The Point of A Dagger

Two

The sound of pen, scrolling across my parchment, is the only other sound in my room beside the cracking fire, warming the frost bitten room. The words flow across the paper, grief filling the pages of the simple brown diary my father bought for me ages long ago on our first trip into a little town outside the walls of the castle. We had ridden in the carriage, promptly abandoning it when we got to the town, traveling through on foot, greeting the people. We passed by many shops, but the bookstore caught my eye. I begged father to buy me the little journal, if not for the begging eyes of the shop owner, trying to feed her children. I was seven, and still understood the needs of the people, and wanted to give them everything. I never touched the journal again after that day.

I've made a mistake,

I write, the words chicken scratches, the letters barely legible.

I've made a grave mistake before I've even become queen. I've created Plora's downfall, with nothing but a shake of hands, an exchange of fates. I've invited an enemy, disguised as a friend, into the castle at our most vulnerable time. King Astor, nothing more than a wicked, cunning king, must know of the Southern Army, must know of our resources. He used the card to get Prince Griffin into the castle, Seafall knows why. I suspect a possible marriage proposal, one my father can no longer deny, or forbid. One that would declare, at best, the end of an alliance, at worst, war, if I declined. And if I accepted... Astor would be able to take over Plora so easily, pull it from under my pillow as I sleep.

I sigh, rubbing my temples, as I stare at the parchment in the candle light.

I miss you, father. I need your help. I don't know what to do.

A tear drops to the paper, spoiling the ink. I watch the black move out, away from the circle of water. As I stare, a knock comes from my door, causing me to tear out the page in a haste.

"Just a moment," I call, holding the parchment over the flame of my candle. The fire burns, consuming the words, tuning them to ash. Once the parchment is dissolved, I call whoever is outside my door to enter. Maeve walks in, closing the door behind her, carrying a dress on her arm. I smile, standing up to greet her.

"Long day, miss?" she asks as I pull her into a hug.

"Quite," I laugh, pulling away. "What is this?" I ask, touching the red fabric.

"Your gown, for the ball in two weeks, announcing your coming coronation."

"Ah, that is soon, isn't it?" Maeve nods her head. I sigh, sitting on the side of my bed. Maeve quickly puts the dress away in my closet, returning to sit with me. "I miss them," I say, leaning my head on her shoulder. Maeve's arms, small but strong, wrap around my body, rubbing my back.

"We all do."

"I'm going to fail," I confide, sighing. "It's all too much. I don't know how my father did it."

"He had your mother."

"Are you saying I should get married?" Maeve shakes her head.

"No, I'm saying to trust your people. Build yourself a strong council of people who are not only your advisors, but your friends. You are going to be an amazing ruler, ma'am." I smile, pulling back from her arms to look at her face. She reminds me of my mother, stronger and wiser because of her age, her experiences.

"Maybe you should be queen, Maeve. You always know what to do." She smiles, wrinkling her face.

"The coronation will be soon, before the winter solstice," she says, standing up. "Rulers of Saunin, Omadra, and Azore will all be in attendance." It is tradition for the rulers of every Land to attend a coronation in the Realm. There is only one exception to this; when my father was crowned, the King of Saunin, Cain Astor's father, did not attend. Our Lands had been fighting, one of the few feuds the Realm has seen since its creation by Seafall, an ancient Goddess who rose the Realm from the Forgotten Sea.