My mouth opened to argue, but my father spoke first. “You are supposed to be with her at all times. You are never to leave her unattended.”
Zafir shifted uncomfortably. It would have been almost laughable to see the giant squirm, but just as a smirk found its way to my lips, my father turned on me. “Is that how you’re running things around here? Exposing yourself to danger by roaming about without protection? You put us all in danger by behaving that way, Charlaina. Angelina’s not yet ready to take your place should something happen to you.”
It was impossible not to notice that everyone around us had stopped what they were doing and were listening as my father scolded me. I felt like a child, and my shoulders fell as I dropped my head. He was right, of course. But it wasn’t entirely my fault.
I tried to remind myself that I was the queen, that I was the one who gave orders. This was my queendom. But it didn’t matter. He was still my father.
I shot a scathing look at Zafir. “I wasn’t alone,” I finally answered, but my voice carried no real weight, and even I knew it was a pathetic excuse.
“Really?” If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve sworn my father was enjoying this, letting me know that no matter what my position, I was still his daughter. Honestly, though, I think he was really just worried. “Who was with you? Claude?” he asked, naming another one of the royal guards. “Xander or Max? Because I’m sure it was none of them; I’ve seen them around the palace today. All of them.” He emphasized the last words, making certain I wouldn’t try to lie to him, to appease his fears.
“Sebastian,” I admitted, almost in a whisper.
I knew even before he responded what was coming. “Sebastian?” he said, practically choking. “The stable boy?”
This time I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “He’s the stable master.”
“He’s just a boy!”
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Outwardly, I tried to be reasonable. “Dad, he’s not. He’s of age, and he’s the best instructor there is. Besides, nothing happened.”
My father’s eyes raked over me, taking in my mussed hair, my dirty face, and my ripped trousers. He knew something had happened, but he didn’t need to know I was training to fight as well. He’d never forgive Zafir if I told him that part.
“Fine,” I finally said, hating his scrutiny and knowing he wouldn’t relent. “Next time I’ll take Zafir.” I could feel Zafir stiffen beside me, and I had to squelch the urge to smirk. That’s what he got for mocking my riding skills . . . or lack thereof. “Will that satisfy you?”
And just like that my father was smiling at me, as if he’d never been worried or angry in the first place. But there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “That would make me more than satisfied, Charlaina. That would make me positively overjoyed.” And then he winked at me. “Now you should go get cleaned up.”
I was learning that a palace dinner was as choreographed as any intricate dance production. The courses were served at predetermined intervals, and the kitchen and serving staffs were masterful, understanding the nuances—the subtlety of the meal’s progression—in ways that made it seem effortless. They would appear with new offerings before I’d even realized that the last plates had been removed from before me.
Dinner was one of the rare moments I had with my family, as a daughter and a sister, and, as my time became stretched thinner and thinner, I frequently found myself looking forward to our evening meals.
Yet another adjustment to life on the throne.
Spread before us now was a succulent roasted goose drizzled with a honeyed citrus glaze, peppered parsnips drenched in a rich cream sauce, and asparagus tips coated with herbed butter. My father’s breads—served hot and fresh from the ovens, with a crisp brown crust—were placed at even spaces across the table. I closed my eyes as I caught a whiff of the warm loaves, remembering the days when I was the serving staff. I reached for a slice as I listened with growing interest to the discussion around me.
“Preparations for your visit are coming together nicely,” Xander explained, looking pointedly in my direction. “The question is: Are you?”
I traced my fingertip around the carved pattern on the cup sitting on the table before me. It was a seal that had once been outlawed in my own country: the Di Heyse family crest. “I think so,” I answered, trying to sound more confident than I felt, and ignoring the flutter in my belly whenever the subject of my upcoming visit to the Capitol was broached. “I’m not sure what more I can do to prepare. I don’t think it’s whether I’m ready or not at this point, I think it’s whether the people are ready for me.”
I didn’t say what was really on my mind. I didn’t remind them of the last time I tried to go out in public.
I didn’t have to.
“It’ll be fine. Everything’s been prepared. Word has been spread. No one will be surprised this time,” Xander explained, his mouth curving playfully. “They’re as ready as they can be for a queen whose skin glows.”
I grimaced at the reminder, my eyes dropping to my hands in my lap. Sometimes I could almost forget what everyone else saw when they looked at me . . . the light dancing just beneath the surface of my skin. “It’s starting to fade,” I answered pathetically. “It’s nearly gone now.”
At that, all eyes were on me, and I felt my skin burning anew. I knew they could see the lie in my words. . . . every place they looked.
My lips tightened into a hard line. “It’s faded,” I insisted, this time with more conviction. “And it will be full daylight when I venture out. Surely it will be less . . . less . . .” I struggled for the right word. “Noticeable.”
Max reached beneath the table and squeezed my hand. “It’ll be fine,” he said in the same reassuring tone Xander had used. And then, because I needed it, he leaned closer, his voice dropping. “They’ll love you. Just like everyone else does. They’ll know that you are the one responsible for making things better, and that you have their best interests in mind. No one’s ever worked so hard to make their lives better.” A slow smile tugged at his lips, and my concentration slipped.
It was Xander who brought me crashing back to the present. “And yet despite all of your hard work,” he interjected with a laugh, his voice ringing down the length of the table, “I wonder how many other queens are eating dinner with their fingers.” He winked conspiratorially at Eden—standing guard at my sister’s back. Eden, who pretended not to notice his every move. It was almost easy to forget that she and Xander had once worked together so closely, that she had been his right hand as he’d led the revolutionary movement that fought to overthrow his grandmother’s cruel regime. It was almost impossible not to notice how Eden’s moods shifted whenever Xander entered the room, how the very air around her became lighter. More hopeful. Yet her expression remained vigilant, her duty never forgotten.
My gaze slipped to the slab of buttered bread I held halfway to my mouth. How was I supposed to eat it if not with my hands? I wondered silently, refusing to give them the satisfaction of thinking I cared at all. With a fork and knife? I dropped the half-eaten bread onto my plate.
“What makes you think it won’t be just as awful this time?” I argued, turning the conversation away from my table manners. I hadn’t forgotten the gasps of surprise during my official coronation, when my cape had been removed and those in attendance had gotten their first real glimpse of my skin.
“That was then, Charlaina,” my father said, reaching across the table to push more bread my way. Bread, to him, was always the solution. “Surely they can have no qualms now. Not after these past months. Not after all the positive changes you’ve made.”
I weighed my father’s words, along with the fact that my glow was no longer a secret. I couldn’t stay locked inside my palace forever. I’d been training for this job for months now, learning the proper way to be the queen of Ludania. It was time for me to meet my people.
I stood alone in my bedchamber, wishing I could find p
eace the way everyone else did. Only when the hour ticked far past midnight did Zafir ever leave me. When there was nothing to do but sleep. The guards posted outside my door never moved, but I often wondered if they knew about the secret doors, the hidden passageways behind the walls that tunneled like a labyrinth, connecting one room to the next.
I stared into the mirror, pondering my own image and wondering if Xander and Max were right when they’d said I could do this. I wondered if I was the right girl to be sitting on the throne and ruling Ludania.
I understood the reasons it had to be me, of course, yet at times I still felt like a fraud. Like a girl playing dress up . . . donning a paper crown decorated with only glitter and glue.
Clumsily, I reached to unclasp the delicate necklace I still wore as it glinted at my throat. My fingers were shaking, and frustration welled as I struggled, fumbling with the clasp.
Then I heard it. A voice
I can help you. The voice was hushed, almost far away as if it were coming from down a long, hollow tunnel, but I knew who was speaking. I knew who whispered inside my head.
Sabara.
Sabara who should have died months ago. Sabara upon whose throne I now sat, whose queendom I now ruled.
She was still here. Living inside my body.
Taunting me.
I dropped my hands as I gaped at my image—my image—staring back at me from the mirror. “Leave me alone.” I whispered, wondering how I’d sound to anyone who came upon me now, standing in the empty chamber of my bedroom. Talking to myself.
The mad queen.
That’s what I’d become, I thought as I stood there, waiting for something to happen. Silence stretched like an endless cord that tugged at my gut, making me realize I was all alone, that she hadn’t heard me.
That maybe she wasn’t really there at all.
My shoulders fell.
I was tired, so very tired, and I had to be up early in the morning.
My bare feet crept along the carpet to my bed, the covers rumpled from when I’d tried once already to sleep. I prayed fervently that this time I’d find what I so desperately needed. Rest. Peace.
I curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around myself and felt my eyelids fluttering, growing heavier and heavier. . . .
And just as they closed, I heard the faintest voice coming from deep within me.
Let me help you, Charlaina.
iii
I tiptoed through the darkened palace hallways, wishing it didn’t have to be this way, wishing I had another choice. But I didn’t. Not now.
There were times, during the deepest part of night, when I could almost forget who I was. Almost forget the responsibilities that weighed on my shoulders, forget the future I was expected to forge, and the lives I held in my hands. At least until I passed the occasional sentry and saw them start suddenly with recognition, bowing their heads low and shattering the silence with their reverent: “Your Majestys”. In the spaces in between the night watchmen, in the shadowed stretches where no one else dwelled, I could almost believe I was still the same girl. The same Charlie I’d always been.
Except that Sabara was with me . . . even when I was awake.
I approached the guard standing outside the heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway. Here sconces that had not so long ago held candles and oil lamps were now outfitted with electricity, and a small bulb cast him in a bowl of pale light. Like all the others, his eyes widened as he realized who it was that approached.
I lifted my finger to my lips before he could utter the all too familiar, all-too-formal phrase as I stepped past him. He didn’t try to stop me, despite the fact that the person he guarded slept soundly on the other side of that door.
I eased it open, grateful that the hinges were well oiled so it didn’t creak, the way many of the palace doors still did. Inside the darkened bedchamber, the newly appointed royal guard glared at me. My lips curved as her black eyes burrowed into me, lancing me with suspicion.
I was above reproach and she knew that, but her overprotective nature was one of the things I admired most about Eden—one of the reasons I’d accepted her as my sister’s guardian. She trusted no one.
But I was her queen. She had no business second-guessing my reason for being here. Even if it was the dead of night.
I nodded at the woman now sworn to protect Angelina with her life.
Leave us, I mouthed, and saw the flicker of hesitance cross Eden’s face before acceptance loosened her stance. She sighed from between clenched teeth, her only audible answer. Yet the air around her remained charged, as it was wont to do in her presence. Her moods were palpable, and I could feel her dissatisfaction with my request. Yet she obeyed silently, slipping from the room.
As I caught sight of my little sister, a tiny angelic form buried beneath layers of delicate silk and finely woven damask, my breath hitched. I hated to see her sleeping alone. I hated that we no longer shared a bed.
It won’t work, the voice whispered in my ear, and I closed my eyes, ignoring it as I crept closer on bare feet. I didn’t wish to wake Angelina; the last thing I wanted to do was frighten her. But I needed her now.
I stood beside the bed for a moment, wondering at the luxuries we were now afforded, and realizing that they changed nothing. We still needed each other. And we still had secrets.
I lifted the heavy covers and slipped beneath them, letting them fall around us once more, blanketing us, shielding us from all else. Instinctively, my feet reached across the downy mattress we lay upon, seeking out my sister’s warmth, just like I used to do before I was a queen. . . . and she a princess. When we were just sisters, sharing a bed.
I’d planned to wake her slowly, before asking for her help. But the instant my skin touched hers, I felt her body spasm—her eyes shot wide, and her expression glazed as she gaped at me, startled. “What are you doing here?” I felt her shift farther from me, distancing herself. “Can’t you just leave us alone?”
I frowned. “It’s me, Angelina. Charlie.” My skin flushed, and I could both feel and see the glow coming off it now. A glow that had all but vanished over the past several weeks. Now intensified by Angelina’s presence.
Her blue eyes squeezed tightly shut as she blinked at me. When they reopened her gaze was clear again, focused. “What—what are you doing here, Charlie?” she asked again, sounding confused and small, unaware of her initial reaction to me.
I relaxed. She hadn’t realized it was me, I told myself. I’d merely surprised her. “I need you,” I practically begged, afraid I already knew what her response would be. “Please. Just try again.”
In the light shimmering from my skin, I could see the tears in her lucent blue eyes. If only it would stay that way. If only it wasn’t losing its strength. Then I wouldn’t be here right now, begging my little sister for help.
The glow, I believed, was what held Sabara at bay . . . and only Angelina could bring it back.
“I already tried, Charlie. It didn’t work,” she whimpered, and I was reminded that she was not even five years old yet. Too young to be burdened with my problems.
I reached across the sheets and gripped her hands tightly in mine. This time she didn’t flinch away, and I squeezed her small fists, relishing the feel of the potential I knew she held. The power she wielded, not yet fully realized. I didn’t want her to know how badly I needed this. I couldn’t tell her why it was so important, although I feared she already knew. “Please, Angelina. For me.” Parshon slipped from my mouth, feeling strange on my tongue, but I was desperate.
She sighed, her narrow shoulders sagging with the weight of my request. I could see her reluctance, but she pulled her hands from mine and gingerly laid a small palm on each one of my cheeks. She inhaled and closed her eyes, a look of peace settling over her beautiful little face. I shouldn’t be asking this of her, I reprimanded myself.
Healing, that was what I needed from Angelina. I needed her to fix me. I needed her to make everything right. To make
me better.
Heat surged from Angelina’s fingertips. I jerked back, recoiling from the very thing I sought. But she held on, staying with me, her touch insistent and warm and healing all at the same time.
My arms locked stiffly at my sides, as a ripple of revulsion flared within me. I struggled with myself not to strike my sister’s hands away from me, not to break the bond she’d forged between us. Shrieks unleashed within me—not my own—like wails carried on a ferocious, icy wind. They scratched at my insides, panicking as they tried to find their way out. But I bit my tongue, tasting blood. My blood. From my body.
I struggled to hang on. I refused to give up.
The entire room lit up. I could see Angelina clearly; she burned as brightly as I now did. At least on the outside. From within, my vision blurred and I clenched my jaw as blackness swelled, growing like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me.
And then Angelina’s hands left me and I gasped, falling in a boneless heap on the feathery pillows of her bed. I was sweating from head to toe, and my chest ached. This time when Angelina’s fingertips grazed my face, skimming my jaw, there was no magic in her touch. Just the tender concern of a sister.
“How do you feel?” she asked softly, her voice brimming with anticipation. Hope.
I didn’t have to glance at my skin to see the flickering glow I’d been so desperate for. Still, I sighed. “Tired, Angelina. I’m so tired.”
She just lay down beside me, settling her head against my chest as if she were listening to the unsteady thrum of my heart, assuring herself I was still alive. That I was still me.
I wished I knew the answer to that question myself.
Her arm fell across my stomach, such a familiar gesture, and I knew she was sleepy, that I’d probably worn her out. Guilt suffocated me at having awakened her.
I listened to the sounds of Angelina’s breathing, while at the same time I searched within myself, hoping and praying I was all alone now, that Sabara was gone. Once and for all.
The Essence Page 3