my doing," I say. "And no, I have not been feeling ill. I know what I saw. I am not mad."
"I am not one to believe in spectres, but after witnessing your..." he falters, straightening up. "You should rest for the remainder of the day."
I do not fight him on staying in bed. They both leave, while Delilah stays. She places pillows behind me to lean against.
"I am well, Delilah. You do not have to stay," I assure her as she fixes the quilt around my legs. She only offers silence, and so I grab her hands to force her to look at me. "Please. I am all right."
"I am not, Katherine," she declares. "I should have been there with you. Nothing of this would have happened if I been by your side. I was careless..."
"You are not to blame for my recklessness. Are we settled, Delilah?" I tug at her hands.
"Katherine..."
"I do not want to see my friend hurting, because of my foolish actions." My words seem to change her demeanor. "Did you think you were simply a servant? I hold you dearly in my thoughts, Delilah."
Her faces morphs as her soft smile grows into an expression of delight and surprise. Did she actually believe she was nothing but a servant to me? She is my closest confidant, along with Lord Paylor. If it were not for her, I would have lost my sanity a long time ago.
"I am friends with the princess," she states to herself, chuckling at the idea. "What a ridiculous happening."
It is impossible not to smile at her joyful reaction and her optimism. It blows away the somber mood, and for a moment I am allowed to feel a spark of happiness.