Kingdoms Lost

02

I follow the twists and turns in the halls almost blindly. These are the halls I've walked my entire life. When I was a toddler stumbling behind Samuel, or when I was holding Ariella's hand as she took her first unsteady steps across the black and white marble. I'd always known I would leave it someday, but I had thought I would at least get to watch Mattie take his first steps before I was shipped off. I'd always thought I'd be able to visit. I don't need to think to find my way to my chambers, will I ever be able to say the same of the Adriennic capital palace?

I hear Ariella before I see her. My sister, at fourteen, has taken to dressing in the most elaborate getups the palace seamstress can manage, and the clicking of her heels always announces her arrival. I slow my pace, and Ariella slips her hand through the crook of my elbow, smiling up at me from under a heavy layer of powders. We walk in silence—aside from the clicking of her heels and the swishing of my skirts—until we reach my door.

Ariella pushes open the door, calling in a sing-songy voice, "Agnes!" When my lady's maid doesn't hurry out to serve us, she turns to me, grinning wickedly. "It appears we're alone," she says, flopping backward onto my bed.

I roll my eyes at her antics, but the smile tugging at the corners of my lips is a real one.

"I would have gone out to fetch you, you know. Like Samuel did. But I didn't want to ruin my dress." Ariella's ocean eyes flash, as if she's only joking, but I know her well enough to hear the ring of truth in her words. Her dress is impressive, with a tightly corseted bodice of ivory silk, lined in swirls of pearls and light pink embroidery, and a skirt that fades from cream to a deep pink, both full and seemingly weightless as she walks. Her joking manner lifts some of the dark pressure from my chest, and I perch beside her.

Laughing, I pluck a pearl pin from her updo, causing a cascade of gold curls to fall into her face. "We wouldn't want that, would we?" I tease, tapping her nose with the hairpin. "Poor Annalisa would be stuck mending ripped seams for hours, only to have the dress hang in your closet and collect dust."

Ariella makes a face at me, her features scrunching in a way that's both comical and endearing. "Don't be silly," she scoffs, lifting her chin in a fake approximation of a stuck-up court lady. "I would simply have Annalisa throw it out!"

"My apologies, Your Highness," I say. I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. With a giggle, Ariella tosses a pillow at me, but I bat it aside, sending it across my night stand. The glass lamp that had been there crashes to the floor, shattering into fractals of crystalline glass, beautiful and wicked sharp. Ariella and I both freeze, the laughter falling off our faces at the same moment.

As Ariella tiptoes around the mess to ring for Agnes, I feel the darkness return. As I lean against my pillows, I draw in a deep breath. Even though I can breathe, I feel like I'm drowning. The hopelessness, anger, and fear building and clawing at my lungs, squeezing the life out of me with every moment that passes.

Ariella seems to notice the change in the atmosphere, because instead of joking with me like before, she perches herself beside me and twines her fingers through mine.

Agnes knocks on the door a moment later, slipping inside at my invitation. She says nothing, only goes about cleaning up the mess.

"Agnes?" Ariella calls, as the maid brushes the last of the glass shards into the bin.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"We must do something about Elle," Ariella says, fingering a strand of my matted hair, her nose scrunched up in exaggerated disgust. I only sigh. "Quickly," she adds, "before Mother gets here."

Agnes turns her dark eyes towards me. "Princess Arabelle?" she inquires. Agnes has been my maid since I left the nursery on my eleventh birthday. She's an older woman, having been Mother's own lady's maid when Mother was still only a princess. Despite her age, she's nimble and beautiful, her hair perfectly straight and the color of untarnished silver. The way she looks at me, with a gentle, but not sympathetic, gaze, makes me nod my head in assent.