Chapter 25 The Heir's Duty
Sleep threatens to take me like a villain in the night.
Alric left me long ago for the favor of the fire’s warmth.
Even though my body still shakes with adrenaline from the dragon attack and nearly dying, my mind shuts itself down the moment I lean back on the wood-paneled walls. The last thing I see before I’m lost in my dreams is Zaries crouched by the fire, twisting a hand-stitched golden rose between his finger and thumb. His eyes are on me, pinning me in place while simultaneously making sure Oberon’s still far away from me.
Does he know I made that rose for him?
Does he realize that the thing he treasures so much is from the person who stole what it represents from his life?
My eyelids are heavy, too heavy to keep open. My mind is too tired to think about that golden rose, or Zaries, or anything. I let myself slide down the wall and curl into a ball as best as I can with my armor on. It’s uncomfortable, but I’m too tired to care. With my fingertips wrapped around the dragon scale on my necklace, I let sleep devour me whole.
“Him? Father, you can’t be serious!” Elysandra wails, stomping her slippered foot in the throne room in front of everyone.
I remain kneeling beside her, head bowed in reverence.
“You speak to your king in such a manner?” he roars, standing and crossing his arms over his chest.
King Atreus is a massive man, nearly seven feet tall, and a wall of solid muscle. He rules his kingdom with brutal strength, while his delicate queen by his side balances his fire with ice.
Queen Avarica stands slowly, her silver gossamer gown sliding over the silk underdress like it defies gravity. Her pale silver hair falls in curls around her head and frames a heart-shaped face with pale blue eyes. She looks like a fairy next to a barbarian, but as she raises her frail hand to his chest, the beast of a man calms and looks down at her in reverence. She turns her loving gaze from her husband to a cool glare for her daughter.
Compared to Avarica, Atreus is a monster. Dark blonde hair cropped close to his head, his cleanly shaved face revealing scars from battles I can only imagine. He wears armor at all times, the obsidian plates of our kingdom magicked to appear red instead of the black it’s renowned for. Red, like the blood he’s bathed in during his countless battles.
Atreus closes a massive hand over his queen’s and his stoic face cracks into the shadow of a smile. He clears his throat, his voice calmer when he speaks to his daughter again. “Elysandra, I am your father, and you will show respect and obedience. Do you understand?”
“The only thing I understand is you’re sending me to the land of whipping wind and stinging rain to marry a scrawny boy who doesn’t know how to be a king any more than he knows how to carry a sword! How am I to marry such a weakling with you as my father? Tell me!” Elsie crosses her arms over her chest, mocking her father’s stance with a perked brow.
“He’s as scrawny now as you are childish, princess,” Avarica sneers, descending the stairs from the throne and looking down her nose at her daughter. The energy in the room seems to shift, Atreus goes from angry to wary as he watches his Queen approach their child. As if the moment that she moved his anger was torn away by concern for his daughter.
At thirteen, Elsie’s shorter than Avarica. For now, anyway. Because she’s strong like her father. The only thing she seems to have inherited from her mother is her heart-shaped, beautiful face, and her seemingly unstemmable anger. “Someday, my child, you will be a queen. For now, it will be merely the queen of Obsidian Reach. But the queen of all Amaranthine is standing in the balance as we squabble as if you have a choice in the matter.”
“Ava,” Atreus stutters, stepping toward her with a hand outstretched.
“No, Atreus, we’ve coddled her too long. It’s time the child accepts her duty.”
I shiver, feeling the power emanating from the queen. Would she use magic against her daughter? Would she force her will on her the way she’s done to so many lesser people? Is that why Atreus is so concerned?
“Avarica, no.” Atreus's voice booms over his wife’s shoulder, his face contorted in rage. He steps between his wife and his child and faces the woman with a dark warning in his eyes.
“She will accept her duty, dear husband. One way or another.” Avarica raises her hand, but before she can flick her fingers, Atreus's hand crushes hers in his massive grip. I can hear the queen's bones grind under the pressure. Yet her face remains placid as if she feels nothing. “Your coddling has made the child weak.”
“Your cruelty has filled her with hatred,” Atreus whispers. “You must rein in your desire for power and realize that she is a child. Your child. She is not some maiden you can whip into shape, she is our heir.” He turns to us then, his face tight with concern. “Girls, you are excused. Anara, you will take Elysandra back to her rooms and help her prepare for sleep.”
I rise slowly, tucking my hand in the crook of Elsie’s arm and gently pulling her away from her parents. Her face is the picture of royal dignity, but her body is trembling. Her mother’s eyes follow us as we leave, her mouth twisted into the shadow of a smile that could bear much ill will for the both of us later. Neither of us speaks until we get back to her room and Elsie throws herself on the bed and sobs uncontrollably.
“She didn’t mean it, Elsie. She loves you, she really does…” I console her as I sit next to her on the bed.