| |
––––––––
Skylar remembered the Great Hall’s transformation the evening her brother died. The electricity being replaced by candelabras glittering with candles, and the fixtures that couldn’t be replaced were dimmed out of respect for the dead. Every scrap of fabric, drape, and tapestry were discarded for the black cloths and empty spaces the darkness filled. The flowers that adorned the halls and rooms were taken out, and in their place were the lush bouquets of black roses with the red silk ribbons tied around their vases and urns in memory of blood being spilled.
The mourning ritual would last six months, Skylar was being reminded. She stood before her father in a sheer black dress that fell softly to the ground in pools of light fabric. The dress was thick around her body while the long sleeves were transparent. The neckline covered one shoulder before hanging off the other, showing her bare skin except for her hair, which was woven into a loose side braid that draped over it. Skylar refused to wear her jewelry or crown, and her eyes stood out against the red rims of her eyelids.
When she looked up to see her father, she barely caught sight of the king sitting on the throne. He was dressed in a black shirt with puffy sleeves, a black vest stitched with gold scrolls, and black pants fading into his boots. For the first time, the crown on his head didn’t glisten. Even the royal robe was replaced with black velvet outlined in gold fur. Against the backdrop of the gold throne and its violet fabric, her father sat in the darkness he was dressed in. His thick bronze hair and beard, starting to show signs of white, were dulled by his attire. When Skylar looked up to see her father, she found a black void with sad amethyst eyes.
“It is custom that after a sudden death in the royal family, security measures are to be taken,” King Savion was trying to explain, his masterful voice worn and deprived. “Especially now that you are the only heir to the throne.”
Skylar’s heart fell a little, pulling her gaze downward while she shivered under the topic of the conversation.
“The knight I’ve picked has been stationed in Almany for the past several years, fighting the Border War with the barbarians. He is not a castle guard. He knows death, war, and everything in between. It’s why I’ve kept my eye on him, and why he’s been chosen to be your knight. I need a man of experience, and an unmarried man, for he shall be guarding you without any pauses.”
“Your Majesty,” Cross Lutherus spoke up from where he stood next to the throne, keeping his eyes round and sorrowful. “It would be rather scandalous to have a knight in the continuous presence of the Princess Royal.”
“My only son lies dead on his bed. Accident or not, I am reinforcing the protocol.”
“But knights are meant for the battlefield,” he tried again. “Wouldn’t it be more fitting to have a castle guard who knows the workings of the court?”
The king’s eyes slowly met the advisor’s. “He will be a knight and nothing less.”
Both Cross Lutherus and Skylar caught the tart tone in the usually mild-tempered ruler. The advisor said nothing more, and as he turned his eyes away, he exchanged a glance with Skylar until she dropped her gaze when his lingered too long. His expression still seemed so real, so sincere, and so perfect for the situation.
“He’s been sent for,” the king droned on, “and should be arriving in three days.”
Hysteria fluttered around in her chest when she heard him, and Skylar pinched her mouth shut in hopes to keep it inside. Her eyes remained downward, refusing to meet the king’s.
“You are officially the Princess Royal now,” King Savion had continued, his voice cracking despite his attempts to stay levelheaded himself. “In due time, you will assume Brayden’s roles.”
The tears broke loose upon hearing his name. Dragging her eyes up to see her father, Skylar asked in a hushed voice, “May I please say goodbye to him?”
The king couldn’t bring himself to tell her no, so he shook his head instead, the movement releasing a tear to roll down his own cheek and into his beard.
“The late Prince Royal’s death,” Cross Lutherus spoke up for the royal, “was a brutal one. When his rifle backfired, the shrapnel hit his face, which is what killed him. It’s why he must be buried in a closed casket. His image needs to remain unflawed, and seeing him would be a memory not desired.”
Skylar had been listening, yet her attention fell to her father, whose lip had quivered and whose shaking hands had tried to wipe the tears away. “Please leave us for a moment,” King Savion declared unexpectedly, cutting Cross Lutherus from any more of his speech.
Derailed yet obedient, the advisor bowed before slipping away, disappearing behind a closed door to the right of him.
When Cross Lutherus was gone, the king rose from his throne and took only a single step towards his daughter before the grief rushed at him, forcing him to sink to his knees, weeping. Skylar hurried to his side, falling to her own knees before him. She would have tried to help him up if he didn’t wrap his cold arms around her, causing her grief to replicate his. The king sat back on his heels, holding his daughter, whose cries were starting to overpower his own.
His cold arms encircled her much like the empty corridors would later that night when she tried to go to Brayden’s rooms. She snuck through the secret passageways, the robe she wore unable to keep the chill of the hollow corridors from reaching inside her. Skylar knew because of potential security threats that the passageways always ended outside of the wing and never close to the actual bedrooms. So when she exited quietly through the painting in the wall, she rounded a corner before approaching the two castle guards who stood on either side of the entranceway to the wing belonging to the late Prince Royal. To the right were monstrous windows now draped in heavy curtains; to the left were doors leading into private rooms. At the very end facing the entrance was a door leading into Brayden’s bedroom.
Two guards were always stationed at the entranceway, ever since Brayden was old enough to have his own chambers, and Skylar used to pass them countless times when she visited. However, this time as she moved across the blue granite floor towards them, the two guards immediately crossed the entrance with their halberds. A loud clash echoed in the corridor from when the poles struck together, their axe blades and spikes glistening in the candlelight. The action was threatening in its attempts to keep her out, and she jumped a step backwards because of it.
Looking at their stone faces, Skylar would have pulled herself away if she didn’t see the windows covered and all the doors shut. Cautiously she approached the halberds, and when the guards remained firm where they stood, she softly touched the poles that acted like prison bars. Out across the hallway she looked at the bedroom door, and her heart ached to see him. His body remained in there, just out of reach, and she felt a hideous jealousy against anyone who had seen Brayden those last few hours.
“You can’t be here,” a voice broke the stillness.
Skylar quivered from the sudden intrusion, recognizing Cross Lutherus’s voice instantly. “Please,” she pleaded softly, the tears glittering in her eyes as she gripped the poles that wouldn’t move for her.
“Escort her back to her chambers,” the advisor instructed.
Skylar bowed her head, her forehead touching where the frozen poles crossed before she was dragged away screaming Brayden’s name.
In the dream she was having, her vision suddenly grew blurry, only coming back into focus when she found she was standing in her observatory looking out the window across the gardens in the late afternoon. She remembered this moment which happened three days later, after she was escorted from Brayden’s chambers. Skylar still remained in the sheer black dress, too grieved to change. Her ladies-in-waiting never brought up the subject of her appearance but simply re-braided her hair when it started to come undone. The ladies kept to themselves until Skylar finally found the courage to dismiss them for the day. While by herself, the news of the Prince Royal’s death gradually sunk in. Her mind couldn’t stop thinking about the story behind how Brayden died, and her psyche rolled around in the thoughts that something didn’t seem right. With her arms crossed, Skylar continued to stare out the window until footsteps pulled her gaze from the scenery.
She noticed then that Cross Lutherus never bowed before addressing her. “The king wanted me to announce that your knight has arrived,” he went right into explaining. “He has come fresh from the front lines at Almany. His name is Sir Harlin Brien, and he is waiting for you downstairs.”
“May I make one request while you’re here?” she asked.
Cross Lutherus shook his head, smirking a little. “I cannot help you,” he replied, and Skylar noticed his fake sensitivity was catching up to him.
“I want to see my brother before he’s buried.”
“He is not a sight to be seen,” Cross Lutherus answered, turning away. “Your father won’t allow it.”
“I would still like to see him,” Skylar persisted, following him out through the frosted glass doors and down the stairs.
“Your persistence is time-wasting,” he threw back at her, trotting down the last steps and heading straight for the double doors on the right.
“And you’re his advisor,” she replied, jogging to keep up. “Advise him. Let me see my brother, to say goodbye.”
“I did advise him, and he’s taking my advice.”
Skylar stopped in her tracks, and her voice grew small when she spoke. “But I’ll never see him again.”
Cross Lutherus stopped at the door and, turning to look at her, said quite simply, “That’s of no concern. He’s dead. No one will ever see him again.”
His words still stung long after he had disappeared and the doors had slammed shut. Skylar’s shoulders drooped from the conversation until she remembered the words he’s downstairs. Slowly pivoting around, the Princess Royal laid eyes for the first time on the man who was supposed to be her personal knight.
The stranger stood at attention near the monumental hearth that sat across from the staircase. His hands were clasped in front of him as he stared at her, his stance unmoving behind the glow of the fire that danced across him. He didn’t dress like a castle guard, adorned in gold metal and deep-violet cloth with the gold Mandolyn crest stitched on the chest. This man’s attire was of black leather, and his only indication of being a knight was the way he stood. He wore two holsters on his hips, and there was a leather strap running diagonally across his chest, revealing that there was a short sword attached to his back.
“Sir Brien?” Skylar asked.
The man bowed, his short hair holding such a deep russet tint that the fire in the hearth almost couldn’t bring the color out. “Yes, Your Highness,” he replied, his voice deep and his words precise. “I am at your service.”
Skylar approached him, her dress sliding across the floor behind her, her braid still loosely kept together and falling across her left shoulder. She realized when she drew closer that his eyes were vibrant, as deep as ultramarine, standing out under his black lashes.
“They pulled you from the front lines?” she couldn’t help but question, bewildered at what was standing in front of her.
He didn’t stare at her like others did when they recognized her amethyst eyes, knowing how ancient her heritage was. He only nodded once. “Yes, Your Highness.”
For the first time, Skylar became aware of how uncomfortable the situation would be, how inseparable they would have to become. Nervously, Skylar took a deep breath and stretched her hand out. “It is an honor to meet you, Sir Brien,” she told him, hoping her wholeheartedness would eliminate whatever taboo society had placed on her for being royalty.
The man blinked, glancing at her hand. What Skylar took as hesitation was only pondering, and as sincerely as she offered, his hand gently gripped hers in the warm handshake she had instigated. “The honor is mine, Your Highness,” he said with the slightest smile.
“Skylar,” she corrected him, relaxing against the confident grip he owned.
His smile gave way more as he replied with, “Harlin.”
His name still echoed even after his image slipped into darkness. Upon it a new dream surfaced with his name being whispered among the ladies-in-waiting while they all stood in the Great Hall awaiting the procession line that would start the late Prince Royal’s funeral. They all stood in formation: Skylar in the front, Harlin a couple steps behind and to the right so he wouldn’t step on the train of her dress, and the six ladies-in-waiting who would follow two at a time. The Great Hall was empty except for them, while the rest of the court was outside awaiting the royal family.
Although the ladies were keeping their voices down out of respect, she listened to bits of their conversation, and realized after putting some of the stray words together that Harlin had caught their attention. His duty was only ever on the frontlines of battle, and that alone made him desirable next to his newness and attractive features. Throughout their whispers, Harlin remained obediently behind Skylar, always at attention in his black-leather ensemble and weaponry. Everything was fuzzy up until then, except for the fact she had never talked to him one-on-one since their first encounter.
Upon realizing her ladies were infatuated with him, Skylar couldn’t help stealing a glance at Harlin to see how he was handling himself, only to find he was staring right at her. Taken aback and embarrassed, she quickly faced forward. However, when she heard the leather he wore squeak a little as he repositioned himself, it lured her attention back to him. Looking over her shoulder, Skylar again found his eyes meeting hers.
“So, do you hold a lot of experience in guarding?” she asked amiably, hoping to make conversation.
“To an extent.”
Skylar couldn’t think of anything else to say, and so she nodded in acknowledgement and faced forward again. She didn’t realize she was playing with her hands until the side door slowly groaned opened, causing her hands to freeze in place. She could hear the footsteps of the pallbearers even before they entered. While her body automatically straightened and prepared to be formal, her heart and mind raced each other across the open stretch between her and the door, envisioning the ghostly footfalls which were promenading outside the doorway.
The sight of the casket alone was what froze her. The guards entered through the side entryway two at a time, slowly and respectfully, the casket weighing down on their shoulders as they rounded the doorway and entered the Great Hall. The mahogany casket was adorned with a violet-and-gold sash that lay across its glossy surface, with black roses tipped in gold dust arranged in a heap on top. Skylar’s eyes grew large at the sight of the coffin, and the panic set in with the finalization that Brayden was dead.
The glacial moment of watching her brother’s casket pass by overshadowed the image of her father and Cross Lutherus walking right behind it. King Savion remained in his black-and-gold attire, Cross Lutherus in his never-changing black-and-cream. Skylar should have fallen in behind them, but the crown she wore suddenly seemed heavy, as if it alone was constraining her to the floor. Not until there was a gentle nudge on her elbow did her feet finally move, falling in line behind her father. She only realized Harlin was the one who helped her when she felt him let go before they walked through the double doors barricading the Great Hall from the main hallway. Skylar whispered a “thank you,” to which Harlin bowed his head before falling back into step as the servants came into view, lined up on either side of the hallway to pay their respects to the fallen prince.
Skylar kept her gaze on the casket and its black glittering roses, watching it drift down the hallway on the shoulders of the guards who carried him away. All eyes were diverted to the floor out of respect except for hers, which were kept on the last image she would have of Brayden. She was following behind her brother out through the grand doors when a sharp bang broke through the air and scared her.
Skylar’s left eye shot open, instantly seeing the stone wall. Somehow in between her dreams she found her way to the straw bed and the single blanket she was given, and the straw crunched under her as she shifted to see the prison bars. The door had been shut, she realized when the footsteps and rattling keys echoed away from her. Favoring her shoulder while carefully sitting up, Skylar looked at the plate and metal cup sitting on the ground by the gate. Before she could get to her feet, a shadowy black rat scurried across the floor and through the bars, hovering over the food and tasting it for her.
Already without an appetite, Skylar lay back down on the straw, drawing the blanket tighter around her and closing her eye. She was about to drift off when the screams broke through her sleepy haze. Sliding her head upwards, she opened her eye again and peered out past the feasting rat and the prison bars. In the dimness, the screams seemed demonic and tortured, human beings whose souls were being ripped out of their bodies. The screams ran through the hallways, trying to escape in their frantic swarms towards any means of freedom. The prison had no windows, so they were confined to only reaching the ears of those who were imprisoned with them.
As the chorus continued, there was one scream which stood out before them all.
“It’s coming!” the terror shouted, repeating his cries in the hope that someone would believe him.
Skylar lifted her head off the straw further as the rat scurried back to its home, leaving her alone to face the darkness shrouded against the corners of the torchlight. The lone voice kept repeating itself above the others, its pleading rising from a distant cell where its owner lost all control.
Then, suddenly, she felt it: the tremor against the stone, the slightest vibration which made her stop breathing with anticipation, unable to believe that it was real. Skylar slid out from underneath the blanket and put her ear against the cold floor, waiting patiently as the screams lingered in the air over her. Like a pulse it came again, the floor shuddering under the weight of the captives. She listened as more screams broke forth in their agreement that they, too, felt the tremor.
The floor was too frigid to stay on, so Skylar slunk back to the bed, curling into a ball under the blanket to preserve the warmth she almost fully lost. She stared at the wall until eventually her eye grew heavy again, and the screams lulled her to sleep. She observed in her restless dreams her ladies-in-waiting in all their silliness. She observed her brother for the handsome man he was, the memories collaged together to form a beautiful mural of him. However, despite all her attempts, it was Harlin who didn’t come back to her for the rest of her slumber.
