Queen of Shattered Dreams

1 - The Boy and the Queen

Photo by Simon Shim from Pexels

Mother stands behind me, her reflection scrutinizing mine—but not as a person. She's studying my face, my hair, cataloging imperfections, measuring my worth. I hold my breath, waiting for the list of needed improvements to begin.

My sixteenth birthday is not far from either of our minds. I'm beautiful and wealthy with royal blood on my mother's side and a nasty touch of magic on my father's. But that's a secret.

There's hardly any doubt I'll do well when it comes to a husband. I've seen the "advantageous" marriages of cousins. Old men, rich, ambitious, usually a widower. One cousin in particular became a mother of five on her wedding day and within a year gave birth to a child of her own. I shiver. I don't want to be someone's step-mother.

Mother inhales and sets the brush on the table. "The King has requested to see you tomorrow, Mila."

I fight the tremor in my spine. "What for?" Can she hear the trepidation in my voice?

"Let's hope something other than your lackluster attitude yesterday afternoon."

Maybe her appraising look before was not about a future husband but disapproval over my lack of enthusiasm at yesterday's execution. "Surely my behavior was unnoticed by the King and could not warrant a visit to him."

"Never underestimate what the King notices. You're a beautiful young girl. It is not beyond you to attract such attention." She's not complimenting me. It is a matter of fact to her.

She'd elbowed me just before the young man's head was cut off, warning me with her eyes that something was wrong with my reaction. As though there was something right with the reactions of others. The young cobbler hardly looked like a criminal, at least not from what I've read in novels. He was tall, even with his hands tied behind his back and shoulders slumped. His eyes were dark, though filled with terror as he searched the crowd for some last-second savior. But of course, there was none. We were never told his crime but all the same, the crowd cheered on his death. Even my own mother.

But what had he done? The offense could range from stealing a loaf of bread to murder for all I know. Not magic though. Had it been the use of magic we were sure to have been told. My grandmother once told me that there were probably more people than we'd ever know who had the gift.

Mother continues, "The carriage will be here in the morning to escort us to the castle."

My eyes drop and I bite my lower lip. Could the king really want to see me about my lack of enthusiasm yesterday—or is it possible that he suspects I take after my grandmother? I take in a breath, stand and push my hair behind my shoulder. I walk past Mother and through the door of my bedroom. "If punishment is coming tomorrow, then I'll at least enjoy today."

"I forbid it!" she snaps and follows after me.

I spin to face her when we reach the front door. "I'll bathe tonight, mother, I promise." Then I jump out the door, out of her reach.

I take a deep breath of the spring air. The winter has been long, cold, and insufferable—but that woman has been more so. She will not stop me. She never has before. Her threats die off as they leave her lips. Without fear of rebuke I raise the hem of my dress and place a bare foot onto the dirt path leading away from our home. Ahead of me looms Direwood Castle. It's a breathtaking structure, built of stone, rising out of the mountain side. Between the two dungeons designed as the pillars of the foundation, flows a waterfall which feeds the river running near our estate.

I tip my face to the sky, so far back I can't see the castle. Beautiful as it is to the eye, it's an ugly place, full of misery.

The fruit trees lining the lane have tiny green buds. When the fruit hangs ripe from the trees I can walk this way and pick my lunch as I leave. But this may be the last spring I can do that.