The Curse of The Darkest Flame E-Book

Dannielle Taylor

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 764

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

'Please, Streivras, I am begging you!' Cynthia pleaded, 'Where is my father? What is it you're not telling me?'             'Oh, how I wish to tell,' Streivras hummed the words to a whisper. 'I have big hopes for you, young Princess, but I also have a fear of what life could become. You are a powerful mind that could do so much good … as long as you do not become lost in your anger for control.'   

Leseprobe

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2024 novum publishing gmbh

Rathausgasse 73, A-7311 Neckenmarkt

[email protected]

ISBN print edition: 978-3-99146-933-9

ISBN e-book: 978-3-99146-934-6

Editor: Gillian Fisher

Cover illustration & design: Dannielle Taylor

Layout & typesetting: novum publishing

Internal illustration: Dannielle Taylor

www.novum-publishing.co.uk

1 – The Lies of a Trusted Soldier

Lightning struck outside the city’s stronghold, leaving only the mother to flinch. The guards weren’t allowed to react. Any slight movement from them could result in an early retirement. A retirement to death, that is. There are strict laws to follow in this castle, but no one questions them, as working amongst the King and Queen is truly an honour that no one can argue against.

“Mother, you’re hurting me,” the girl protested as her mother tugged at her silky black hair. It was like an ocean of black ribbons which glistened under the candlelight. The girl was too old to have her mother brushing her hair, but she didn’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter.

“I’m sorry, Cynthia, but you know you have to look presentable for your future husband. Might I add that Andreas is a wonderful young man who would make an excellent king one day,” her mother said as she continued to tug at the girl’s hair. Lightning struck again, forcing the woman to tug even harder at Cynthia’s waves. The girl did not flinch, she didn’t even cry out in pain.

“You may not add,” Cynthia protested. Her tone was dry, and she knew this would annoy her mother, so she waited for the arguing response back. However, she did not get one, only the brush scratching at the back of her head. There was no need to brush so hard. Cynthia knew her mother lacked tenderness, but that didn’t mean she should be tugging with so much force.

The big arched doors groaned as a muscular man with dripping armour poured into the room. It was not just water sliding down his iron protection but blood too. He looked exhausted as if he had run the whole way up to the Kingdom tiers.

“Nathair, are you alright?!” The Queen stood up instantly and rushed over to the man, abandoning Cynthia as she did so.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, while panting heavily. His words sounded brave, but Cynthia couldn’t help but sense there was something off about the way he was acting.

“Nonsense! Now sit down.”

She helped him over to a cracked—but stable—wall. The tapestry hung high above his head, stopping his dripping hair from ruining its royal ancient worth. Instead, he let his hair drip onto the Queen’s white and golden dress. Gold now mixed with blood.

“Oh no, I’m getting blood all over your dress,” he said, inappropriately trying to brush it off. Cynthia watched in disgust. He has no right to touch the Queen with his filthy hands. It doesn’t matter if he’s the King’s most trusted soldier. Cynthia had picked the brush up subconsciously and started to squeeze it in her hands like some stress reliever.

“Don’t worry; I have plenty more,” the Queen said. Cynthia was shocked at her mother’s lack of reaction. He was clearly out of line. Anyone else and she would press charges against their actions.

“Can someone please get this man a cloth!” she shouted. One of the guards moved for the first time; he had been there all day to keep both Cynthia and the Queen safe during the battle. She watched him as he rushed away to find a maid.

“My lady, you won’t want this blood on you,” he croaked. He looked her in the eyes with what was supposed to be sincerity, but Cynthia saw nothing but lies and deceit. She had never liked this man. All he wanted was for her to marry his son so he could make his way into the Royal Family. He claims to be the best soldier in the city—minus the King of course—but she couldn’t help but feel as though everything he is doing is fake. She didn’t know how; she could just feel it in her gut. Every time she saw him; her stomach would ache.

“Why not?” the Queen asked, looking down at her bloodied clothes and then back to the man. He closed his eyes and turned his head dramatically as if it pained him to speak.

“I have some news that will come as quite a shock,” he explained, though it made things even more confusing rather than answering any questions. Cynthia rolled her eyes at the man’s terrible acting. Her mother was a fool for not noticing it like she did.

“What is it?” she asked, waiting anxiously for him to respond.

“The King—your husband, he … eh …” He paused and closed his eyes again. “He has fallen.”

The Queen took a deep breath in and stood up hastily. Even Cynthia was intrigued now as the pit in her stomach began to twist.

“My husband? This cannot be? What happened?!” Her breathing had now become fractured, and she pressed her hands together, close to her mouth, as if she were praying for this to be some lie.

“The King and I were battling against the goblins on the cliffside past the river, until we saw an opportunity to fight their leader. I went around the side,” he moved his hand as if he were some wise old man telling the tales of his past adventures, “and the King went around the other side. We finally met in the middle and fought the beast.” He clapped his hands together and for the third time, he closed his eyes again. “But unfortunately, we were outmatched. Before I knew it, the creature had stabbed a hole in your husband’s back. There was nothing I could do. I tried to race over to him, but a whole horde of goblins appeared, so I had no choice but to run.”

The man went silent. The only sound that could be heard was of the Queen crying. She had now fallen to her knees, crumpled, and become really small.

“He fought valiantly to the end,” the man added.

Cynthia didn’t believe him. She didn’t know whether this was grief or her hatred for the man, but she refused to believe that anything could take down her father. He was the greatest and strongest man she knew. Nineteen years of her life spent worshipping him was not some big lie; she knew he was great. And if anything was to take him down, it would be a far bigger threat than some goblin king.

“You’re lying!” Cynthia said. She did not cry; she felt no reason to. If her father were dead, then sure. But he isn’t, and she is sure of that.

“It’s not a lie,” the man responded.

“Cynthia, he tells the truth. I trust him,” the Queen insisted. She choked on her tears a little as she spoke. The man knelt down and put his arm around her. This disgusted Cynthia even more, which encouraged her to stand up hastily. She still clutched the brush in her hand, tempted to throw it at the man. But she didn’t. Cynthia thought it would only get her into trouble, so instead, she stormed away.

“Cynthia, where are you going?” her mother cried out. Cynthia did not respond; she didn’t even look back. She didn’t want to see Nathair holding her mother for comfort. She did not want to see her mother seeking comfort in his false lies, so she continued to leave.

She was now running as she reached for a cloak—the one she chose was black like her hair—and she wrapped it around her body almost as quickly as she bolted out of the castle doors. She ran as if it were about to collapse on top of her. It was not, of course, but the way Cynthia’s heart tightened, she felt as though it might.

***

The building seemed far less magical tonight as the rain darkened its concrete exterior and dampened all life existing outside. It was usually filled with so much life that people would dance around even with the rain. Rain was what made it fun. You could splash in puddles and stick your tongue out trying to catch the drops that fell. Lately, the city was quiet. It was as if the people knew there was something going on before they were told.

There had been a lot of battles that had taken place recently. The soldiers were leaving almost every week to fend off against all kinds of things. From monsters to men, even magical beings at times. It was getting harder to fight, as the numbers of soldiers were dwindling. Now that the King was dead, there almost seemed no point to keep going at all. People had a right to hide in their huts to keep dry from the rain. Even the plants that grew bright during the day; they were dropping down from the weight of life’s rain, crushing their gentle heads. Maybe being locked inside was the only safe way to live.

The darkness that now haunted the city only made Cynthia feel sick, so she left it behind. She didn’t want to look at the place her father had raised her in. She didn’t even want to think about her father at all. He can’t be dead.What will happen now? she thought. Am I going to have to find a husband so he can rule the Kingdom? That was the last thing she wanted to happen. She knew her mother would force Andreas on her, which was the worst decision anyone could ever make. Andreas was Nathair’s son and an ignorant, spoilt brat. He would only ruin the Kingdom and give Nathair exactly what he wanted: a place in the Royal Family.

“Nope, not happening!” she protested as if her mother was listening into her thoughts. She wished her mother could hear her thoughts, then maybe she could finally see Nathair for the corrupted man that he was. Her mother didn’t see it, but then he never showed his other side to her, the other side that Cynthia couldn’t ever explain. But when the King or Queen wasn’t around, he becomes just as ignorant as his son—yet, there is something different about it. Andreas is at least honest with his ignorance; he flaunts it, as that is his personality. But there is something so sneaky about Nathair. He hides his real self and does things when he thinks no one is looking. Cynthia once caught him searching through her mother’s jewellery box. There was also that time he sat on the King’s throne when he and the Queen were out. There is just something about him that Cynthia knows is filled with lies. She just can’t prove it.

She had stopped running now but continued to walk. She was hidden under a blanket of trees that formed a new sky above her head. The odd drops still fell on her long hair, taming the waves, but nothing too drastic. These trees have the biggest leaves known to mankind; their leaves are in the shape of teardrops and are the size of a singular horse wagon. Even the trunks are different, as they are twisted at the roots right to the sprouted sky. They were never cut down as they were believed to be healers. No one knows what happens; all they know is that they enter the forest hurt and exit feeling better, not having any recollection of pain during the stroll.

The forest only frustrated Cynthia now. If her father had been taken here, then maybe he could have lived. She would be running into his arms right now and he would be telling her a new story from his recent battle. Instead, she is alone. Alone in a forest with no life in it. The creatures that danced on these lands were hiding, too, like the people in the village. They had shelter under the tear-shaped leaves so they had no reason to hide, but they could sense the sadness that had fallen and knew that their protection could be at risk. The King was always really fond of the creatures that roamed in the woods. He believed they should be protected, as everyone has a purpose. Other people see them as a threat, even though nothing ever happens unless the creatures are getting hunted. Even the predators don’t cause any harm. They only attack when they feel threatened.

Cynthia had reached an end to the forest edge. She doesn’t know whether she went straight ahead from the Kingdom or not. She was mindlessly walking as her mind whirled with different angry thoughts, but she thinks she may have strayed slightly northwest from the castle. Maybe. She walked and turned when something got in her way. Wherever she was, she had spotted a cave on the side of a mountain. It wasn’t too high up from the ground, but enough that involved a fairly decent amount of walking. Or climbing, Cynthia corrected.

She wasn’t sure why she was drawn to the cave, but she reached the wet rock and started to manoeuvre her way up. She hopped onto loose stones without the care of death if she slipped. She believed that if that was her fate, then so be it. If she decided she didn’t want it to be the end, then she could crawl into the forest and regain the health that was needed to move on.

She finally found a stable patch of land that allowed her to walk over to the cave. Cynthia didn’t know why she was going in there exactly; a dark cave usually means some form of danger—but this one was calling to her. Maybe there are goblins in there. Maybe this was leading to revenge for her father. Who knows really?

She slipped into the shadowy tunnel and wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t see. She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust, which didn’t take long as she spent her life in a dark castle only lit up by candles—candles that are too much effort for her to burn. So a dark cave was just like home really, and the evil unwanted creatures that may be inside are merely Nathair and his son.

She went deeper and deeper into the cave, until she reached some glowing crystals that lit up a crevasse. There was a little pull of water that was glowing too. This attracted Cynthia over. As she stared into the water, she noticed a sparkle in the shape of a golden coin. In fact, there were hundreds of sparkles in the water. Cynthia analysed the floor then followed the trail of coins and gold to a small pile of jewels.

She went over to touch it but was stopped by the sounds of an abrupt growl. She turned hastily and couldn’t see anything. She continued to stare until a shadow caught her eye.

“Who’s there?” she asked. She wasn’t so much frightened as she was curious. The shadow moved towards her like a disease spreading through a village. It became more apparent that this wasn’t a shadow, but a tiny dragon instead. The creature was about the size of a toddler and had scales the colour of coal. Its eyes glowed purple in the dark, which could be mistaken for the crystals that layered the walls. Cynthia found herself feeling confused; it took the form of an adult dragon as its features were well developed and its wings-for-arms were muscular like an adult’s would be, but it was too small.

“I take it this is your gold?” she smiled. The creature only growled, but its height made it seem less intimidating. “You can stop with the growling; it does nothing for you. In the shadows, fair enough, but next time, don’t reveal yourself too quickly. If I were a thief, I would have kicked you and stolen your gold rather than run in fear.” The creature growled again, but as it did, smoke was seeping out of its scales. The smoke was thick and started to coat the creature’s body till it was no longer visible.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as if the dragon was going to answer her. The smoke grew bigger and bigger until it reached the roof of the cave. The creature growled again, but this time it was louder. The sound grumbled around the enclosed space, using its walls as a drum.

“See, now that could scare someone,” she laughed. Her laugh drifted off into the darkness of the smoke as she waited to see what the dragon was doing. She did not know what to expect. Maybe it was taking its gold and making a break for it. Maybe it was trying to seem more intimidating to scare her away. Cynthia wondered if leaving would help the creature.

Cynthia took this as a sign to go and moved a step forward. Before she knew what to do, the smoke burst out to the walls. She stumbled back and hurled herself down, smacking her back against the floor, leaving a red gash underneath her silky dress.

The black mist started to fade to reveal a larger version of the dragon she had first seen.

The beast was now so big, and its wings were brushing against the wall. The rocks crumbled and broke away from the ground as it growled aggressively. Its eyes seemed brighter, which made the scales immerse itself into the darkness.

The purple-eyed creature moved its head like a snake, closer and closer to Cynthia. She could feel her heart pounding; the head was big and had four horns which curved upward, creating a spear-like weapon which would puncture someone if they were to run into the head. Or the head ran into them. Even the eyes seemed intimidating. Cynthia liked the colour purple; she was even wearing it. But there was something about it being in the form of a dragon’s eye which made it intimidating. Maybe it was the sharp point or the slit that ran down the middle, Cynthia wasn’t sure. All she knew was that it scared her.

“Yes, that is definitely b-better—” Her voice quivered as she spoke. “Do exactly that when someone steals from you!” The creature continued to growl, but it did not attack to Cynthia’s surprise. It halted on the spot and watched her—it merely stared like a foreigner would when someone of a different language would speak. It was as if it had never experienced someone talking before. Either that or it had never experienced someone talking before they were murdered. Cynthia assumed most people would scream or cry at the sight of big teeth heading for their head.

“I hope I am a good enough meal for you. And after you eat me, please eat Nathair! I refuse to see him or his son on the throne.” Cynthia started to ramble to herself as the creature pulled its head back with further curiosity. “Not that I’ll see anything because I’ll be dead.” Cynthia tried to laugh but was stopped by the dragon getting ready to roar. Its tone was deafening as it filled the whole cave with its frustration. Cynthia waited for the end. She knew once it was done, it was going to eat her, so she waited patiently until it stopped.

The creature finished, and almost scoffed at the girl. Black—mixed with a deep purple smoke—puffed out of the nose as it stopped and stared. The beast did not eat her, or even attempt to do so; it just watched as if she were too easy a kill, so easy that it didn’t seem fair.

“Are you not going to eat me? I’m from the Royal Family. I bet eating royal flesh would be good.” She waited for a response that she knew she wouldn’t get. The creature continued to watch her. “You’re not going to kill me, huh? Shame, it would have been a cool way to go.” Cynthia pushed her body against the closest wall she could find and sank into it. Rocks were stabbing into her purple dress, but she didn’t seem to care—it was as if her near death had made her numb.

“I even think Rosalie would be impressed by that one. Death by dragon, now that is an honourable way to go, unlike death by goblin. I could have accepted it if he had been slain by a dragon, but a goblin just isn’t believable—”

Still keeping its eyes on her, the creature curled up against a wall too. It held its tail under its wings, like she held her legs in her arms. She didn’t seem fazed by the huge beast that sat before her, because it didn’t seem fazed by her.

“If you see a goblin king, please kill it. It might be strong, but then you’re a dragon who can change sizes. I’m sure you can take him on.” Cynthia stared at the beast as if it were an old friend. She listened to its breathing and noticed a heavy whisp inside; it sounded like there was a lot of hot air stirring around.

“I wish I could breathe fire, then maybe someone would finally listen to me.”

The creature decided to get up again. The muscles tightened as it pulled its body upright. It was now moving closer to her, keeping its eyes locked on hers—she wondered if it didn’t trust her. Maybe it was thinking she was planning to make a run for it the minute it turned around.

“I suppose even with that, no one listens to you either. They only try to kill you instead.” The creature sniffed her face, trying to get her scent in its head. That, or he was planning to eat her after all. Cynthia hesitated as the hot air from its nose brushed her face.

“With your intimidation skills and my words, we would probably make a pretty good team.” She smiled and looked to the creature; she could feel a connection when staring back into its deep purple eyes. She was trying to look through it as it stared through her soul.

“Princess Cynthia? Princess, where are you?!” a voice shouted from outside. The dragon growled at this and for the first time, looked away from Cynthia.

“They’re searching for me!” Cynthia panicked. “You should hide!” The creature groaned with frustration. “Please hide. They will try to kill you!” The creature looked back to her for a moment, then smoke started to seep through its scales again. The smoke engulfed the beast until it eventually disappeared and revealed a smaller version of the dragon she had previously seen, though this time it was even smaller. So small it could fit into the palm of her hand. The creature screeched and scrambled away into its pile of gold.

Cynthia took that as a sign to leave. If they found her in there, they would take the dragon’s gold and she didn’t want that. It had spared her life, so the least she could do was make sure no one got inside its home.

***

She made her way out the cave and followed the sound of yelling. It was hard to decipher where it was coming from as the rain was louder and covered more ground. She looked all around until she noticed lights were glowing in between trees. As she caught sight of the men, the sound of horse hooves thudding on the now dampening mud became clearer to her. She could hear the metal armour crashing together as if they were decked out for some battle. They had probably just come from the battle now that she thought about it.

“Princess?! Princess, where are you?” The knights continued to shout for her. Cynthia watched from the distance; she couldn’t help but judge them for their ignorance in assuming she wanted to come home. She was tempted to turn back but shouted anyway in case they’d go looking in the cave and disturb the dragon like she had.

“I’m here,” she shouted dryly. Cynthia waited a moment for them to notice. She heard the armour clinking as the lantern light glowed brighter when they moved in the trees.

There were about six soldiers decked out in full armour. They all carried steel shields with the city’s logo printed in black. It had dragon wings intertwined at the bottom which twisted out at the top. Cynthia wasn’t sure whether this represented their respect for dragons or their desire to hunt them, as they were the most fearsome creatures in the land. There were direwolves, dendred stags with antlers like tree branches, unicorns, griffins, flaming wildlife, and huge water beasts that lurked in the depth of deep water, but none of them were even close to being as powerful as a dragon. Its scales were tough to spear through and had wings that travelled through the air faster than any flying beast—not only that, but depending on the mood, they could start from as little as a forest fire to a whole burning village.

Cynthia liked to believe the shield signified their respect and love for the dragons; her father had always loved them so it could be plausible. However, the dragon wings had been there since before he had become King.

“Are you hurt?” a man with a tightly fitting helmet asked.

“I’m fine,” Cynthia replied. She stuck out a hand, expecting the knight to help her up on the horse, which he did. He couldn’t argue that she needed to say ‘please’ first as she was the princess and could do anything she wanted.

“Hold tight, my Lady,” the knight said as he reached for the rein. Cynthia put her hands to the saddle, as his armour was slippery due to the rain. Cynthia couldn’t help but get annoyed at the inconvenience, though even she knew deep down that it was not the knight’s fault. He had no control over the weather and had probably been sent out for her rather than it being his first choice for the evening.

The knight squeezed the horse’s stomach with his legs as he whipped the reins for it to move forward. The horse trotted around until it faced the others. Once it had passed, it began to speed off and set the pace as a quick trot.

Cynthia held on tight so she wouldn’t fall, but she couldn’t help but want to let go. She would rather fall than go back home where the darkness was now filling the hearts of the city. Cynthia doubts they will have been informed of her father’s “death,” but anyone with any kind of sense would feel it in the air. It was like trying to walk with no ground to keep you standing. The great castle was barely a castle anymore—for what is a castle without a king?

The horse hooves started to click on the stony path in an uneven beat of click, click, clack, clock – clock, clack, clack, click. Their footing did not match, and it was even worse when splashing in puddles. They clicked all the way up to the castle door—or the outer castle door, which is the protection within the protective walls. Cynthia often thought it was odd that some were left with less protection, but she didn’t give it a second thought as they reached the entrance.

The door swung open slowly as water dripped off the side. As soon as the doors opened, the men and horses rushed through at the first chance of opening. Their desperation to get out of the rain was almost embarrassing to Cynthia. They were knights after all. They were meant to withstand anything that comes at them, not become upset when their armour gets wet.

***

Once they were inside the protective wall, they reached the brick houses for those that were higher class compared to the rest of the city. Their homes were fine marble bricks, whereas the rest behind the wall were living in a mixture of wooden and stone shacks. People inside the buildings were peering out windows to see what all the fuss was about. Seeing the princess being escorted back into the castle leaves enough room for speculation, but no one would guess it was caused by the death of the King. That in itself was almost impossible to everyone in the city. Like Cynthia, they would think there was no way his death was simply caused by a goblin king. Cynthia wouldn’t even be surprised if there was no goblin king at all.

Cynthia was escorted down by the knight; her dress made it easy to slip off the horse as it was heavy and dense due to the rain. The already deep purple had darkened two shades down the colour gradient. The white strip down the front was borderline see-through, which made her slightly uncomfortable as she stood in front of several men.

The knight let go of her hand and she was left to look around the room, trying to avoid the prying eyes of the staff, who were judging her in private. They weren’t allowed to show their judgement in front of anyone of higher authority, but she knew they would when they were alone. They gossiped and shared all kinds of stories. Some were justified owing to their mistreatment and others just to be spiteful that they were of lesser fortune than those they lived to serve.

“Cynthia, are you hurt?” her mother cried profoundly, which didn’t match her delicate composure. Despite her upset, she could not move from her position as Queen, even if she were also a mother.

“I’m fine,” Cynthia responded. Her mother reached for her forehead, checking for a fever. Cynthia bent her head back in an attempt to avoid her mother’s affection. It didn’t feel as if it was through care.

“You are looking peaky; I’ll take you to your room and find you some warm clothes.” The Queen clasped her hands together and stood up straight.

“I said I’m fine!” Cynthia snapped and turned away, leaving a puddle of water in her wake. Her hair pasted to her arms, though splashes of rain had now swung off and flicked water onto her mother, as if it was mocking her.

***

Cynthia could hear her mother calling for her, but she ignored her cry. She ran away again, this time keeping within the castle. Her hands touched the walls as she turned corners which led to even longer hallways that split off into storage rooms, kitchens, and the knights’ games room. Cynthia knew there were servants cleaning in there that would hear her running, but she didn’t give them any time to see. They knew something was wrong but had not been informed of the King’s death yet. They did not ask, as it wasn’t their place to, but it wouldn’t be long before one overheard a private discussion and spread the news to their fellow workmates.

The next door she came across was the staircase that she was longing to find. Now that she had finally reached it, she swung the door open with all the force she could muster. Didn’t matter that the splintered wood was scraping the ground, creating a tough friction. She slammed it anyway and climbed the spiralling stairs until it reached another door, which led to another hallway, which then led to her room. At last.

The long journey up to her room didn’t seem worth the effort until she flopped herself down onto the layered mattress, unaware that she was making it wet with her hair and dress. Whilst she lay there, she couldn’t help but think about her father. It isn’t real, she thought. She rolled over and curled her legs up to her chest. She swallowed hard when she felt tears starting to build up. But before anything could fall, she rubbed her eyes hard until they hurt, then sat up hastily.

Cynthia kicked off her slipper-shoes, which were now brown with mud, and forced herself to stand. She then started to head over to some dark-oak drawers and opened one until she dragged out a fresh white nightgown. Her fingers sank into the soft fabric. She laid it out onto the bed neatly, then moved to untying the laces that were wrapped around her waist and corseted up the front to her breasts. She loosened the dress enough for it to flop to the floor in a wet pile of unwanted fabric. She finally put the dry gown on, which to her surprise didn’t make her feel better. She could still feel this weight but could no longer blame it on the rain that tugged at her clothes. Her skin was starting to dry, but her hair still dripped with the misery of the rain. Cynthia could feel the storm’s energy dense her mind as she moved over to her mirror. She didn’t look at herself; she just grabbed for the black-painted hairbrush and lifted it to her dripping hair. Then she started from bottom to top, making sure to take out as many knots as she could with as little pain as she could get away with. Her hair goes beyond her waist despite its waves, but this meant for causing more pain. Which it did. The brush had caught in a tight knot. But the tugging of the strands didn’t faze her.

Cynthia closed her eyes for a moment, trying to collect her thought. But when she opened them, she noticed a jewellery box that her father had gifted to her when she was nine years old. She grazed her fingers against the wooden pattern, which was hand crafted, of her father feeding a griffin while nine-year-old Cynthia watched and learned. It was meant to foreshadow the day of her ninth birthday when he taught her how to look after the creatures of the forest instead of fearing them.

Cynthia opened the box slowly and inside were necklaces, bracelets, brooches, and rings gifted from her father, which all contained some form of creature. Some were purple, and others were green. There was even gold and silver, but the one that caught Cynthia’s eye, was the black sparkling dragon which danced on the end of a silver chain. Cynthia took the necklace out and stared at it for a moment. She thought of the dragon that had spared her life.

The sound of heavy shoes banged in the halls. Cynthia didn’t know who it was, but whoever it could be, she knew she did not want to talk to them. So she hastily tied her dripping hair into a messy bun, grabbed the necklace and shoved it into a pocket on her nightgown, and almost jumped into her bed, blowing out the last candle that was still burning in her room. Once it was out, she pretended to sleep in the hope that whoever it was outside would not disturb her slumber if they chose to enter her room.

She had a right not to speak to anyone; she had just lost her father after all. That alone was worth the silence of the whole city, not just for Cynthia.

2 – Listening Through the Walls

The sun glistened through the windowpane, which lit up the room with a golden tinge that burnt Cynthia’s eyes until they opened. The brightness only made it worse, but she knew she couldn’t sleep much longer. When she got up, she noticed that her room was now clean; the wet gown was no longer on the floor; and her hairbrush was neatly placed at the edge of her desk, alongside a now-closed jewellery box. She remembered she had left it sprawled open after her rush to bed. She assumed it was Adelia—her own personal dresser and cleaner. She knew it wasn’t Rosalie because, despite her role as a castle maid, she would have for sure flicked Cynthia’s head before leaving the room. Cynthia thought of how her mother would react if her maid did that. They’d probably get exiled or thrown into the river along the side of the Kingdom.

Cynthia always tried her best to look after herself. She cleaned her own room, solved her own problems, and never demanded anything from any servants. She only called for little requirements that she was not capable of doing herself. The previous night was a one-off.

Cynthia liked the maids; her favourite was definitely Rosalie, who gave her about as much cheek as she deserved. Cynthia knew she had an attitude, but with Rosalie—who was only about a year older than her—was fun to argue with. It was almost humorous, and she hoped Rosalie enjoyed it the same way, rather than assuming she was an insufferable twit like the rest of the people that lived in the castle. She wouldn’t be surprised if she did think that, but with the way she joked back, Cynthia hoped she wouldn’t.

“It’s down in the kitchen. Follow me,” a man ordered from behind her door, probably to another guard, Cynthia assumed. This sparked her attention; the only people who should be in the kitchen were the cooks and servants, hardly worth their attention. Maybe one of the cooks had poisoned one of the soups in an attempt to murder Nathair and his son? Now that would be worth sneaking into the kitchen for.

“Are you sure you saw a—?” The other guard whispered the last part so quietly that it didn’t make it past the well-sealed door. This frustrated Cynthia enough to give her a kick onto her feet. She lightly trotted over to her door and pressed her ears against the wood. For a moment, she thought she heard something but couldn’t make out any of the words. The guards must have made their way down the hall out of reach from Cynthia’s ears. She rolled her eyes in an unladylike fashion, as Cynthia knew this meant she’d have to follow them to the kitchen—which was more effort than she had hoped to use first thing in the morning. The worst part was no one was forcing her to do anything. The only one who could tell Cynthia what to do, was Cynthia. And her mind told her to follow.

Cynthia opened the door enough so she could peek through the gap. She noticed two polished-clean men, who marched their way down the hall as if the castle was theirs. Cynthia knew these men and was never fond of them. Most knights are modest and did their job without complaint, but these men had an attitude. They never did much to Cynthia, but Rosalie had pointed out their rolling eyes or their mimicking of the Royal Family—using their hands like some puppet show, or just blatantly sighing when they were asked to do almost anything. They did cruder things and Rosalie failed to speak of the worst, which Cynthia was oddly glad about. She didn’t want to hear about any affairs, unless it involved Nathair.

Cynthia continued to peek with her deep-blue eyes out of the gap and waited until the guards went through a door. They slipped through the same door Cynthia had run up the previous night, which relieved her a little. There were a number of kitchens in the castle, so this narrowed it down to the point she didn’t need to follow them at all. Cynthia knew the castle inside out and could follow them with her eyes closed if she really wanted to. Her self-gloating made her smile and she almost lost track of what she was doing altogether. Once she remembered, she turned around hastily and rushed over to her bed.

Cynthia knelt down next to it and reached her hand underneath for a pair of slipper-shoes. Once she’d found a pair, she noticed they weren’t the same ones as the night before. These were pink and had no mud on them. Another job for the maids, she presumed.

Cynthia slipped on the soft pink shoes, which had a tiny bow tied neatly at the top. Once they were on, she darted out of her room, and headed for the staircase, which she almost skipped down.

She peered around the door like some criminal on the run. Cynthia didn’t like to think of herself as a criminal. If anything, she was more like a spy trying to consume as much information as she possibly could without getting caught. A spy is talented and sneaky, whereas a criminal is just a cold-hearted coward who can’t face up to their own mistakes. Unlike a spy, however, Cynthia lacked the same sense of patience, as she was eager enough to burst through the door without so much as a glance. If a knight or maid saw her, they’d have no choice but to inform the Queen that she was up. Cynthia knew for a fact that her mother would try to talk to her, assuming that she now wanted to talk back. Which of course, was not true.

There was no one in sight; the hall was as bare as the city outside. Cynthia wasn’t sad by the resemblance—in fact, she was happy that no one was there. Her luck gave her confidence, so she continued to walk. Her mind started thinking about what could be in the kitchen. Poison? A goblin? Andreas murdered on the floor? The possibilities were endless, so endless that she had got so lost in thought, she didn’t even realise she was walking with a fast pace and had an impatient hop every time she thought about getting to the door. Once she finally reached it, she leant as close to the wood as she could and listened in.

“It’s there. Do you see it?” a man said. His voice was familiar, as it matched one of the guards from upstairs. This made Cynthia smile; she knew she was in the right place.

“No, I do not see!” the other man responded.

“Well, look harder, then!” the guard snapped.

“If this is some kind of joke, I swear to—” The other guard cut him off.

“It isn’t a joke. Look by the bread.”

Cynthia grew impatient and opened the door to have a peek. She couldn’t see anything as there were wooden shelves blocking her view. She slipped through the door and closed it slowly until it locked shut. She then made her way over to the shelf and moved the basket of apples which blocked her view. Once she had done that, she peered down to where the knights were looking. Before she could get a close enough look, one of the male servants walked through. He spotted the men and limped over. He almost seemed out of place compared to the knights, who were decked out in navy suits which showed the same logo that was on the shields. The servant—in contrast to the guards—was in a stained shirt with a brown waistcoat that was missing a couple buttons.

“We have a net in the storage room if that would help?” the servant asked politely.

“What? You want me to use your shitty, holed cloth? No, thank you.” The knight scoffed, almost as if he was disgusted by the servant.

“Well yes, that is the point of a net,” the man responded. He knew the guard was mocking him but wanted to get his own back anyway.

“Why don’t you be useful and get out of my sight? Your smell will scare it away.” The knight glared at the servant as if he was thinking of doing something unspeakable to him, but then he remembered his duty was to catch this unknown creature. The servant took this as his sign to leave, so he slipped through the closest door he could find.

“I bet it’s here to eat all our food,” he paused for a moment before continuing, “or the babies. Bit small though.”

“He can’t eat the food; we’re on limited sources as it is!” the man replied.

Cynthia shook her head in disgust. All they care about is themselves, which was evident by their presence. A lot of the men were dying with the continuous battles. It’s true that the survivors were to be held with merit for their ability to stick it out to the end, but these men did not deserve that credit. These were the men that would flee when things got too tough. They would turn in another direction if they knew the first option would be harder. Cynthia knew this just by the look of them and it was making her angry. They wore their worthy clothes with pride, but they were not worthy men.

“How did a dragon get in here anyway?” the man asked.

“It’s hardly a dragon; it’s just a tiny lizard with wings. Look at it! They could have put a glass on it if they really tried.” The other guard laughed.

Cynthia took a deep breath in. Dragon? She could feel her stomach drop at the thought of it being the dragon that had spared her. It was too much of a coincidence for it not to be.

“It must have followed me home,” Cynthia whispered to herself.

“Who followed you home?” a voice asked. Cynthia jumped to see a girl standing behind her, peering through the same gap she was using.

“My God—Rosalie!” Cynthia put a hand to her chest, which was breathing frantically.

“Relax. Now what are you looking at? Is it the mysterious dragon everyone keeps talking about? Though it is hardly a dragon from what I’ve heard.” She laughed, her brown hair almost appeared black under the shadow of the shelf. “You could stand on it and call yourself a dragon slayer.”

“I could stand on you and call myself a dragon slayer,” Cynthia mumbled, returning her gaze to the guards who had now moved.

“Ouch! Got me there. I guess you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” she asked dryly. Cynthia pretended not to hear her as she looked for the guards. Once she’d spotted them, she noticed one had a basket in his hand and the other had a cloth.

“I don’t know why they called those idiotic knights down; I could have caught the thing with my bare hands if I’d tried,” Rosalie murmured.

“No, you couldn’t,” Cynthia responded, and she turned to face Rosalie. They were about the same height and had a similar build, which made it easier for Cynthia to match herself up in a good eyeline to Rosalie. “I need your help distracting those guards,” Cynthia demanded, not in a way where she was ordering a maid around, but instead, forcefully seeking the help from a friend.

“Why?” Rosalie asked.

“Do a good job and I’ll tell you later.” Cynthia broke her sight from Rosalie as she looked around for something to give her an idea, but nothing helped. She considered throwing an apple from the basket she had moved, but that would do no good. She turned back to Rosalie.

“When I reach that door, tell the knights I am looking for them and have asked for them specifically.” Cynthia didn’t leave any room for Rosalie to disagree as she was already out of the door.

Rosalie waited patiently for Cynthia to turn up at the other side. It didn’t take long for her to clock that she was wanting to protect the dragon. But if she wanted to stop them from getting the creature, then she needed to do something sooner rather than later.

“Hey, guards,” Rosalie blurted out.

“Bit busy, go away!” one of the knights grunted. This made Rosalie clench her fists, but she composed herself enough to have a fake smile.

“Yes, but this is urgent. The princess requires your help.” She smiled passive-aggressively and held her hands together, knowing that the guards couldn’t refuse orders from the princess.

“Can’t it wait?” the man with the basket asked.

“Fine, but I’ll have to tell the princess that you refused to help her. Might have to tell the Queen, too, because if I remember correctly, you’re not allowed to refuse.” The guards shared a glance. “Shame that. Ah, well, I’ll tell the princess you told her to wait like some dog.” Rosalie smiled as she started to walk away.

“Wait!” the knight shouted. “We’ll be right there.”

They put the cloth and basket down and left the dragon in the pile of bread. Rosalie waved at the guards as she locked the door behind them. She stared at the door and noticed Cynthia had already made her way into the room without a single noise.

“Idiots,” Rosalie mumbled to herself. “Refusing the orders to capture a dragon will most definitely be worse than refusing to answer a princess’ call.” She turned her attention to Cynthia, who appeared to be in a world of her own. “Now can you explain the crazy idea that is floating through your head?” Rosalie demanded, forgetting that she was only a maid after all. Cynthia ignored her, but rather spoke to the dragon which had imbedded itself further into the bread.

“Hello again. What are you doing here?” Cynthia moved into the sight of the creature. Once it spotted her, it circled on the spot as if it had reached its goal.

“Cynthia, what are you doing?” Rosalie asked, but she was ignored again.

“Come with me. It isn’t safe in here.” Cynthia stuck her hand out for the little dragon but forgot that the beast wasn’t hers. It backed off at her rash movement and barked pathetically. “Sorry, but you need to trust me. Please.” Cynthia looked the creature in the eye and didn’t care that Rosalie was judging her from the side. The creature moved towards her and Cynthia took this as a sign to stick her hand out once again. This time the dragon didn’t bark, but instead, trusted her and crawled onto her fingers until it comfortably bedded itself into the curve of her palm.

Cynthia smiled at her accomplishment and looked at Rosalie who was wide-eyed with her mouth dangling open.

“You coming?” Cynthia asked as she slowly slipped out of the door through which she had just come. Rosalie watched her go as her mouth still swung like a broken sign.

“I swear to the lords, this girl is going to be the death of me.”

***

The Queen sat at a table filled with empty seats. Usually, her husband would accompany her, but now that he is gone, she sits alone. Alone with a plate full of fruit, bread, and butter. The table seemed too much for one lady as it nearly filled the whole span of the room; it was enough to fit thirty people—never mind one. But she sat there, nonetheless, soaking in the last few moments of silence as she knew that once the city had learnt of the King’s death, there would be an abundance of people feverishly asking her how she was doing. There would be guards watching her every move as her life was far more precious now. And no doubt she would have to host a party in memory of the fallen King—no one thinking about how that fallen King had been her husband. It was odd, really. She had been forced to marry him to unite her old kingdom to his, but it wasn’t a bad fate. He had never mistreated her and always cared for her needs as well as the Kingdom’s. But now she was left with that job, and she had never thought about that. She was left to tend the Kingdom’s ill health and there would be no room for her own mourning—though she could not mourn. It was as if people had forgotten about her feelings altogether.

“My Lady, are you alright?” a man asked from the doorway. Surprised, the Queen turned to see a blonde man standing proudly with a smaller boy by his side. The pair looked rather similar and it took the Queen a moment before realising it was Nathair and his son, Andreas.

“Yes, I am fine,” she said softly. The Queen cleaned her face with a cotton cloth and composed herself as he walked into the room. There was something about the way he moved that flattered the Queen. He did it with a delicate confidence. Not being too proud, as he knew more than anyone of the Queen’s emotional state, yet he was not too patronising either.

“You sure? You seem rather lonely at a table fit to hold a feast. You are far too delicate at this time to sit alone. May I join you?” he asked politely. Though she longed for the quiet—to show her grief—his offer was too tempting to say no. The Queen gestured for him to take a seat at the side of her. She wasn’t planning on moving from the end of the table to sit next to him, so she let him choose what best suited him.

“Where is the princess? Still not talking, I assume?”

Nathair wore a suit which complemented his blonde hair and fair skin. He was choosing to wear black as she was required to do. The Queen was now a widow, destined to be dressed in black for however long the years might consume her.

“I am waiting until she comes to me. I must give her time.” The Queen was itching to fidget with something but knew she couldn’t show such childish habits in front of her husband’s chosen knight-honoured marshal. “Even she must know that she has bigger responsibilities now. She’ll need to be more lenient when it comes to finding a suitor.”

Andreas—who shared similar features to his father—perked up at those words. He looked to his father but got no glance in return. Nathair simply put his hand out on the table, yearning to reach for the Queen’s frail fingers.

“Yes, it is a big responsibility for a woman of her age. For a woman is what she has now become, and she shall need to live up to that title. If I can be of any help, I shall do my best to support.” He glanced to his son, who was waiting for some kind of order from his father. “How about Andreas? He can talk with the princess and see if he can win her over in some way. Would that help?” Nathair asked, knowing fine well that the Queen already approved of Andreas.

“But I thought—” She trailed off as she looked to Andreas, who was sitting patiently. “Never mind. That would be most helpful, thank you.” The Queen’s voice reeked of her hidden concern. Nathair turned to his son once again and smiled devilishly.

“Andreas, go and find the princess and make sure she is doing okay.” He winked, and Andreas took this as a sign to leave. He did not speak; he simply nodded his head, causing his hair to flop up and down before he turned for the door. Once he’d left, Nathair put his hand out on the table again.

“May I?” He made it obvious that his desire was to hold the hand of the Queen. It was a bold move with there being guards standing by the doors. Though she nodded, not sure there was any point in saying no. After all, Nathair was a good friend to the Royal Family and only ever lived to help them.

Nathair reached for her hand and wrapped it in his like a warm blanket.

“If there is anything I can do to help you, I will do it. This time is hard on you, too. You must think of the Kingdom—but know I am thinking of you.” His words were charming, which flattered the Queen and made her cheeks flush a rosy pink. She could feel them burning under her skin and took her hand back hastily. Nathair moved away from her, keeping enough space for her to feel comfortable again.

“Thank you,” the Queen responded, not sure what else to say. She had a million words flying through her head, but she found herself in a state of silence, as if her words were trapped behind a wall.

“I should go,” Nathair said, now standing. The Queen said nothing, still locked in her silence. She merely watched him leave through the same door he had entered. The Queen was left in a pit of her own silence. She had been longing for this silence almost as soon as she had sat down but now wished that silence was the last thing she would have to face.

***

Cynthia, Rosalie, and the tiny dragon that still sat calmly in the princess’ hands, had now made it outside of the castle walls. It had taken a bit of persuading from the knights to let her go, but Cynthia had explained that she had brought Rosalie along to make sure she wouldn’t run—while the whole time she had been hiding the tiny dragon behind her back.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Rosalie asked, knowing that Cynthia was leading her to the Healers Forest.

“This dragon spared my life, so I am sparing his,” Cynthia said, explaining it as if Rosalie was stupid for asking.

“You mean to tell me that this tiny dragon—that I could easily flick off your hand, by the way—spared your life because it could have killed you?” Rosalie asked, hoping her sarcasm was as noticeable as possible.

“I sense mockery in your tone,” Cynthia added as she stood outside the forest, smiling brightly at the sun. The storm had gone, but Cynthia could sense another one would arrive before nightfall.

“Just a little bit,” Rosalie said, standing by Cynthia’s side. Her expression wasn’t as delighted as Cynthia’s. She looked at the forest the same way anyone from the Kingdom would.

“Come on, little guy, go home.” Cynthia spoke to the dragon and raised her hand up in the air like a platform for the dragon to jump off, but it didn’t budge. “I said ‘go home’. Be gone! Fly, you stupid dragon!” Cynthia tried shaking her hand to annoy the creature until it decided to jump off, but nothing worked.

“Are you sure that it is the dragon that is stupid?” Rosalie asked, and she smiled in response to Cynthia’s scowl.

“He doesn’t want to leave!” Cynthia stared at the tiny creature in her hand, who had now curled up in a ball as if it was about to sleep. “I suppose he came all this way to find me. Why would he want to leave? He just got here.” Cynthia held the creature close to her body for warmth. Rosalie watched with an obvious doubt.

“Right, of course.” She folded her arms and stared into the forest. She spotted a small creature hopping through the long grass, which still grew fresh under the trees. She always wondered how that was possible. There was no sign of daylight under the leaves, but still all kinds of plants proceeded to grow.

“Maybe this guy is here to help me find my father?” Cynthia said desperately. She stared at the dragon intently. Rosalie looked at her with even more judgement, but this time it was met with concern.

“Find your father? Cynthia, I don’t think—” Before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by Cynthia, who had lit up with a similar smile to the one she’d had earlier.

“Dragons have a good sense of smell, don’t they? Maybe he can track him down!”

“Cynthia, but is the King not passed beyond where we can find him?” Rosalie asked, trying to be as sympathetic as she possibly could. She thought it was weird that Cynthia wasn’t upset over her father, but she thought she was just being strong for her people, not that she was in denial.

“Oh, that’s a whole load of farce!” Cynthia added.

“What makes you say that?” Rosalie asked. She was slightly frightened by Cynthia’s false perception.

“I don’t know. I just know he wasn’t killed by some goblin king.” She stared at the little dragon and felt a pain in her heart. “I can feel that it isn’t true.”