Queen of Shattered Dreams

2- An Invitation

Photo by Artem Saranin from pexels

The woman falling from the sky like a drop of blood. The Queen! But more disturbing than the Queen's death—the timing. She appeared in the water seconds after my conjuring. It could be coincidence. It could be an omen. A very, very bad omen. It was my future I conjured and her death witnessed in the water. Are my life and her death connected somehow?

My mother sits across the breakfast table from me, staring pensively out the window. She was most upset about the news of the Queen's death—not that it happened, but rather that it canceled her plans this morning. I take a bite of toast, which is all the louder given the silence in the room.

That's when I hear it, the muffled thunder of wooden wheels grinding over the hard dirt path.

Mother hears it too, for she jumps to her feet and sprints out of the room to get a better view of who's coming. "Mila," she screeches. She runs back in, most unladylike with her skirts bunched into her fists. "Mila, hurry. It's the royal carriage."

"The royal carriage?" I ask around a mouth full of toast. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, you daft child! Get to your room with all deliberate speed and try to make yourself presentable!"

I stuff the rest of my toast into my mouth, earning me a scowl from Mother. She chases me up the stairs but then veers to her own room to make herself more presentable.

My servant comes rushing in with the gown that's meant for my coming out to society as an eligible woman—party, ball, what have you. But last night, Mother insisted I wear it for my meeting with the king and that a new one be commissioned for the ball. Because heaven forbid I wear the same gown twice.

I run a finger along the green stitching before my servant lowers it for me to step in to. She breaths in evenly, as though she's been training for a dramatic event such as this.

The carriage outside comes to a stop. The laces of the dress tie quickly and effortlessly. Then it's on to my hair.

Mother's in the doorway now, breathless and fidgeting with her necklace.

I stand and make my way to her as soon as my hair is done. Her eyes give me a quick scan and she tsks. "It will have to do. Now hurry."

The coachman holds the carriage door open for us and we pile in. Why are we still being summoned? I would think the death of one's wife would earn him at least one day for grieving.

I stare out the window as the carriage makes its way up the road to the castle. Mother frets across from me, checking and rechecking her nails for any sign of dirt. I examine my own, manicured nails. Though I'd been certain that this exact situation would not be happening this morning, Mother still insisted I be scrubbed. Even if I wanted to keep a speck of dirt hidden, those servants would have found it, their mistress commanded it.

I fill my lungs with breath, letting it stay in my expanded lungs a moment longer. Something about these stretching organs calms me.

Mother sighs. "Let's hope he hasn't heard about you running around the countryside, barefoot like some peasant."

I tense, keeping my face toward the window so she can't read my expression. It's the same inane conversation I tried ignoring yesterday when I returned home with the news of the Queen's death. The Queen was dead, but all Mother cared about was the dirt on my feet and the sweat on my brow. Apparently it's still the only thing bothering her from yesterday. "Mother, I doubt the king cares how dirty I was yesterday—his wife died, remember?"

She clenches her jaw and avoids my gaze. I'm certain it's my most withering stare and she's missing it. At least she's gone silent again.

The carriage pulls up to the castle and a servant ushers us into a grand sitting room. The ceiling's impossibly high. Windows compose an entire wall, giving a breathtaking, dizzying view of the kingdom below.