Dark Queen

viii.

     For nearly twelve years, Zora had worn the flimsy velvet mask over the left side of her face, never daring to slip it off. She was embarrassed by the scars. They were ugly and not pretty in even the slightest. The closed wounds weren't red now, but thick and pale.

    But when Zora left her bedchambers, the mask remained on her vanity, untouched.

     After so many years, the palace staff had become accustomed to seeing the black mask, so when Zora passed them, they weren't quite prepared for the sight. A butler gasped and dropped the tray of food he'd been carrying. A new maidservant fainted. Marx, still as short as a nightstand, blanched and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.

     Zora arched an eyebrow, daring anyone to speak up. None did. She hummed a lively tune as she arrived at the grand staircase.

     Oh, her mother would be in for a surprise.

     She scanned her surroundings for any prying eyes. Once she'd deemed it safe, she gathered her skirts up, planted her bottom onto the banister, and slid down with an elated cry.

     By miscalculation, she slid off a little too early and bumped into a centuries old vase. It hit the carpet with a thud. Zora held her breath, waiting for the porcelain to shatter into thousands of tiny pieces, but it remained intact. Gingerly, she retrieved it and returned it to its rightful display.

     There was slow, sarcastic clapping from behind her. "Sestra, I see you still your clumsy antics have not ceased during the time I was away."

     Zora's eye widened, and with a squeal of joy, she leaped into her brother's arms.

     She'd grown heavier since he last saw her, and instead of swinging her around like he used to, Pyter lost his balance and fell. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh my gods, I hope no one saw that! They would kill me!"

     Pyter laughed good-naturedly, rubbing the back of his head. "You're so big now," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Three years is a long time. I think you were up to my shoulders last time! I also notice you're not wearing your mask." His fingers traced the puckered lines.

     She helped him back up, brushing off the front of her dress. "They're finally letting Mother out. Today is the first day she will leave her room in nearly twelve years."

     "Why though?" he pressed. "One would think you'd want to go about unnoticed."

     "Ha! I want dear Mother to see my scars, to feel the guilt of knowing it was she who'd give me them. I am not afraid to show myself. If anything, it will keep away any unwanted suitors.

     "How was your stay in Santica? Did they treat you okay? Of course they did. You're our heir."

     At this, Pyter's smile faded. "That's another thing I need to tell you. Father deems me unfit to rule the throne."