Thorns

Chapter One

"Marceline Elessia Rose, stop antagonizing your brother and come help your father set the table."

I turned my head, keeping my knee planted firmly between my brother's rib cage. My mother's stern eyes flickered as she locked her frustrated gaze into my own. It almost seemed like she wanted me to defy her. She looked at me like her life purpose was to incite the feeling of invincibility into my bones, only for her to then completely destroy the skyscraper she had encouraged my ego to build.

Rather than giving her the satisfaction of falling into her little trap, I instead let my attention move elsewhere. I took notice to the cold frown sitting firmly against her lips, and I wondered how long it would be until ran out of ways to distract myself from the pain she kept causing.

Every time she mentioned Dad, her words turned to needles that perforated my chest. I highly doubted that I would ever fully accommodate to her delusions, mostly due to the fact they prevented me from healing. Not to mention, it felt dirty to play along and feed into her hysteria. But my brother, my sister, and myself, all knew that it was better to let her believe he was still with us. Considering that our mother was, otherwise, in a good mental state, I feared if she knew her husband had died...

It would kill her.

After all, I assumed her mind had done this as a way to protect her from the hurricane of pain just waiting to be released. But, unfortunately, that didn't protect the rest of us from the pain.

If anything, it enabled it.

Because, somehow, even though it had already been three years since his death, it still hurt all the same.

I remembered the morning I first found the letter taped to our front door. I could still see the way the dew had laid so delicately in the grass, and the way the crisp air smelled how I imagined a mountain would after a cool rain. It was all so beautiful and serene that I could hardly believe the note in my hand could be so hellacious. It read that my dad had been taken prisoner during an enemy attack, and that they had no idea where he was being held, or if he was even still alive.

As it turned out, he had still been alive.

Because, as luck would have it, two days later they broadcasted his death over live television for the entire world to see.

It was a wound that never seemed to scar, regardless of how many times it scabbed over. Every time it broke open it was just as deep, just as bloody, and just as nauseating as the first time Id been cut.

The worst part was, my father died for a war that wasn't even his to fight.

He died in the King's war.

The King's.

Yet, for some reason, it had been my father who had paid the price, and my family who'd been left to deal with the debt.

My brother's chuckle rumbled in his chest, pulling me back into reality, "Sounds like you're in trouble again, Peachy." My eyes flickered away from my mom for a moment to catch his amused grin; I wasn't at all surprised by his sudden urge to worsen the situation on my behalf.

"Can't Maeve help Dad?" I sputtered, lifting my knee off of Tamlin's lanky body, and wiping my dirt-covered hands on the sides of my pants, "She's been inside reading that stupid book all day today, but god forbid she be asked to lift a finger."

Tamlin hoisted himself off the ground, giving me a pat on the back as he towered over me once again, "I'm going inside before mom starts yelling." He mumbled, his lip curling upward into a small sneer, "Remind me next time to stop going so easy on you, I can't have you winning all of our fights." He winked at me, brushing a few strands of sandy blond hair away from his eyes.