Cynthia.
Her pearly white teeth seemed too large for her slight frame, and her hair was pulled back into a long braid that hung over her shoulder. Her curls stuck out of it, just as untamed and wild as she was. Cynthia wore an emerald-green dress, much finer than the faded red one I was wearing.
Her family owned a shop in town, and she came from a more noble family than I did, but she was my best friend. She was the one who gave me the dress I was wearing. It's actuallyhow we became friends. Her stubborn face flashed in my mind, and I chuckled at the memory.
A bunch of boys had cornered me in an alley on my way home from the market. I had stolen an apple from one of the nearby carts, and they had seen me.
Instead of telling a guard, they had decided to chase me themselves, shouting how they were going to be guards one day and have to deal with rats like me. I had lost the apple in the struggle. I hadn’t eaten in days, but I had tried to fight them. They had been older, stronger than me, and they had managed to pin me down, taking turns kicking me. I remember thrashing, and crying as my dress ripped, making them laugh more.
That was when a rock collided with one boy's skull.
Cynthia had been standing at the other end of the alleyway with an armful of rocks and proceeded to pelt the boys with them until they ran away, cursing her as they passed.
I held my torn dress to me, crying and waiting for her to leave, but she hadn't. I was huddled against the alley wall, too ashamed to thank her or even look at her, when she approached and shoved something into my chest.
She took off the very expensive red dress she had been wearing and gave it to me. In nothing but her white underdress, she shrugged. She told me she didn't like the color red anyway and that if I didn't take it, she was going to leave it in the alley for someone else.
I remember thinking how odd it was for someone like her to care for someone like me.
I had reluctantly taken the dress from her, and she walked me home.
Shaking off the memory, I grinned at my friend, pulling her into a tight embrace.
“Ugh,” Cynthia said through a fit of coughs, looking at me apologetically.
“My mother dumped an entire bottle of perfume on me this morning,” I mumbled and Cynthia scrunched her nose but tried to hide it.
“It's notthatbad,” she said, scrunching her nose again. “Just maybe don’t hug anyone else.”
We both grinned and chuckled but it quickly faded as I asked, “Are you nervous?”
Cynthia rolled her warm brown eyes at me, lifting her chin high. “Of course not.” But we both knew that was a lie. She sighed, concern entering her gaze as she looped her arm in mine and pulled us toward the other children.
Villagers were crowding into the square; the parents at the front of the crowd nervously looked at the line of children. They were a sea of dull grays and vibrant colors. The only time of the year that the nobles and the poor came together in mutual understanding.
It was rare for noble children to be rejected. Their families came from long generations of magic, but it did happen. Depending on the family, sometimes those children were cast out of their homes and cut off by their families. It was cruel, but that was what this kingdom was built on. Power. And if you didn’t have it, you were nothing.
My eyes landed on my mother, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her large blue eyes were fixed on the road, where a massive horse-drawn carriage thundered toward us with five smaller carriages trailing after it.
The royal carriage was enormous. Its dark wood curved and bent into a wide, circular body set on wheels. It rose high above the others, so tall it had to hold two floors within. Small circular windows were stacked one above the other along each side.
It was painted a deep black, the Velra crest emblazoned across the panels—a golden crown and sword glinting in the light. The remaining carriages were much smaller, though painted in the same black and gold.
Dozens of guards surrounded them, riding horseback on either side. Their black and gold uniforms blended seamlessly with the procession as they moved forward in unison.
The royal carriage came to a stop at the back of the crowd. Everyone turned from the stage, their gazes now fixed in its direction. A burly guard dismounted his horse and hurried to the carriage door, opening it with a low bow. A foot crashed onto the pedestal, and a petite woman stepped out from the darkened interior. Her pale face was neutral, although it looked like she was sneering. Her black, inky hair fell to her shoulders, and a glittering gold crown with multicolored jewels rested on top of her head. She was wearing a flowing silken black gown, a purple cloak resting on her shoulders.
The Queen. Morgana.
Her face was like marble, unmoving and cold. Her yellow eyes seemed to glow even at this distance, and I shivered at seeing her this close. She was the most powerful being in our lands, the most revered, the most feared.
Another figure left the carriage, and a tall, fierce-looking male appeared next to her.
King Gormick’s face was also like marble, cold and unmoving. He had chiseled features and might have been handsome if not for the raised, jagged pink scar that ran from his scalp down to his neck. He was wearing a uniform similar to the guards', but his uniform was finer, more regal than the ones surrounding him.
My gaze followed them as they walked side by side toward the stage, but stopped as another figure emerged from the carriage. Murmurs spread through the crowd and my eyes widened as my gaze landed on the princess—Alana.
She was only a few years older than Cynthia and me, but she looked a lot older. No one had seen her in years, and now we knew why.
