Kingdom of Villains and Vengeance: Fairytale retellings from the villain's perspective (Kingdom of Darkness and Light Book 2)

by Laura Greenwood

  But I wasn’t welcome at the Royal Castle?

  All right, I couldn’t go; it was as simple as that.

  I opened my eyes a smidgen more and turned my head ahead, so my sisters wouldn’t notice I was awake. I could only see Elsa grab the hand of Catherine’s small son, and I stared at their hands with tears welling in my eyes, as the whole thing hit me. It was all of us sisters, all seven of us, in the cart today. The last time we’d all been together had to have been years and years ago.

  Before some twists and turns of life, we’d always trusted each other and had each other’s backs, but we’d grown apart during the past years, and it was bittersweet to be together again under circumstances like this. All my sisters were a lovely sight in their best dresses, and I was the odd one out.

  The sycamore trees lining the avenue to the King’s Castle gave rhythm to my erratic heartbeats and the shock I was trying to hide.

  “I mean, Amalia doesn’t have to come to the main celebration, just the reception. We don’t have to mention there’s more,” Elsa went on, unaware that I could hear her.

  They had to think I was asleep, otherwise, they wouldn’t have said these horrid things.

  “But still, it’s quite wonderful she can come to the reception and have her share of glamour. And Queen Marjorie did say she wanted to invite all the fairy ladies of our lovely little town…Those were her exact words…All the fairy ladies, she said. And now she has them, so what’s the matter? Maybe she forgot about Amalia, but she did say, all the fairy ladies, and here we go, now she has them all! Nothing to complain about, is there?”

  Elsa’s bright laugh emphasised the ease with which she could relate to all of this. She had no worries in life whatsoever. She was engaged to a landlord, she was personal friends with the queen, and all this despite being a halfling with no prestigious heritage to claim.

  We’d all been born nobodies in a remote little hut in the countryside, truly in the middle of nowhere. Born to a huntsman and a healer woman, soon to be orphaned, abused, and left to our own devices, we knew little of affluent relations and fancy life. We knew nothing of the big world.

  “How could Queen Marjorie forget Amalia, though?” Catherine said, more like a statement. “Everybody knows Amalia around town. She’s the best-known healer.”

  “Used to be,” Elsa said, matter-of-factly, and she was right. So right it stung.

  “Fair enough. Poor Amalia doesn’t seem to go out much, anymore. Does she even go to market on fair days?”

  “Anyway,” Elsa evaded the subject, “maybe Queen Marjorie forgot about Amalia sleeping like a sweet baby, here, but technically, if you want to invite all the fairy ladies, Amalia’s getting an invite, right? And I’m sure Marjorie would have invited Amalia, if she hadn’t gotten things mixed up, because she’s really nice. Also, she’s likely not aware of Amalia’s unfortunate situation.”

  The fact that I lived alone in a dilapidated shag in rags, surviving on berries and magic. No. Who would remember me, nowadays, except the deer in the woods and the birds in the old apple tree?

  But what difference did that make, if I wasn’t going to be going to the ballroom and taking part in the actual celebrations?

  And what if I did go?

  Would I be turned away at the door?

  Was I just going to pretend I knew nothing about all this and silently accept I wasn’t going?

  Like blazing hell, I was. I was not going to be turned away at the door like some trash.

  “Queen Marjorie has such a warm heart!” Elsa insisted. “I’m sure she’ll understand we’re bringing Amalia to the reception. She’ll understand we want Amalia to get a glimpse of the festivities, because Amalia has so little in her life to be excited about. So, the only trouble I expect is from the court. Oh, heavens, all that gossip! You know what, prepare for some sour faces! They know we move magic, so I expect everybody will be waiting to see what kinds of monsters appear at the porch…” A sly voice, laced with contained laughter.

  “And then it’s only us, in our fancies,” Lily put in, all giggles, and straightened some non-existing creases in her laces.

  The court saw a lot of Elsa and Lily, because both girls had gotten engaged into powerful families, or the ‘upper crust of the court’, as Lily now liked to say. It was understandable that all my sisters got the invite, then, all being radiant young ladies with interesting lives in the city. But me, I was ten years older than even eldest of them, fifteen years senior to Elsa, and moreover, there was the fact of my ‘situation’.

  Me, I simply wasn’t presentable.

  “…But then Queen Marjorie blurted out, why would she even want to come? Can you believe that?” Loreleine said.

  The exclamation cut my line of thought. I hadn’t been paying attention anymore. I closed my eyes completely, shutting out the flickering green, knowing by the voice that next up to speak was Lily. I was half drowsing off and wasn’t sure I should listen in.

  “She was all, oh, wouldn’t Amalia prefer to stay in her cozy little home, oh, she wouldn’t want to be bothered…”

  “Exactly, and see,” Elsa chimed in enthusiastically, “that’s why we couldn’t decide at first, either, and thought it might be best to not mention the whole event to Amalia and burden her with this. Amalia might have wanted to find excuses not to come, and it could have been awkward. But then we realized she could simply come to the reception, so…Who’s a genius? We are! It all worked out! I’m glad she came and it’s all working out in the end…Hey, it’s all of us together, again, after how many years? Oh, isn’t this wonderful?”

  I had thought the same only a moment ago, but now Elsa’s and Lily’s words cut like knives in my heart. Yet the main point was still true: it was bittersweetly nostalgic to spend time all together again, all of us seven sisters. We used to rely on each other, alone in our little hut of a home, before each and every one of them had found new lives and we’d grown apart.

  I wondered if things would have been different, if we’d kept in touch more. After they’d all moved to the city, I’d withdrawn into my small life and idled about, hoping they stopped by more often.

  But here we were. No crying over spillt milk.

  I called up my magic and let the veil cover my teared-up eyes, hoping the slowing-down of the sound of the horses’ hooves meant that we were arriving at the Castle already.

  Chapter 2

  Coming back from a visit to the ladies’ outhouse, where I’d spent more time than necessary, I lingered at the ballroom’s entrance, fidgeting behind the curtains in my borrowed heels — not wanting to go in, but adamantly not agreeing to leave.

  If King John wanted me out, the guards would have to drag me away.

  I’d never seen such glamour before as the lavishly decorated, lengthy buffet tables and all the fancy outfits. At the same time, I’d never seen so much hypocrisy, jealousy, and greed.

  I gasped, as I was suddenly shoved to the side. A lady in a large hat laden with roses had walked into me, as she glided into the ballroom in her enormous dress, followed by her company. But her pushing into me seemed an accident. Her first look was so apologetic. It immediately turned indifferent, as I swirled around to glance her way and she saw me better.

  Apparently, I wasn’t impressive enough to apologize to. No status…

  I bit my tongue and simply pushed the red velvet drapes a little further out of the way as I stepped more to the shadows of the statues by the side of the entrance.

  I knew I was somewhat in the way, where I stood, but I didn’t want to leave my spot, because it was the perfect place for people-watching. From there, I had a great view over the ballroom.

  After the reception, when people had started moving on here, to the place of the actual ceremony, my sisters had said their guilty goodbyes. They had to be under the impression I’d left, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go.

  I’d lacked the nerve to be social tonight even at the reception, where I’d been welcome, so, hiding her
e, I tried my best to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes, fearing people would tell me to leave. But from my velvet hiding place, I at least dared to people-watch.

  The king of one of the neighbouring lands, King Dorian of Sarastland, sat at one of the tables close by. He was the polar opposite of our own King John in every way. He was patient, decent, and kind..wise and compassionate. If only we had a king like Dorian and if only our kingdom were a little more like Sarastland.

  The people of Sarastland were well nourished, well clothed, and all had a roof over their heads. None were slaughtered for petty things. None were thrown in the dungeon just to please the king’s whims.

  But all these were things that our King John would do on a good day, and worse. That’s how King John had been carrying on for over a decade.

  Oh, my blood boiled from just looking at him.

  Most of all I burned from rage for what King John did eighteen years prior. He was no king of mine. Eighteen years ago he and his men had arrived at our hut on a freezing mid-winter day. And when they’d left, my mother had lost her life.

  My sisters had been nothing but children, toddlers or teens, but I remembered everything. Everything. And I’d sworn to never forgive the king for as long as I lived.

  We’d been left alone with our abusive stepfather, who hardly mourned, but on many days I felt I mourned enough for all of us.

  But really, John had killed Mother for a fae heart jewel.

  It happened; that’s why some halflings, if they only could, tried to escape to live among the fae. For one reason or another, out mother hadn’t managed that. One needed quite a lot of powers to be approved. One needed to be aiala — a halfling that was almost true fae.

  Mother had liked to tell stories about aiala, when she was still with us. Aiala still had a mythical ring to it, in my mind.

  How long would the people still have to suffer with John as king? Would this monster never be stopped? Should he not be? I could hardly believe my eyes, watching all these courtiers swarm around him, polite, friendly, as if he were not a cold-blooded murderer. Surely people knew of his war endeavours, too? The killing, the pillaging?

  Then my gaze turned to little baby Aurora, looking so sweet sleeping in her crib, and I smiled, my heart melting.

  She was the first child of King John and Queen Marjorie, so she was a princess and a true heiress. She would inherit the kingdom and could one day choose a king to rule by her side. Wrapped in her gold-embroidered blankets and dressed in a staggeringly lavish, pearl-embroidered christening dress, she looked it every bit. What an incredible life awaited her.

  In my mind, I went over and over again what I’d overheard in the cart, my sisters talking like it was a given I didn’t belong here.

  Knowing it to be true only made it more hurtful.

  Could they have been aware I was listening? Maybe they’d wanted to give me a warning? Wanted to help me make the decision all by myself and understand that I shouldn’t have come in the first place?

  I really couldn’t fathom how my sisters could have missed the fact that I’d held that magic veil to shadow me, because one simply does not chant when asleep. Maybe I’d been inconspicuous enough; still, I had expected someone to notice and take the issue up. But then, I had a knack for spotting magic effects, and I couldn’t always tell whether they were strong enough for others to see. What was obvious to me wasn’t always obvious to everyone else — that, I’d come to learn.

  And granted, magic wasn’t exactly easy to see for halflings. It took practice to see well. None of my sisters were all that trained at magic sight. It could be that they hadn’t practised as much as I had; that could well be it.

  Now they sat dispersed into three different tables, all equally lavish. Lily, Carolyn, and Elsa fussed about, walking to and from each others’ tables, whispering to each other, exchanging something small from hand to hand.

  Then it dawned on me what my sisters were preparing to do and what the staff was helping them with, and what the guests throwing sideways glances at, and I opened my mouth.

  Of course: offerings.

  And it looked like they were going to do magic.

  Why else would they have been making these hand gestures, showing each other a few moves of the beginnings of the spells? I even knew which one Lily was suggesting.

  Why hadn’t they mentioned anything to me? Was I the only one who hadn’t known this had been the plan today? I commanded the strongest magic, so why?

  My stomach knotted up, as I watched Charlotte walk up to Queen Marjorie. The baby princess was in her fabulously decorated crib, in the attendance of a nanny by Marjorie’s throne. Charlotte curtsied to the Queen, got a nod back, and raised her hands for casting. Once she began chanting, within three words I knew which spell this was. Charlotte even pronounced one word wrong, but still, I knew which one it was. Oh, lucky little princess, she’d never be ill in her life. The spell of resilience.

  “Ooh, how clever,” went Loreleine, and all my sisters clapped their hands soundlessly and simpered at each other. “Well done, Charlotte…Well done!”

  The audience joined in, but with booming applauds. The whole room reverberated with their ooh’s and aah’s.

  Lily and all the rest of them gave their offerings, one after the other, and the crowd perfectly radiated with awe. Sitting there, watching these courtiers go about, I had to admit I was simultaneously sad and happy.

  A pair of young maids not far away from me, however, were not taking part in the applauding, but leaned into each other, whispering something. They were close enough for me to hear most of it, as after all, my hearing was not much worse than that of true fae, either.

  “Now, we’ll see what happens. Are they transforming? Do they still look the same?”

  “I think they do…”

  “My gosh, they don’t look like witches, at all. What if one of these walked into you in the street? How would you know? Before you’d know it, you’d be a toad!” The maid opened her mouth theatrically, imitating croaking whispers, then she silently roared with laugher.

  “You mustn’t say things like that,” the other maid whispered back, frowning. “They are the wives of esteemed men…Or rather, should I say, the wives of the sons of esteemed men…!” A guffaw.

  The other girl giggled at that. “At least they aren’t like Horrid King John. I know the King’s head guardsman, and you would not believe the things I’ve heard. You must swear to never speak a word, but I bet King John will try to have these ladies assassinated and tear out their fae hearts…You do know fae have gems for hearts? Full of magic! It’s true. That’s what the king is after. But of course, he can’t just go and do it, just like that…I expect him to take his sweet time, until the fae ladies fall out of favor. It doesn’t help at all that his newlywed wife, here, fussy-pants Queen Marjorie, is so smitten with the witch ladies and their silly butterfly magic…That,” the girl added in a proud voice, “is a direct quote from the King. Their butterfly magic…I don’t know what that means, but I think it’s saying, their frivolous, silly tricks.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” the sturdier maid spat. “Notice how Daria isn’t here, one of the seamstresses, remember her? She lost her child. The king’s child. Now the king is not talking to her at all anymore. And the cook commented that she’s better off without him—better off without the king, imagine! But we all know it’s true. The king is hard-hearted, the worst there ever was. And did you hear what happened to Emmelie of Kelbyshire?…Oh, enough of these stories, enough…But that’s why the King ordered his men to Kelbyshire, and that’s why he ordered the blood-slaughter. No other reason. Does he care for the lives of a thousand innocent people? Oh, no…All that violence, just so he would not lose face.”

  My blood boiled, listening to that. I’d hated the king for as long as I could remember, myself, but I had my own reasons to.

  I would never erase from my mind how the king killed our mother and smiled. And for what? For money, for power…All he
was after was the fae magic our mother possessed.

  Us girls, I guess we were useless to the king, so he let us live. Perhaps he’d already been thinking he’d find use for us once our powers grew?

  Fae girls’ magic gathered strength during teenage years. That’s when the magic manifested into gemstones inside our hearts — halfling hearts, as well. But back then, as mere children or teens, I guess the King must have thought were still useless.

  Truthfully, I’d been in my teens already, so I might have even had some kind of a gem worth taking, but apparently the king wasn’t aware. Of course, gems matured as the owner used magic, and how much had I yet done? How many wise thoughts harboured? How many clever tricks come up with? I was sure the king thought nothing of my magic. I was sure he would have thought, pfft, better wait…Perhaps he’d already thought he’d come back for our gems later. Perhaps.

  Of course, he could have captured us and thrown us in the dungeon to grow up, but fae heart magic suffered in captivity. So, I’m sure the king must have thought, let them believe they got away…and he must have planned to come for us later. There was no doubt in my mind about that.

  Only, he could never find the hut anymore. I heard about his searches. For a while, I made all my visits to town under disguise. It changed nothing that many people empathised with me more than with the king; I worried he could still have gotten to me.

  And here I saw why. I saw the sickened staff and heard these women talking about how hard life was. I knew perfectly well how things were in the kingdom.

  I’d known all about it through all those years when I stayed in my hut, harbouring my vengeance. And while my omens brought that pain to my attention from time to time — the heart-breaking wailing of the kingdom’s hearts’ voices — I’d still stayed by my measly hearth, smoking dragon root, only privately feeding my violent thoughts about King John of Tairaland. That’s what I’d done.

  It’s not like he could have found me under my layers and layers of ward spells. Because such I’d spun. Layer upon layer.