Amelia mimicked their behavior when it came to Lilith as well. They spent slow afternoons in the library, occupying the space as if it were their private oasis. She learned phrases in different languages from beautiful countries that were torn apart by war. She listened to stories about Lilith’s mother fleeing to Gyldan through secret tunnels and working in brothels to survive. Every time, she stared at Lilith, watching the pages of books flutter between her slender fingers, the furrow in her brow, her soft pursed lips.
One day, Lilith didn’t visit the library until late evening.
Amelia had curled into an armchair and fallen asleep waiting for her. She dreamed of a cottage house, clean sheets drying in the breeze, a garden of sunflowers that germinated in late spring. The cottage was made of misshapen stone. Forest animals visited the porch for warm tea and nonsensical conversations. It was a silly dream, quick to dissolve as she awoke to Lilith shaking her shoulder.
In the candlelight, shadows appeared beneath Lilith’s puffy eyes, as if she had been crying. “I didn’t think you’d still be here,” she whispered.
Had Lilith wanted time alone in the library? Strands of dark hair drifted loosely from her knotted locks. Amelia wanted to brush them away from her face. “Are you all right?”
Lilith’s gaze was distant, too complicated to discern. A moment of deliberation passed, as if she were evaluating her words carefully.
“Amelia,” she said, “do you think I am capable of deception?”
Amelia stared at her, trying to make sense of the puzzle in Lilith’s expression. She could not fit the pieces together. She decided it didn’t matter. “Of course not.”
Then the doors flew open, and she soon realized that whatever she believed didn’t matter either. Heavy feet stomped across the room, and candlelight flickered with seething rage under a new presence. Lilith turned around in time for King Victor to strike his palm across her face. Her hip knocked against one of the tables, its legs scraping the floor with an ugly sound that made Amelia wince.
“How long were you going to keep this a secret?” He pronounced each word with a hardened voice and a spray of spittle.
Lilith placed a hand on her bruised cheek. Her jaw was clenched, and in the crevices between her fingers, Amelia spotted tears. “I’ve told you before,” Lilith said. “This time, I didn’t want to make you angry again.”
“And did you think the midwife would hide this from me as well?”
As they argued, the candlelight grew too bright in Amelia’s vision. Wooden shelves stretched and blurred in every corner. She tried to tune out her father’s voice, but it was too loud, as if he could shake the books with volume alone.
“The godmothers were right. You are nothing more than a grifter vying for the crown.”
“That’s not true,” Lilith protested. “I want to build Gyldan together. You know that.”
“Your barren womb will help me build nothing.”
Lilith drew back, as if his words struck harder than his hand.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “Your father was my closest friend. I gave him a favor by marrying you so that you wouldn’t be left in disgrace after he died. I at least expected your fertility to be as rampant as your whore mother.”
Pieces of their conversation scraped Amelia’s ears as she put together the ugly truth. Lilith was never supposed to be her stepmother, nor a proper queen for Gyldan. Lilith must have known this too, as shame warmed her cheeks. The woman bundled the fabric of her dress tight in her fists, knuckles white.
Victor’s shadow grew taller under the candle flames. “I can tolerate your overzealous ideas, but I will not accept you lying to me. For your deception, you will be exiled from Gyldan by dawn.”
The threat knocked the weight out of Amelia’s body. Fear charged her forward, the bright reality of Lilith snuffed out like a flame. “No!”
She jumped between them and splayed her arms wide, standing like a shield. Despite her shouts, her voice still trembled, hardly a buffer against the looming figure of her father.
“Please, Father. There must be another way.”
Victor’s blue eyes crinkled as they settled upon her. The expression only deepened the wrinkles on his face, the sagging skin that betrayed the time he fought so hard against. His beard had stubbornly grown back, yet gray hairs spread across his chin, and he could no longer hide them.
“The prosperity of Gyldan rests on its ruler having our blood. If they do not have it, the kingdom will be doomed.”
Amelia swallowed hard. She thought about the gold that shimmered in their veins, how she had to strain under the light just tosee faint traces of it. Their family’s lineage was too fragile. Her father was growing older, his coughs sounding sicker. He was running out of time.
Then again, so was she.
“I will marry a prince,” Amelia declared. “Before I turn eighteen, I will find someone to rule after you. He will be brave and strong and smart. I will give him a child, so that the next heir will have our blood.”
She steadied her breathing, counting the short future ahead of her. Her mind suppressed the image of a swollen belly, an entire life bursting inside her while she was robbed of her own.
“I will do all of this, but only if Lilith remains queen.”
