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I squeezed my eyes closed, the tears falling hard, soaking the pages of the book, giving the nixies real water to swim in.
My mother did not retaliate. She did not cry out. She made no attempt to flee or to fight back.
Perhaps she thought he would come to his senses, realize what he was doing, and take her in his arms as he must have done countless times before.
But this time he did not stop.
I kept my eyes squeezed shut until a heavy smacking sound made me pop them open again.
My mother’s head had hit the stone wall beside her.
As I opened my eyes, she was tilting, falling. Her sapphire eyes were open and glassy as her body hit the floor. She lay on her side, still and unmoving.
I was only five-years-old. Yet I knew she was dead.
My father’s legs had frozen in place.
Would he fall to his knees? Sob like a child as he wept for the grave sin he had committed? Would he call for me, hold me to his chest?
His feet began to move.
Pounding the floor as he ran to the door and yanked it open.
He began to shout for help, calling for the servants.
I knew what would come next. There would be no acts of contrition. He would say it was an accident. No one would question him.
After all, he was their king.
CHAPTER 2
Fifteen Years Later
Bloodstains wore away. The memories of those lost faded with time, for better or worse.
I was born to be a queen. But even queens could be set aside and forgotten. Or worse. Remembered but relegated to shadows.
