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The screaming that woke her was not a natural scream. It was a scream with a thousand voices, all bellowing forward, all in their own misery. They rose up in the dark, scraping their cold nails against the prison walls, forcing her to open her eye so she would know it was real. But when she did, all she found was her mouth quivering and her throat hoarse from the agony that had been all her own.
There was a bright glow flickering at the corners of her vision, and she found against the wall across from her was a golden shadow cast by a candle in a glass lamp. Something light fell across part of her back, and the last whimpers of a scream faded out into the air.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” the physician’s voice broke in, soft and full of pity. “It’s the only way I can help you.”
His warm hand touched her forehead, then her temple. When he moved his hand away, all she saw was the candlelight, not knowing the physician had moved to grab the small cup of water. Looking about him, the physician secretly mixed some of the thymelock salve into the drink. “You’re having intense dreams,” he commented as he worked, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible. “Intense pain creates them. Dreams become demons; memories become monsters.”
Skylar could only lie still, her lip quivering from the anguish.
“Drink this,” he murmured, lightly rolling her over just enough to lift her head.
Skylar moaned when he moved her, but as she felt the rim of the cup against her bottom lip and the cool liquid slipping into her mouth, her body automatically embraced it. She gulped the water, feeling as it washed down her throat and hit her empty stomach. The cup was removed, and the moment her head rested back on the straw, the chemicals from the thymelock had consumed her.
The numbness was like nothing she had ever experienced before. It was paralyzing and relaxing, melting the tension in her body and warming it from the cold. But in the peace that held her down, something in the corner of her mind stirred. Skylar looked out past the candlelight’s edge, and out from the darkness the memory came, moving on hands and knees, dragging itself across the stone floor towards her. There was no hesitation when, in all its torment, it reached out and grabbed her.
The glowing flame of the candle multiplied to match the dozen light bulbs burning on the candelabras that stood on either side of the arched doorway. Skylar had followed the phantom footfalls throughout the castle, and with the silver hilt of the short sword in hand, she stepped across the lit threshold and entered her father’s bedchamber. Facing the room, she immediately saw against the headboard and wall the wet residue of sprayed blood.
The only scream in the room was from the sword that crashed against the floor when it slipped from Skylar’s fingers. She didn’t trust its absence, didn’t hear its call to her as she continued to make her way to the bed, shock pushing her forward until she looked upon the deathbed in its entirety.
The brutal attack had left the king shredded, his chest concaved where he lay, his head severed and his face torn apart. His limbs were still on the bed, but parts had been cut off and detached. The entire bed was soaked in blood, so much that it dripped down the sides and pooled on the floor. The viciousness of the attack had left blood across the headboard and against the wall, almost reaching the ceiling. Even from where she was, Skylar’s white lace and lavender dress smeared past the droplets that had been cast away when the butchering had been in progress.
The cold fear crept up her legs and brought her sinking to her knees. Her face twisted painfully from the air that tasted like poison. She felt suffocated, her face turning a shade of red which intensified the color of her eyes that watered under the pressure bearing down on her, pushing her against the floor to her hands and knees. She could only see the end of the bed now, the sheets on either side dripping in blood that had grown into large puddles on the floor. Skylar tried to scream, but no voice came to her. She hit the cool glass floor with her hand, the tears spilling across her reddened cheeks. As if breaking through the surface of a grave, her scream suddenly burst forth for air.
“WHY!” Her voice threw itself in all directions at once, lighting up the room with sound, bellowing up into the ceiling and shattering the atmosphere above her. She remained on her knees, trembling as the remnants of the question fell around her with no answer.
“The king is dead.”
The words came out so simply that Skylar almost didn’t understand them. She pressed her forehead against the smooth floor, burying away the image of Cross Lutherus, who was approaching from behind. Despite not seeing him, she could tell by the sound in his voice that his eyes were round in fake wonderment, his horrified expression fitting the scene that lay before him.
“To be in such high regard, only to slaughter him while he slept.”
Skylar slowly lifted her head, her red-violet eyes rolling up to scorch Cross Lutherus’s back as he stood before the bed. Wondering or admiring, she couldn’t tell.
“It’s what his kind does. It’s the war in him, the unstableness, brought out in defiance of all that had been granted to him.”
Skylar took a shaky breath as she listened, his voice stinging her ears, his words heavy upon her shoulders. She pressed her fingers against the glass as she looked down, staring at her disfigured reflection in the mirror-like floor. Then she remembered the sword and turned to look behind her.
Where the blade had fallen, Harlin’s body now lay. He was being held down on the ground by three castle guards who handcuffed his hands behind his back, a group of guards surrounding him with their halberds and swords drawn in case he moved. There was a gash above his eye from where he had fought and lost, and she saw the faint traces of the wire they had strung around his neck to help subdue him. Two black-coated figures appeared, and she knew by the way their hoods covered their faces that they had to be prison keepers, coming to collect the prisoner.
Skylar felt her body lift off the floor and lunge forward, but she didn’t know where the guards had come from when they had grabbed her in mid-flight, catching her before she had even reached the doorway. When the guards grabbed her arms, Harlin tried to fight against his own captors until one of the keepers kicked him in the face, dazing him. Her desperate screams didn’t deter the two keepers who pulled the wire from Harlin’s neck and lifted him off the floor by his shoulders, dragging him to the marble staircase. While Skylar fought her own human restraints, she caught glimpses of Harlin stumbling up the stairs to his feet, showing even from a distance that he refused to be dependent.
The more Skylar fought, the more her anger split the air, chasing after the captors who had disappeared up the stairwell. “Get your hands off him!”
“He is to be convicted,” Cross Lutherus corrected her, never turning from the blood-soaked bed. “I hope you see that even a man such as him is not above our law.”
“He’s innocent!” Skylar cried, pulling against the guards and ignoring the ripping of her lace sleeves as she thrashed under their grips. “Let him go!”
“It’s already done,” the advisor replied calmly. She looked over her shoulder in horror as Cross Lutherus pivoted casually around to finally face her. “Long live the Queen.”
Her shrill hysterics echoed throughout the room. She struggled against the two guards as they too dragged her to the marble staircase and climbed the steps. Their grips were tight against her arms while they rounded the corner of the stairwell, out of sight of Cross Lutherus and the rest of the castle guards, who had eased on their weapons.
In a final attempt, Skylar put all her strength into her foot as she kicked the side of one guard’s knee. The sudden attack caused him to stumble to the ground, giving Skylar the opportunity to rip her arm free of his grip when he fell. The other guard tightened his hold in order to keep both of them from following his comrade to the ground, but instead he was met with her knuckles smashing into his nose. He released her automatically, stumbling backwards into the wall. When he was able to look past his blurry vision, he saw the figure of his comrade trying to get back up while favoring his leg. He barely noticed the tail end of a lace dress as it slipped up the stairs above them and disappeared.
Rounding the top of the staircase, Skylar ran as fast as she could down the long stretch of hallway until skidding to a stop at a foyer table. Pulling the handle of the makeshift drawer, the enormous portrait on the opposite side popped open. Skylar darted through the entrance, closing the portrait back in place securely.
With the string of lights above illuminating her path, Skylar ran through the corridors. She started noticing the pain in the ball of her foot as she raced down a stairwell, hitting the bottom of the stairs a little rougher than she thought and making the damage she had done more severe. Trying to ignore it, she continued on, keeping her mind on the path the guards would be escorting Harlin down. There was a door coming up ahead that led to a room that could possibly put her just ahead of the escorts.
Grunting from the pain in her foot, Skylar opened the door and slipped quietly into the dark shadows of the Rose Room. Laid before her was the monstrous library in slumber, the curtains still drawn open to let in the moonlight. In the stillness, Skylar ran. From shadow to shadow, her footsteps carried her until she passed the four corners and reached the entrance doors. Breathing hard, she very slowly opened the door a crack, the light from the hallway casting a glowing line straight down her face.
The sound of a heavy-footed march began to approach from down the corridor. At first Skylar thought she had just missed them, but then they grew louder, and their figures suddenly passed by the crack in the door. Once they had passed, Skylar slowly opened the door more and peered out into the hallway. The backs of the hooded keepers and Harlin were continuing on their quest while no other soul was seen or heard. Looking over her shoulder, Skylar only noticed the darkness for a second before she darted to the table with the overflowing bouquet of flowers. Grabbing the crystal vase, she emptied the flowers and water on the floor before running back to the door, kicking her shoes off. Taking another cautious look around, she slipped out of the library barefooted and ran in the direction Harlin had been taken.
Coming to a crossing in the hallway, she came to a stop against the wall. Peering down the far hallway on her left, she found no one, but looking to the right, she saw the backs of the keepers who were holding Harlin in between them. With her adrenaline making her shake, Skylar took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she tiptoed lightly after them, keeping close to the wall.
Step by quick step, she approached them until finally she lifted the vase and crashed it down on one of the keeper’s head, throwing him forward. She caught sight of the other keeper, who started towards her, but Harlin intervened, shoving him to the side with his shoulder. The force caught the man off guard, and he fell sideways onto the ground. Before he could get up, Harlin kicked him in the face, sending him into unconsciousness.
Seeing that the keepers were out cold, Skylar rummaged through the jacket of the man she had assaulted in hopes of finding a key. While checking through his thick coat, a servant came out into the hallway. She caught sight of him, saw his wide eyes and the shock split open across his face. Before she could say anything, he started to run in the opposite direction, yelling for the castle guards.
“Wait, no!” Skylar screamed, scrambling to her feet. She had only made it a few steps when she realized he was already at the end of the hallway. Panic setting in, she ran to the other keeper before Harlin blocked her with his body. The blood from his cut was redder than she had remembered, still oozing down his temple and cheek.
“I have to find the key! We have to get out of here!” she cried.
“We can’t,” Harlin answered her.
“We have to!”
“We’re already out of time,” he gently told her, hearing the running footsteps of the guards who were coming to the servant’s call.
Hopelessness came in the form of the footed cavalry that had caught sight of them, their armor beating like war drums as they charged.
Skylar took in his face, feeling time rushing forward to steal him away. “If they take you, they’ve won,” she said in her smallest voice.
Harlin’s fervid gaze moistened, and something flickered in his eyes that threatened to overtake his entire demeanor. Then the proud cracks of a smile began to show through as he took a step closer, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. His lips lingered against her skin in goodbye. “They’ve already lost,” she heard him say before his forehead touched hers, his breaths sweet against her face. She wished she didn’t close her eyes to savor him, because before she could see his face again, the guards tore him from her while they held her back.
Skylar remained motionless, her strength abandoning her when Harlin was pushed past her and escorted away. She wept, unable to turn around to witness his removal. Skylar’s legs were planted to the floor until Cross Lutherus finally came to give the order to have her removed. The hands that gripped her arms finally dragged her away, and she was pulled back to her chambers, the castle a blur through her tears even long after they had locked her in her room.
Then her vision went black.
“You seem to have become an orphan and a queen at the same time. Not many can pull that off.”
The voice reminded her that two days had passed. Two days after Harlin had been taken to the prison, judgment already passed. Two days of isolation, of living in the prophecy Harlin had made to her that day in the abandoned barn, when the world had only been cruel in one aspect of her life.
“I want to see my knight,” Skylar felt herself say again, repeating what had already transpired.
The voice hissed and laughed. “Sir Brien has been sentenced to die. There is no amount of persuasion to change the minds of the people who have lost their beloved king.”
“They don’t know what happened.”
“All that they need to know is that the king is dead and that you are now their queen.”
Skylar stared into the darkness the same way she had stared into the hearth, the glowing embers staring back as Cross Lutherus stood off to the side, awaiting her answer. “Just one look. That’s all I ask before I agree to your terms.”
“All of them?” he pressed.
Skylar felt the coldness embrace her. “Yes.”
Cross Lutherus heaved a sigh from wherever he was now, still standing, still the dark void that had blocked out her ability to see the memory. “Fine,” he concluded. “One look.”
Flippantly as he had said it, the remembrance of what had happened to Harlin surfaced, throwing back into Skylar’s face all that the advisor’s orders had done to him. Even the conversation between the physician and prison keeper who stood outside of her mind couldn’t stir her from the bloodcurdling image of her knight, who had been tortured to the point that his own blood had pooled on the floor.
“First time she’s slept soundlessly,” the keeper noted.
The physician nodded somberly. “Yes, she should be at peace for a little while.”
The two slipped away, never seeing from the Princess Royal’s relaxed expression the sorrow seeping from her eyes. The tears crept wearily across her cheek before splashing quietly on the cold stone floor, their attempts at escaping the pain that was buried so deep inside of her.
