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We're driving toward the city.
My stomach feels like it's full of sand, and my eyes are gritty from lack of sleep. I'm exhausted, but wired. Ready for whatever is about to happen to me.
"Paigelynn," Jason says, turning around and looking at me through the rearview mirror. "I am going to tell you something. It's important that you remember it, so I will repeat it. Understand?"
"Yes."
“You are the princess. The chosen one.”
“I know.”
“Your destiny is yours and yours alone. You have more power than you realize.”
“Of course.”
“No, princess - listen,” he growls, his voice more insistent than I’ve ever heard it. We make a series of turns, the location new to me. I rarely leave my neighborhood, and normally, I would be excited to see new things.
Sickened by change, I just watch and listen.
This isn't the first time I've moved without knowing where I'm going. I'm growing accustomed to it.
But that doesn’t mean I like it.
“I'm listening, Jason.”
“In three weeks, you turn twenty-five. Your full powers will be revealed. No one is stronger than you. Not even the people who wrote The Manual.”
“WHAT?” I gasp in disbelief. Jason's words are a crime.
A literal crime, in our world. He should be shot, like Rudy, for saying this.
“I am not speaking heresy,” he insists, as if reading my mind. “It says so in the prophecy. You go into marriage willingly, to join with the other chosen one, your children to be gods. To unite the world. To bring forth a new era of destined utopia.”
Something about the way his mouth forms the words sets me on edge. I do not like this conversation.
I do not like how dangerous it tastes.
My own mother told me I would be tested every day until I turned twenty-five, and after that, all my sacrifice would be worth it. Honored to have a daughter with the perfect genes, she and my father gave me over to the leaders to be trained for mankind's most important role:
Being me.
I am thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of years of evolution and spirit forged into cells that make up my body. I am unique, my life no longer my own.
A queen serves her people.
I serve mankind.
And yet all I want is to throw myself at Cam’s feet.
We pull through a large wire gate, the steady flash of light towers in the distance telling me we're at an airport. I always fly on private jets, a hazy memory of large commercial plane trips as a younger child turning to a blur with time. Jason stops the car and Malcolm hops out, grabbing my luggage.
I carry Winnie in my arms.
We climb the stairs, our movement easy, no obstacles of any kind. The interior is beige leather, with seats for twelve. It is only me, Jason, Malcolm, the pilot, the co-pilot, and the dog.
“Here,” Jason says, handing me a mug of hot cocoa.
Flying is torture. When we're in the air, I feel like I know myself even less. The earth anchors me in a world where so much is left to intuition.
