Of Spinning Gold and Song

| Sixteen | The Queen

I stood petrified as my thoughts swirled around my frantic mind, trying to make sense of a completely nonsensical situation. Face directed towards the ground on the ground, not wanting to get roughed again by the guard or another, I lifted my eyes slightly, wanting to look again at the ghost like vision of the queen. But I couldn't; all I saw was a sweeping ice blue skirt coming closer and closer until the monarch herself was practically breathing down on me, heels that I couldn't see clicking under her skirt.

"Rise," she commanded in a voice that left me no choice but to obey. It was practically the opposite from that of Margaret—throaty and loud, resonating nothing but power. Eager and hesitant at the same time, I slowly rose to my feet and looked... down.

It seemed I had finally found someone smaller than I. It was remarkable; even Mam, and most especially everyone else, was smaller than I. As I rose to full height, I couldn't help but relish the fact that I, someone who had had to look up at everyone for my whole life, including children far younger than I, was finally looking down at someone. A small smile started to creep across my face but I forced myself to wipe it immediately. The queen was dressed to impress—her stern face only too good an example of this—and she was not amused.

But looking at her, looking at the tiny pale vision before me, I couldn't help but be intrigued, some of the many answers I had always wanted but never gotten clicking in my head. I immediately knew where my odd silver blonde hair had come from. Where I had gotten my misty grey eyes and pale complexion, my tiny stature and willowy structure so different than the tall, tan, auburn haired green eyed norm in Lyvens. I had always known Mam wasn't from Lyvens—that much was obvious to anyone with half a pair of eyes—now I knew precisely where she was from. Ayraelia, the western kingdom where the sky met the sea and the queen was from. And I knew this because Queen Isolde was a complete duplicate of my Mam and my features.

And she saw it the same moment I did.

Her silver blonde hair was swept up in some intricate updo, her features were enhanced with powder, and her gown fit her infinitely better than my borrowed one did. Her skin was shades more fair than my newly sun baked red and freckled complexion, more like Mam, who, unlike me with my adventurous spirit, spent all her time indoors. And most of all, she was petite. Although I had yet to reach five feet, she was undoubtedly even smaller. Especially, I presumed from the sound of her marching across the floor earlier, since she was wearing high heeled slippers.

She seemed to be glaring down at me; she was somehow able to appear as though she was looking down when she was really looking up at me. Suddenly I was aware of how rude I was being, just standing there and gawking. And all of the strange stories, coupled with her unexpected summonings, made me fiercely determined not to get on her bad side.

"Your Majesty," I said immediately, pulling myself down into a curtsey as best I could. Which, admittedly, wasn't very good. I wobbled a little to the side and wasn't sure how deep to go. I pulled myself back upright as soon as I could, but I could see the disapproval in her eyes and suddenly worried I should have dipped down longer. Nobody had ever taught me etiquette in Lyvens. It simply wasn't expected of country girls.

"You must be Sparrow," she intoned. "I am Queen Isolde Adara Jennifer Lyona, Princess of Ayraelia, Queen of Lyvens. I have been awaiting you."

For a moment I was speechless, which I supposed was the intended effect. She was trying to intimidate me, I was sure, and she was succeeding so far. At a loss for words, I looked around awkwardly. The guard that had dragged me here had vacated; we were alone. Unsurprisingly, that fact provided no comfort.

"Come," she said, turning and sweeping back across the room where she sat in her throne. I was struck by how tiny she seemed in that giant of a chair. I noticed she had a little purple footstool beneath it whereon she placed her feet; I was sure they wouldn't have reached the ground otherwise. I followed her hesitantly, wishing that there could be some other person in the room so I didn't feel quite so small, so alone, so pitiful.