No. It’s not me her eyes are locked on. It’s my sister.
Andra’s face goes an even starker white and she sucks in a sharp breath.
Lady M’s eyes drift from Andra to me. Her expression morphs quickly, hiding her shock with a smirk so devastating it chills my blood.
Dear Mother and Father,
When you come to my chambers to wake me this morning, you will find my room empty. You have likely realized I am no longer here, seeing as you have found this letter. I have been cautioned against even leaving this missive, but I could not abandon our home without letting you know that I am going to be all right.
I will not be back. Do not attempt to look for me. I will not write you again after this letter, and I ask that you destroy this once you read it. I am likely being overly cautious, but please humor me.
I know I am not offering much here, but I want you to know that I will be safe, and most importantly, that I will be happy. I have found my heart’s true purpose, and I must follow that path, wherever she leads me.
I will think of you often, and always be grateful for the loving home you have given me. I hope I may provide the same for my own children one day, should I be blessed enough to have them.
Please do not worry. I am where I’m meant to be.
Your son, always,
Harry
P.S. I am sorry for taking Grandfather’s dagger, but I believe he would have wanted me to have it. I promise to keep it in the family, always.
4
Callum
I know from themoment I stroll into the breakfast room that something is wrong, a feeling enforced by the three sad pairs of eyes that turn to me the moment I walk in.
My stomach sinks and I know without even having to ask that the decree has been issued, the Uprising has finally deigned to decide how the next ruler of Avon will be chosen. And it’s not good.
Alex wordlessly hands me the morning edition of Scota’s newspaper, the bold black letters large enough to be seen from across the room.
I take the paper, falling into my chair. My hands automatically go through the motions of pouring tea, adding sugar, stirring in a splash of milk, while my eyes absorb the details.
First Presidential Candidate Qualification Announced: Must Kill Current Monarch
The words of the article below the damning headline blur along with my vision. I never expected anything good from the Uprising, but this, this is low, even for them.
I force my eyes to focus, my mind soaking in the rest of the news like it’s a slow-spreading poison.
Delegates from the Uprising have been meeting since the monarchs’ surrender to come up with a just method of determining the candidates for Avon’s first election, one representing each of the four provinces. Many ideas were considered, and this morning the Uprising leadership has announced a decision. In order for a candidate to secure the chance to represent their province in the presidential election, that candidate must assassinate the current monarchial ruler of their province.
“For hundreds of years, the monarchs of Avon have suppressed, degraded, murdered, and stolen from their citizens. They have oppressed the Gifted and put the needs of the wealthy over the needs of the majority. Now is the time for atonement to begin,” said a member of the Uprising who wished to remain anonymous.
Though this decree may seem to be stoking the flames of violence—a position in direct opposition to the Uprising’s call for peace among Avon—there are strict guidelines in place. The killings must take place within a specified time period to be announced. Each province will have their own designated period. And only the reigning monarchs are to be targeted.
“There must be no violence struck upon innocents,” claimed our source.
I toss the paper across the table, not caring where it lands. The silence hangs in the air, heavy with unsaid words.
“I won’t do it.” I break first, needing all of them to know in no uncertain terms how I will not be a party to this ridiculous plan.
“You must.” The declaration comes from my father, as I expected it would. I search for a sign of his anger, for surely he must be furious at this so-called decree, but his face remains smooth and calm, like his death warrant hasn’t just been signed by a group of upstarts playing pretend at how to rule a country.
“This is not the way to begin an election that is supposed to signal a time of peace, of fostering unity and equality.” I force myself to focus on the logical, tangible reasons why I cannot possibly go through with this plan. “This goes against everything we’re supposed to be striving for in this newly united Avon. I certainly never trusted the Uprising, but they have been preaching peace for two years, all the while killing innocent people.”
“You cannot deny that the monarchs have done the same thing, Callum,” Alex says quietly.
