Cinders

Chapter 11: The Diadem

I killed his father, I think and the world starts to spin a little too fast. I killed his father, and the sheer devastation of this realization hits the bottom of my stomach like a boulder. It's a sinking heavy feeling that has me nauseated. My hands tremble uncontrollably and my breath quickens. I killed him. I can't see straight. I. Killed. The King.

Lena looks at me and sadness pales her beautiful face.

"I know what you did and so does James," she said in a warm tone that I absolutely do not deserve.

"I killed the king," my words are an echo of the pain that threatens to swallow me whole.

"You did what you needed to. All is as it should be," she says calmly.

"What?" These words make no sense. Is she talking about fate? Was I fated to kill the king? Why?

"A choice was made, your arrow flew true. All is as it should be," she explained.

"But I didn't make a choice. I was hungry, I killed for food," my voice is shaking, but with what? Grief? Guilt? No, anger. The hag's words echo in my mind "Play the game little pawn, but play it as if you are a queen." I am no one's pawn, but I realize that I need Lena at this moment. My voice steels. Ice crawls through my veins as I realize that I've had enough. So I say, "What must I do?"

Lady Lena kneels before me. Her head bent low among the poppies swaying in the breeze.

"Take my crown. It is yours," she says as I walk up the her and lift the golden coronet off her head. "The Dream Diadem will allow you to walk between sleep and death. It will allow you to slay the shadows and break the curse."

As I hold the Dream Diadem in my hands, a surge of power courses through me, mingling with the dread still clinging to my soul. The golden crown is warm, almost pulsing with a life of its own. I stare down at Lady Lena, still kneeling in the poppies, her face calm and resolute.

"Why me?" I ask, my voice wavering. "Why would you give this to me?"

Lena looks up, her eyes holding a mixture of sorrow and something I can't quite place—maybe hope, or perhaps resignation. "Because you are the only one who can wield it now. The king's death has set a chain of events in motion that cannot be undone. You were not fated to kill him; you were chosen. But now that the deed is done, you must carry the burden of what comes next."

My mind races - who chose me? Everything feels surreal as if I am trapped in a nightmare I can't wake up from. The weight of the Diadem in my hands feels both terrifying and strangely comforting.

Lena rises to her feet, her gaze steady on mine. "With the Diadem, you can traverse the realms of dream and death. The shadows that haunt this world, the curse that plagues the kingdom—they can only be defeated by someone who can walk between these worlds."

"And if I refuse?" The question slips out before I can stop it, and I am almost surprised by the sound of my own voice.

"Then the darkness will consume us all," Lena replies, her tone devoid of judgment. "But I don't believe you will refuse."

The poppies sway more violently now, as if a storm is brewing on the horizon. I can feel the gravity of the decision weighing down on me. But there's no time to hesitate—no time to mourn the life I once knew, however small and miserable it was.

Carefully and almost instinctively, I place the Dream Diadem on my head. As the crown settles, I feel a sharp jolt of energy, and the world around me blurs, shifting between the vibrant colours of the waking world and the muted, shadowy hues of the realm of sleep and death.

Lena's voice reaches me, distant but clear. "Go, and may you find the strength to break the curse. Remember, not all shadows are what they seem. Some may offer you aid, but others will seek your downfall."

With those words, the landscape around me begins to shift. The shadows around me whisper wildly as I am propelled back into my world, back to my room. My breath steadies, and the icy resolve from before returns, hardening into determination. I tighten my grip on the Diadem.

"I will not be a pawn," I whisper, defiance threading through my words.

From the darkness of my bed, a low, unfamiliar male voice responds in a wry tone, "Then you will die, darling."