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Families.
I stare in complete shock as a pregnant woman and her young daughter approach the queen, tapping her on the shoulder.
“My queen,” the woman says with a shallow bow, her belly getting in the way. The little girl drops into a curtsy of her own.
“Please, Charlotte, no bowing until after the baby gets here,” the queen says, placing a gentle arm on the woman.
“Are you behaving for your mother, Grace?” the queen says, pulling the little girl into her lap and tickling her. The child’s laugh freezes me entirely. Her blue-green eyes meet mine, and she smiles sweetly at me. All the innocence of youth shines brightly from her. No scars or bruises line her skin. She looks happy and healthy.
But how can that be?
I stare at the little girl, lost in the oddity of what’s before me. There aren’t supposed to be children here. No families. And definitely not a pregnant woman on the verge of giving birth.
How has our information been so inaccurate for all these years? How have they been able to hide these people from the outside realm?
Lost in thought, I miss the pair leaving and the queen’s attention falling back to me.
“Is everything ok, Captain?” she asks, placing a hand on my arm.
Needles prick at my skin, and I jerk my arm out of the queen’s reach.
“Where did all these people come from? And how have you been keeping them hidden from the rest of the realm?” I ask, unable to hide the surprise and disbelief in my voice.
“Being the most feared kingdom has its benefits. Thalos’ shadow veil helps, too. As far as where they’ve come from, that depends on who you ask. Umbra is made up of those seeking a new life, away from the evil of the other kingdoms,” the queen explains.
I scoff, “Evil? That’s rich coming from the kingdom with the evilest divinus in generations. Where is the king, anyway? Off killing more innocent people?”
Things are not adding up here.
“Is that what your precious king tells you? A word of advice, Captain, King Leopold sent you to your death. I’d suggest questioning all the so-called facts he has given you over the years,” she says, scorn lacing her tone.
“You seem to be the only one highly adept at lying,” I reply curtly.
“Everyone lies, Captain. It’s just the reason behind it you have to watch for. We lie to protect our people. Your king lies for his own self-aggrandization and desire to keep his people ignorant and compliant. We’re not the same,” the queen’s tone is measured, as if she’s speaking facts.
Nyx leans in, whispering something to the queen. She waves him off and reclines in her seat. Lifting her hand, she prompts two people to immediately start clearing our table. She stands without saying another word. Nyx and I follow her out of the dining hall.
Nyx grabs the queen’s arm, pulling her aside. They lean in close together, muttering words too low for me to pick up on. I scan the hall, attempting to orient myself and understand the layout of this place.
At the end of one walkway stands a figure, bathed in shadow that obscures any distinguishable features. Although their eyes are hidden, I can sense their unwavering gaze fixed solely on me. I feel as though I’m being scanned. Every inch of my body undoubtedly checked for weaknesses. I straighten my posture and stand at attention, confident and unafraid of whoever they may be.
“Let’s go,” the queen’s voice brings my attention away from the shadowed figure. I resume my position at her side, and we walk back to the cell. We don’t speak the entire way. Only the cadence of our boots on the stone floor echoes between us.
When we reach my cell, the door is already open, and two guards are positioned outside it. I step through and halt, realizing that the mess I left behind has been cleaned. A new pile of clothes and undergarments is set atop a freshly made bed.
“I had my cleaning crew stop by while we ate dinner. You’ll find new soap, oils, a razor, and fresh towels for your shower,” the queen says.
“What is a shower?” I ask.
I’ve never heard this word. Does Umbra have its own dialect?
Her gaze travels from my creased brow down to my dusty boots, and her shoulders dip. She walks toward the bathing chamber and waves for me to follow. The space is tight, and my body is mere inches away from hers. She takes a step back into the wall as if trying to gain as much distance from me as possible. She gestures to a metal handle protruding from the wall.
“The dial on the wall allows water to flow through pipes within the stone, and it will come out there,” she explains, pointing at a feature in the ceiling.
I lean in to get a better look at what she’s talking about. Her rose scent consumes my senses, and I tell myself I don’t like it.
Why does she smell so good?
