How Shadows Turn to Ash

Chapter 5: Antonia

The day Trajan had been born had been the worst day of Antonia's life.

At least, in the beginning, it had been. Octavia was nine and Antonia seven, playing in the throne room one early morning when the ornate doors flew open with a bang.

"Where are they?" their father's voice echoed, and Antonia peeked out from behind a marbled column to see the king darting around the room, face flushed and eyes bright with excitement. "Where are my princesses?"

Octavia rushed over to him, giggling as their father grinned, opening his arms wide.

"Aha," he yelled, scooping her up. Antonia inched away from her pillar, dragging her feet. She knew what this good mood meant. Her father met her eyes and smiled, skipping over the steps leading up to the two thrones at the front of the room. "Excellent. I have news-"

"The boy is coming," Antonia cut in dryly. She huffed, sitting on a stair with her nose scrunched up and lips puckered into a pout. Uncle Friedrich trailed behind, looking irritated as he tried to keep up with the king, scribbling something down against a marbled column.

"Indeed he is," their father agreed and lightly poked Octavia's nose. She grinned and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Unlike Antonia, Octavia didn't seem to mind this unwelcome addition to the family. "I will be joining your mother soon-"

"My king," Friedrich interrupted, pausing in his writing to walk over. "You needn't trouble yourself in the birthing room. Surely, your wife-"

"Friedrich," their father cut in, looking amused as he shifted Octavia on his hip. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging tighter. "You've met my wife. You know that if I ever were to venture out into battle, she would insist on joining me. It seems only fair that I return the favor."

Friedrich pursed his lips at their father's declaration but bowed his head, stepping back so they could resume their conversation. Her father put Octavia down, urging her to sit next to Antonia so he could kneel in front of them.

"Right," he said, clapping his hands together. "I have gifts for you."

"Goodbye gifts," Antonia said solemnly. Their father raised a brow. "I know what they say. Now that you have a boy, he'll be heir to the throne, and you'll forget about us. Right, Octavia?"

Octavia gave her a puzzled look. Why wasn't she more bothered? If it weren't for this boy, Octavia would be the first queen to inherit the throne. Even at seven, Antonia knew that was a big deal. Octavia was the smartest person she had ever met. Her sister deserved to rule one day. Not this dumb baby who could one day grow into a dumb man.

Their father tucked a black curl away from Antonia's face. "Nobody is forgetting about you."

"Octavia would be the best queen. She should get it!" Antonia insisted, lip trembling. "And I would help her! I would be so good at helping her. Tell him, Octavia. Tell him I would help."

"She helped me feed the horses yesterday," Octavia offered. Antonia pointed at her in agreement. See? Antonia would help. She was good at helping.

Their father's lips twitched. "The best queen?" he repeated and stood up, reaching over to grab Octavia again and lift her into the air. "Let's see! Queen Octavia, please take a seat!"

Octavia gasped as he sat on his throne. At nine, she was too big to keep getting picked up like a toddler, but Antonia had never once seen her sister complain. Her father's affection felt like a luxury only their family could have. You were meant to enjoy it fully.

The throne itself glittered as Octavia sat down. It was made up of polished crystals with pieces of magic trapped inside, so it glowed all sorts of colors. Once, Antonia had overheard the servants mutter that such a throne was wasteful.