Threads of Fate

Chapter 9

Part 2: The Empress and the King

There were hands around her neck that squeezed hard and harder. She was defending a monster and died doing it. Her face turned brilliant hues of red and purple as Princess Alva choked her. I watched as she reached for the sword that had been right next to her and right as she took her final breath she pierced through Princess Alva.

I blinked back tears at the memory, that had been six months ago and it was over. I needed to move on and focus on my duties as heir to the throne instead of all the death that had gotten me here.

Ever since then I had focused on tuning out the Gods and ignoring my so called visions. I dreamed of myself becoming Queen of the Middle Kingdom. I also saw a boy in my dreams, tall and dark hair with soft curls. I saw Tariq.

I don't know why I still saw him, but I did. I saw all the people who died all those months ago, Alva and her family, Lady Grace. Perhaps this was the Gods way of punishing me. I should brush it off and move on, but did I ever do what I should? I was told to murder the King, I murdered his son instead. I was being told to be queen, but my thoughts still drifted back to a simpler life.

"Princess Marianna, are you alright?" A priest said, frowning at my distractedness.

"Yes, continue." I said exasperated at my own attitude.

"Pay attention Marianna, you will be queen one day." The King said with his hand on his head.

"You didn't specify if I had to be a good queen." I said dryly.

He scowled and glared at me, "Don't be sarcastic with me girl, this kingdom's fate rests in your hands."

"Oh lovely." I said even drier this time.

Just when I thought he was going to say something again, a servant burst in, "Your Majesty, there is a girl in some ruined green dress and pure gold jewelry requesting she speaks with you."

I raised my eyebrows at the statement. Such a thing was uncommon after what had already happened 6 months ago. It only piqued my interest more when the King suddenly looked even paler than his bloodless body let him.

He motioned for me to follow and I sighed as I realized he would say afterwards this was one of my royal duties. I never asked to be royal, I only complied out of sheer fear and confusion.

As we went to the throne room by the palace I adjusted my dress and its glistening ebony black. I still tended to wear royal colors out of custom and sometimes I liked how they looked on me. The black matched my hair, which was now a few inches past my shoulders. The dark red brought out the dark hues of my skin and I looked more like a dark royal version of some Southern girl than anything.

At the thought of my Southern heritage I felt of longing for my Aiva. She was my last connection other than my mother, who I only saw at certain occasions. She loved her lavishness of being rich and often could be found in the latest fashions. I was happy she was happy, but often I missed our simpler life.

Father was still miserable in the house we started out in, he refused to live in the palace and instead feasted himself on rum and bitterness. What else did I expect of him?

When we finally arrived I tried not to reel back at the sudden sight of the girl. I had expected her to look disheveled, but not as ruined and sorrowful as she did. She had an olive green dress that was torn and ruined in most places, her gold earrings and necklace crusted with dirt and what appeared to be dried blood.

She had multiple bloody gashes on her face and arms and at the sight of it my own deep scar throbbed. My scar was unsightly and ugly, it was permanent, quite like what I had done. It started at my temple and ran through my right eye down to the edge of my cheekbone. I may not look like a queen but I surely did look like some nasty Southern warrior-girl.