I entered the castle with a fearful heart, convinced the royal visit was about the incident in town. But upon arriving, the household had fallen into its usual rhythms. The servants unloaded our supplies, and I slipped away to my room to change out of my soiled clothes. Mother went to the kitchen to oversee dinner, and I could hear Estella in the courtyard, her voice clear as she practiced spells with the guards.
Not wanting to risk another public failure, I stuck to my writing. But my mind raced with curiosity. *What brought the king to the outskirts? What brought him here?* I couldn't ask my father, so I wrote silently, hoping the news would eventually trickle down through the servants.
I was scribbling in my journal when Estella burst into my room. I gripped my quil tightly, expecting one of her mischievous thefts, but when I looked up, I saw she was smiling from ear to ear.
"Tell me, Estella, what has made you so happy?"
She feigned a secret, trying to keep me in suspense, but her joy was too overwhelming. She blurted it out: "The letters have arrived! The war is ending! Our brothers are coming home!"
I have three brothers. Lucian, my mother's first child and the eldest. Sable, my stepbrother, who, though only fifteen, already looks like a man and a trained warrior. And Thorne, from my father's concubine. They are all my brothers, and I love them dearly. They had been away for over a year, fighting the vampires that threatened to overrun the northern cities.As soon as the news left her lips, I hugged Estella, and we began jumping and screaming with delight. We soon contained our happiness, remembering we didn't want to anger Father, but the giddy excitement remained.
The king stayed locked in my father's quarters for hours and didn't emerge until we were eating dinner. Whatever he told my father was clearly not pleasant. Father looked as though he had been sentenced to death, his face pale and grim. But I didn't let his mood disturb me. I focused on my food and the happy chatter with my sister.
After dinner, my mother told me to come to her room. I sighed, steeling myself for the scolding I expected. But she did none of that. Instead, she took my hands and said, "I'm sorry, my child. I couldn't protect you well enough today. I would never have been able to forgive myself if anything had happened to you."
I was shocked into silence. I finally managed to find my voice, a soft whisper. "It's okay, Mother. I shouldn't have wandered out on my own ,I'm sorry for bothering you ."
My visit to my mother's room had been a pleasant surprise, a balm to my frayed nerves. But afterwards, tired of the repetitive cycle of writing and reading, I went to look for Estella, hoping for some much-needed gossip and laughter.
I found her in her room, standing in front of her mirror, struggling to braid her own hair. "Here, let me," I offered, eager to be helpful. My good intentions, however, far exceeded my skill. I ended up creating a tangled disaster on her head, a mess of knots and loose strands that took us twice as long to unbraid than it had to create.
Somehow, one thing led to another. Exhausted from laughing, we started mimicking Father in front of the mirror. I puffed out my chest, deepening my voice. "I cast thee, prepare my bath! Sit down there, woman!" Estella played the part of a cowering servant, then switched to mimicking him giving orders to his troops, barking at invisible soldiers.
We were so engrossed in our act, howling with laughter, that we forgot we were in the middle of the night and our voices were carrying through the silent castle. I raised a hairpin, mimicking my father's dramatic stance and shouting fake incantations. I spun around to "cast" the invisible spirit and froze.
A small crowd of servants and a few guards had gathered at the open doorway, some hiding smiles behind their hands. And standing at the forefront, his arms crossed and his face like a thundercloud, was Father.
My mouth dropped open. I desperately tried to tap Estella, who was still engrossed, her back to the door, shouting orders to her imaginary army. It took Father's voice, cold enough to freeze fire, to snap her out of it.
"Having fun?" he asked.
The two words sucked all the warmth and laughter from the room. The crowd at the door instantly dispersed, leaving us alone to face his icy displeasure.
We stood frozen to the ground, two statues of guilt. But he didn't unleash his fury. Instead, he simply said, "We'll talk in the morning. Scram!"
The dismissal was somehow worse than an immediate punishment. It gave us hours to dread what was to come. We knew whatever he planned for the morning was not going to be pleasant.
I didn't need to be told twice. I scrambled to my room, my heart still hammering against my ribs. I was already in trouble, and a sleepless night stretched out before me. The promised "talk" with Father was a dark cloud on the horizon, but it wasn't the only thing keeping me awake. The nightmares were always there, waiting the moment I closed my eyes, tormenting me with shadowy battles and a fear I didn't understand. Sleep felt less like a refuge and more like a battlefield I was forced to enter every night.
The night promised to be long, and the morning promised to be worse.