/-Kaelynn's pov-/
My tears came back, stronger this time. I hated that I was crying in front of them, but I couldn't stop. I hated that they were the ones telling me this, and not the Queen herself.
Not any of my brothers.
"Such noise for a king who gave her nothing," Evangra muttered under her breath.
"Is it grief? Or performance?" Syrr whispered. "Hard to tell with cursed children."
"She mourns louder than widows," Nephroma said as they stepped toward the door, done with me. "Yet salt cannot clean a wound that was never loved to begin with."
I heard every word.
"If the crown favored her, she wouldn't be crippled and tucked away to die in this wing..."
The tears poured, soaking the sleeves of my dress, until they left me alone again.
And once the door shut behind them...the tears dried.
My only regret was that I didn't kill the king myself.
My mind flashed back… two years ago:
"Kaelyn, I'll be gentle. I promise."
"Father, what are you doing?"
"I'm just trying to check your legs. Is it painful?"
But he wasn't checking my legs.
"Father… you're not touching my legs."
I had tried to pull away, dragging my useless body across the cold floor, away from his thick, calloused hands. I couldn't feel my legs—those had long stopped responding, but I could feel where his fingers actually were.
I winced as pain stabbed into my vagina.
"Please… stop."
"I promise, I'll be gentle…"
He always said that. Every single time.
But he wasn't.
Presently:
My lips curled. Part frozen. Part amused. The fact that his death was what finally reminded my mother I still existed made me want to laugh.
I snorted through the tears. What would it be today? Beating, scrubbing, or…silence?
Queen Isolde always kept me away from Castle Court for a reason.
Was I her weapon there?
No. That was ridiculous.
Suddenly, a cold realization seized every vein in my body. The king's unnatural death meant one thing: the Veil will tear. And as the firstborn daughter of the royal family, I knew my fate.
I was to be sacrificed today.
_________________________________
The silence after the door shut was brief.
I hardly had time to wipe my face before they returned, smelling of dried rose. Evangra washed and dressed me in silence.
"Lift," she said softly.
I obeyed. My hands trembled as I tried to raise them, but they only managed to move past my waist before pain bloomed up my arms.
They fell.
Evangra caught the slack, pulling the garment the rest of the way down and tying it at my waist. The knots she made were clean, and too tight.
Syrr and Nephroma stood on either side of me, their hands cold as they slipped a flowery dress over my shoulders. The fabric was stiff from years of neglect.
It scratched against the curve of my spine and stuck to the blood still drying on my knuckles.
I let them dress me like a doll.
No option, really. I couldn't feel anything from the hips down, but I knew the garments were heavy.
They always were. Then came my throne for the morning.
I didn't see Syrr roll it in, but I heard it rattling like the bones of an old woman.
It wasn't made for comfort. I don't even think it was made for me. The seat was wide, stiff-backed, with two large wheels held together by rusted metal bolts.
The armrests had small impressions in them., and there were no cushions or footrests.
Nephroma and Evangra slipped their hands under my arms, lifting me without asking.
I hissed.
Syrr steadied the chair.
"One, two, three. Let go!" Evangra said, and down I went.
The bones in my hips shifted with a sickening pop, and I leaned forward with a gasp as my limbs settled into the seat. Evangra brushed a few strands of hair behind my ear to make me presentable.
Nephroma tugged the front of my dress straight.
The wheels turned and we started moving.
The corridors were quiet.
I had known every creak of these wooden floors… but now it all sounded different. They took me past the first floor, the one the maids avoided.
I counted the turns in my head. Three left.
Four down and a long straight hall to the last door that called my name.
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.
My hands squeezed the arms of the chair, until my knuckles whitened.
Evangra opened the door and light poured in, nearly blinding me.
I exhaled.
Sweet, sweet air.
She bent to my side again. One hand hooked under my shoulder, while Nephroma pulled me up.
The carriage was waiting with Syrr, already inside, watching me like I might disappear if she blinked too slow.
Once I was settled, I opted for small talk.
I cleared my throat. "Have... have any of you been to the city lately?"
Neither of them answered.
I tried again, turning slightly toward Syrr.
"What does Castle Court look like now?"
Still nothing. I felt a smile stretch across my face awkwardly.
"I used to think I'd live there one day…"
"You shouldn't speak," Syrr snapped. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was harsh enough to startle me.
I blinked. "I was just…"
"You were just disrupting our peace with your voice," she deadpanned. "Every word you speak reminds us why your mother hid you. A cripple who should've died at birth."
I didn't reply, but my smile grew thinner with every passing second. I turned my face to the window.
The city outside didn't look like the sketches I'd seen growing up. It was dirtier, louder and grayer.
A throaty chant floated up, right into my ears.
Evangra perked up. "They're here," she said, almost to herself.
Right in the middle of the street, two people stood. A man and a woman, dressed in robes that looked more like tattered bedsheets. Their skin was pale, down to their chapped lips and sunken eyes.
The man held a broken staff, while the woman carried a scroll nearly half her size.
What were they?
Suddenly, the man lifted his arms and screamed.