Regina Rising

by Wendy Toliver

  “She’s not my friend,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I want her out of my life. However, she won’t be, as long as you have her heart in your possession. You are going to return it to her, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose she does need it back at some point,” my mother said, primping her hair in the bureau mirror. It dawned on me that if it were up to her, she’d leave the heart in the box for all eternity. For all I knew, she had an entire collection of people’s hearts. It was a thought that made me shudder.

  “What will it cost me to get it back for her?” I asked.

  “An interesting question, Regina.” She held my gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “What are you willing to give me in exchange for Claire’s heart?”

  I set my jaw. “I will return the poison apple to you.”

  If she was shocked I knew of the curse, or surprised that Jasper hadn’t eaten the apple after all, she did a commendable job keeping her features steady.

  “I couldn’t care less about that piece of fruit. But don’t be disheartened, my dear. Give it some more thought, and let me know when you’re ready to make a deal.”

  Though I felt like my bones had turned to pudding, I squared my shoulders and turned to leave. “I shall.”

  “Regina?”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  She arched her left eyebrow. “What do you care whether Claire has her heart or not?”

  “An interesting question, Mother,” I said, and then shut her door.

  Later that evening, as I sat down at my vanity and grabbed my brush, I stopped to check my reflection in the mirror. I appeared different, somehow—and not because of the scar above my lip. It was something else, something bigger: the combined effect of my dark hair flowing past my shoulders, my lips curved up ever so slightly, my piercing, unflinching eyes. It was as if my mother were looking at me through the glass.

  Tomorrow would be the day I faced my biggest fear. “I’m ready to make a deal she cannot refuse,” I said to my reflection.

  Wednesday, May 24

  I knocked on the door to my mother’s office. Her voice called, “Enter, Regina.”

  Though I’d scarcely slept a wink the night before, I felt surprisingly rested and alert. Absent were the stomach fits and heart palpitations I usually experienced when I had to confront my mother. I wasn’t perspiring under my blouse, and my throat was free of lumps. All in all, I was stronger than I’d been in quite a while.

  She sat behind the desk, one hand resting on an oversized leather-bound ledger and the other wrapped around a quill.

  “Am I interrupting?” I asked.

  “Have a seat.” As she put her work aside, I took the chair opposite her and crossed my legs, the pointy toes of my high-heeled shoes peeking out from under my long, form-fitting skirt. Her eyes rested on my scar, and she visibly shuddered.

  “Mother, do you truly care about me?” I asked.

  “Of course I do, Regina. In fact, when I was playing croquet yesterday, I met some people who may be of use to us. You see, everything I’ve ever done, everything I ever do, is for you. I don’t want you to have to go through the hardships I had to. I want you to live in the grandest castle imaginable, where you will have servants at your beck and call and citizens at your feet, eager to please you in any way they can. I have no doubt you will someday be queen, the most powerful ruler in all the land.”

  I licked my lower lip. “That’s why I’m ready to make a deal with you.”

  “What do you have on the table this time?” She lifted a brow.

  I had to look my mother in the eye. It was said that as an ogre killed someone, its victim saw his or her own reflection in the ogre’s eyes. The notion had always enticed me. Did it fill the victim with terror or peace?

  I set my jaw and, holding my head high, aimed my gaze directly into my mother’s beautiful, powerful eyes. I checked to ensure my posture was perfect and cleared my throat so my voice wouldn’t crack. Unblinkingly, unflinchingly, I spoke:

  “If you give Claire her heart back, I will do everything in my power to make your dream come true. I’ll happily go to every party or ball to which we receive an invitation, and if for some reason we are not on the list, I will weasel my way in, like you did during King Xavier’s masquerade ball.” I paused, and as expected, she smirked at the memory. “I will dance with whomever you pair me with. I’ll use exemplary manners, especially when in public. I’ll happily wear the clothes you choose for me, and I’ll even tolerate the shoes that are too small.” On the desk was a platterful of pastries, and I pushed it out of my reach. “I’ll watch what I eat until I’m as thin as you like, and never drink cider again so as not to become a drunkard like my grandfather. I will act the part of a lady. I will behave like nothing short of a future queen. Am I forgetting anything? If so, please tell me.”

  “You will not try to learn magic from anyone other than me,” she added. “And you will not engage in secret rendezvous.”

  “Yes, of course, Mother.”

  She blinked. Inhaled. Exhaled. Tapped her quill on the open page of her ledger. Ate a cherry tart off the platter and licked her fingers. It seemed an eternity passed before she responded.

  “Very well,” she said, finally. “Go and fetch Claire.”

  “I have a better idea,” I said, and I ran upstairs. I popped into my bedroom, where I grabbed a message I’d written and slid it into my jacket pocket. Next I stopped in my parents’ chambers for the wooden box my mother kept in her top bureau drawer. A moment later, I returned to my mother’s office and handed her the box.

  Grinning, my mother stood. For the first time in a very long while, I believed she was genuinely pleased. She opened the box and tilted her head as she lifted the object that had been nestled in its velvety folds. Claire’s heart glowed red. Though I’d seen it before, it still made my pulse race faster.

  Next she turned to the mirror hanging on the wall, and in it, we saw Claire sitting in her uncle’s attic, her knees drawn up to her chest and her hair hanging in unkempt strands down her spine. She gazed bleary-eyed out of the small round window at the hills between her uncle’s estate and ours.

  “She might very well be a true friend. When she has this again,” my mother said, indicating the heart in her hand, “you will know.” She turned to face the mirror again. “Come to me, Claire,” she said, speaking into the heart. In the looking glass, I saw Claire’s lower lip quiver as she scrambled to her feet and started wending through the possessions of her deceased aunt and infant cousin on her way to the arched attic door. My mother placed the beating heart in the box on her desk and closed the lid. “Is that all, Regina?”

  “I have two more requests,” I said boldly.

  “Don’t allow yourself to become greedy.” My mother crossed her hands across her chest, but I could tell she was curious. Besides, she hadn’t said no—at least, not yet.

  I pulled the scroll out of my pocket. “Will you pass this along to Claire, before you put her heart back? Tell her she must do what it says.”

  “Very well,” my mother agreed, taking it from me. “And what, pray tell, is your second request?”

  “May I also have a forgetting potion?” I asked.

  My mother cocked an eyebrow. “There are several types of forgetting potions. Which are you seeking?” she asked, striding over to the enormous armoire. Its doors creaked as she opened them, revealing shelves and drawers and an assortment of glass jars, bottles, and vials.

  “I need one to make me forget I ever knew someone who was once important to me, but ended up being a traitor.”

  “Yes, I have the perfect spell for that.” She ran her finger along one of the drawers and then pulled it slowly open. She selected a vial not much bigger than a thimble. Before handing it to me, she gave it a shake, and it glowed purplish blue for a second.

  “Thank you, Mother.” I turned on my high heels, and she placed her palm on my shoulder to stop me.

  “Sometimes, Regina, forgetting is a
blessing. Other times it is a curse,” she said meaningfully.

  My mother’s words echoed in my head even ten minutes later as I leaned on the white split-rail fence and watched Jesse put the sidesaddle on Rocinante. The stable boy kept eyeing me nervously, probably expecting me to raise a fuss. But at the moment I was a veritable hornet’s nest of emotions, and the style of saddle I’d be sitting upon made little difference to me. After he helped me up, he handed me the riding crop. “When shall I tell your mother you’ll be home?” he asked.

  “Soon enough,” I replied, and I rode quickly away from the stable. We’d barely started, and already I was as breathless as if I’d been riding for hours on end. Instead of going through the forest, I opted to take the road so Rocinante could gallop, and he did. I closed my eyes as the wind fanned my face, feeling every minute movement of the horse as if his body were my own. When I opened my eyes, I saw the spires of the castle towering in the cloudy sky. We were quickly approaching the royal gardens, and Rocinante needed little guidance to return to the bridge. While he sipped from the royal stream, I picked the most perfect yellow rose I could find and sat on the edge of the bridge, my knees bent and ankles crossed. Above, white puffy clouds grew and morphed into shapes of crowns, dragons, and a horse with a particularly voluminous tail.

  At any moment, my mother would return Claire’s heart to her, and Claire would return to her former self, able to feel and able to love. Still, I would never be able to trust her again. I’d waited so long to have a true friend, and when I finally thought I’d found one in Claire, I’d been sorely mistaken. My mother had offered her a deal, and she’d accepted without consideration of whom she was consequently hurting. I didn’t know what my future held, but I refused to have Claire Fairchild be a part of it. It would be easy for her to go home to Port Bennett, but I wanted her to be even farther away.

  I slipped the vial out of my pocket and shook it, watching the potion glow. Rocinante lifted his head from the stream. He blew air through his nostrils and stomped his front hoof.

  “It’s going to be all right, my friend,” I said as I hitched him to a tree. “You have to trust me.”

  With that, I made my way on foot to the grand entrance of King Leopold and Queen Eva’s castle.

  A spindly man with hair as white as snow came to the door when I rang the chimes. “Who shall I say has come to pay him a visit?” he droned.

  “Regina. He’s not expecting me, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to see me.”

  “Very well. Please, come in. Would you like any refreshment whilst you wait?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said. “Have you any cider?”

  His bushy eyebrows sprang up on his forehead. “Cider, m’lady?”

  I entertained the idea of explaining where he might find such a beverage, but I refrained. “Silly me,” I said. “I meant tea. May I wait for him in the library?”

  “Of course.” He rang a bell, and a female servant appeared as if out of thin air.

  Soon I was left alone in the royal castle’s luxurious library. I gasped out loud at the most expansive collection of books I’d ever seen, and in every other nook, candles and fresh flower arrangements abounded. Moments later, the female servant reappeared with the most delicious tea my taste buds had ever experienced, and with a curtsy, she vanished once again.

  I almost fell out of my chair when a man’s voice exclaimed, “Regina! What a surprise!” Rising to my feet, I brushed a section of hair that had fallen onto my forehead behind my ear.

  Prince Benjamin’s cheeks were extra ruddy, and I couldn’t help noticing his britches were skewed on his disproportionately slim hips. Even worse, his undergarments spilled out of the waistline of his pants, and his shirt was buttoned in a way that caused an unfortunate gap in line with his hairy navel. A cursory glance out into the hallway, and at the equally flushed and disheveled maiden who fled past, clued me in to the nature of his prior engagement, and I felt a wave of pity for her.

  “Hello, Benjamin,” I said, holding up my teacup. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look thirsty. Perhaps you should have a drink.”

  “What a good idea,” he said, and he stuck his head into the hall. Only moments after we’d both taken our seats, a young male servant appeared with an amber-colored beverage for the king and queen’s special guest.

  I gazed at Benjamin through my lashes. “Ever since the royal ball, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  “Go on,” he said.

  I swallowed my disgust and beamed at him. “My father said you two played a lovely game of chess at our house.”

  Benjamin quaffed his drink. “I have the utmost respect for your father; however, he has a thing or two to learn about the game of chess.”

  “Perhaps if you and I begin courting, you can teach him,” I said.

  “So, you’re considering my offer?”

  I rose and wandered to the bookshelf. “How could I refuse?” I flashed him another smile and then pretended to be immersed in the various books.

  “I didn’t think you’d be able to,” he agreed, and before I knew it, he was standing behind me, his alcohol-tinged breath wrapping around my head and into my nose.

  “Especially since we have so much in common. Our love of books, for instance. Oh! I have a wonderful idea. Will you read me a passage?” I thrust a random novel into his hands. “This is one of my favorites,” I said, tapping its leather cover. “I find it quite romantic.”

  Benjamin’s face lit up. “Of course, my darling.” He cleared his throat and began flipping pages, apparently searching for a worthwhile chapter.

  While he read, I circled around to the sitting area and stealthily poured the forgetting potion into his glass. As soon as he stumbled on a word above his aptitude, I invited him to drink more. And drink more he did.

  Meanwhile, I watched his every move, hoping for a sign that the spell was taking effect. After two more sips, he began to sway. His head bobbled as if it weighed too much for his neck and his arms dangled limply at his sides. When the book fell to the floor, he made a sad whimpering noise.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you all right, Prince Benjamin?”

  “Are you speaking to me?”

  Nodding, I led him back to his chair. “You fell and hit your head, and I’m afraid it might be affecting your memory.”

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Oh, no,” I said, sitting opposite him. “This is quite a mess. I’m your betrothed’s closest friend. She wanted us to meet so that she can plan the most extravagant wedding the Enchanted Forest has ever seen. When you proposed to her, she agreed to move across the entire realm to be your wife.”

  “Oh?” He ran his fingers through his tufts of hair.

  I nodded. “It’s true.”

  “And this woman to whom I’m engaged? Who is she?”

  “Goodness! You don’t recall her name? This is a bigger mess than I thought.”

  He leaned forward and grasped my hands. “Please. Tell me her name. Tell me all about her. I don’t want to offend or hurt my beloved, whoever she may be. I beg of you: tell me each and every detail.”

  “Very well,” I agreed. “I can do that.” As I told Claire’s future husband about how she liked cider, riding horses, waltzing, and baked goods, I pictured in my mind’s eye the note I’d left for Claire to read, back when she was still under my mother’s control.

  Dear Claire,

  You are to wed Prince Benjamin on the twenty-fourth day of June. This is your wedding gift.

  The friend you could have had,

  Regina

 

 

 
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