Young Writers Society

The Battle for Aaron

Storyline: Twin sisters Maria and Amelia have been separated by a feud. Amelia, the older sister, is the heir to the throne of Aaron. Maria is the power-hungry sister who would kill for a throne that was never hers. Amelia lives outside of Aaron, in a country called Gallee, where she has trained for years to defend herself against the evils of the world. Driven off by Maria's failed attempt to kill her and take the throne, Amelia lives in constant fear that Maria will someday find her and finish the job.

When you begin, you need to state which country you live in, your name, and a touch of backstory. The capital city of Aaron is Felicity.

Amelia sat outside of her little hut, carving an apple with a throwing knife. Hordes of unfamiliar people pushed through the main street, but none of them even glanced down the alley. If they had, they wouldn't have recognized her anyway. That was one of the many pleasures of living in Gallee. There were no wanted posters for her here. Over the border, in Aaron, she was known by a different name- the terrible thief Cecilia- her twin sister's fantasy. Maria had spread the rumors of Princess Amelia's death throughout the kingdom and blamed the crimes of her own hideous soldiers on an imaginary villain with Amelia's face. No one would know any better than to believe Maria. She had ultimate authority now, as queen of Aaron.

It had been two years since Amelia had seen the stunning capital, Felicity. She missed it terribly. That's why she sat outside on market days, watching the nameless faces float past the alley's opening, thinking that this must be what life was like on Felicity's market days. She'd always loved going to market in Aaron. The people were all so kind to her and beautiful. And it always gave her a break from the tired routine of palace life. And she couldn't forget Maria. Maria hated market days and always refused to come with her. It was all for the good, though. If she had, Amelia wouldn't have been surprised to be found, cold and dead, in an alley like this one.
A man's laughter echoed against the houses as he turned into the alley, still turned to face his friends who had continued down the main street without him. Someone shouted a final joke and he burst into laughter again, then turned around to watch where he was going. He was still smiling when he saw her. She drew back into her long, dark cloak, but he had already seen her face.

"What's a girl like you doing in a dark, dangerous alley?" he asked, a remnant of the smile showed, but his eyes seemed more serious than flirtatious, which was how most of them in these parts would have reacted to her.

"Eating," she responded, coldly. She pulled her apple and knife from the folds of her cloak and sliced off another piece, bringing it to her mouth as she stared up at him, questioning.

"I'm sorry," he drew back, glancing at the knife. "You know, it's not really safe out here. Maybe you should go to market, where it's safer."

"I can take care of myself," she said.

"Yes, I can see that. Well, good luck then."

He continued down the alley and entered a house much further down, turning back on the doorstep. Amelia had returned to watching people pass by.

It wasn't that Maria was a bad person- she really wasn't. Sure, she was ruthless and occasionally cruel. She didn't prioritize someone else's happiness over her own. She wasn't selfless or kind or even understanding.

When her parents died, she mourned. She did the thing with the tears, and the black clothes, and the not eating. She painted herself the picture of grief and helpless desolation.

The truth is, she didn't feel anything but relief when they finally gave into the fever. All she could think was "I'm free".

But she wasn't a bad person. She sometimes missed her mother for her gentle voice and her sharp eyes, her father for his heavy laugh and calloused palms. Some nights, she couldn't sleep because her heart was so overflowing with longing, longing to be a little girl again, longing to have her parents again.

Most of all, she missed her sister, or the idea of her at least. In the frigid Aaron winters, when she couldn't sleep- not because she missed her parents, but because she was far too cold- she always remembered Amelia: always much warmer and smarter and kinder than she had ever been. Before the death of their parents, Amelia made Maria want to be better, want to be more like her.

After, when Amelia tried to be strong- even with the weight of a kingdom pressing on her shoulders and agony evident in her eyes- Maria realized that she would never really be like Amelia. There was no way to force herself to become selfless, or kind, or understanding.

She wasn't a bad person, but she knew she wasn't a good one either.

Larson, like the idiot that he was, had forgotten all about market day. He'd only been living in the the city of Markham for a couple months and the little town he'd been in before hadn't participated in market day. There was still a lot he had to get used too.

His friends hadn't forgotten market day. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized it on his way to Ben's house. He'd been stupid enough to actually ask Ben what all the people were doing in the streets and where they were going. Ben had laughed at him and asked if all Aaronians had small brains. And Larson still hadn't realized! Ben had told him finally, still laughing, along with the rest of their friends.

He'd never been to a Markham market day before, which had probably contributed to his stupidity, but he had been looking for an opportunity. Ben and the others were going to the market today, so he supposed he might as well go with them. They all had work off anyway. He told them he needed to run home to get some money, but he would join them at the market. Ben had made some joke, saying he had better take Patrick, the apprentice mapmaker who was walking with them. Surely even an apprentice could make up for any poor navigation skills Larson had crammed into his little brain. Larson had laughed it off. Pretty much all Gallens shared a belittling sense of humor and Larson had gotten used to it more easily than most people did.

That's when he'd seen her. He'd seen her before. They lived down the same alley; it would be almost impossible for them not to meet. Yet for two months he'd only ever been able to catch glimpses. She was beautiful, and obviously not from Gallee. Her skin was too pale and her eyes were a curious shade of blue, an uncommon color in most countries. In Aaron, a lot more people had eyes like hers, or at least eye color like hers. He had family in Aaron and he'd been wondering if that's where she was from, but he had never had the opportunity to ask her. She was a very private person.

Still, he hadn't expected her to pull a knife on him. To be fair though, he definitely should have said something more suave. He'd probably sounded like he was a creep. And that was why he'd never been in an actual relationship. He always said the wrong thing. That, and business was a constant distraction. Now he would never get another chance to talk to her.

He grabbed his money pouch and returned to the alley. She was no longer on the doorstep. She'd probably gone inside after all of that. He didn't blame her.

Walking out into the main street, his eyes found a dark blue cloak. It couldn't be hers, of course, but he wondered. The cloaked figure turned abruptly and his eyes met a pair of rare blue ones, causing him to do a double-take.

Great, Larson thought, now she'll think I'm following her. If I wasn't a creep before, I definitely am now.

It was a Tuesday when the first apparition came to Maria. She was lying in bed, trying, to sleep, like every other night since she became queen. For some reason, a song that she and Amelia used to sing was playing on a loop in her head. She knew it was probably a manifestation of her guilt, or something equally deep, but she decided to ignore that.

A sudden crash interrupted her thoughts. As she climbed out of bed, she grabbed the dagger out from under her pillow.

"Hello?" She called out, trying to sound confident. She just ended up sounding tired.

"Okay, don't freak out." The voice was warbling and slightly distorted, like it was coming from underwater. "I didn't know I could actually do that."

She rounded the corner into her baths, and stopped dead in her tracks. A girl somewhere around Maria's age stood in the middle of the room, shrouded in smoke and moonlight. Her skin was pale and covered in the kind of wrinkles you get from being in the bath too long. Her hair was long and definitely wet, clinging to the sides of her face and the length of her arms. Next, Maria's eyes flickered to her dressing table, which had been so graciously cleared of all her possessions. Glass bottles laid shattered on the floor, a pool of oil and perfumes around them.

Maria approached cautiously, tightening her grip on the hilt of her dagger. "Are you aware that you're trespassing? In the Queen's chambers, no less."

The girl looked genuinely shocked. "It looks so different from the last time I was here. Are you a maid?"

Maria blinked. "I'm the queen. Why would a maid be here, in the middle of the night, brandishing a knife?"

"Oh." The girl's eyes widened. "Okay. You're so... Little."
"Who are you, and what are you doing in my rooms?"

The girl smiled. "I'm Cecil, Crown Princess of Aaron."

It took a minute for Maria to process. "No, you're not. Princess Cecil is dead. She drowned in the Great Flood three hundred years ago."

Cecil shrugged. "I think I'm probably a ghost."

Amelia struggled not to look behind her. She knew he was there. The boy from down the alley. She'd seen him and he'd been looking at her, but if he was following her, she wanted confirmation first.

She'd decided to go to the market after all. Nobody would recognize her in this cloak. Few people would recognize her without it. She'd gotten her hair cut short when she'd first run from Felicity, but it had grown out twice and she had found that short hair was too difficult to maintain. Putting it up was much easier than chopping it off every day. And she was kind of sentimental about her hair. Her mother always told her that she'd inherited the dark gold locks from her and her mother. It felt nice to have something of her mother, even if it was something small or silly like long brown hair.

She arrived at the market place, one of a crowd, not attracting any attention, other than, possibly, that of the boy from the alley. Remembering this, she once again resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. Instead, she stopped and waited for him to walk past her, if he was still there and not following her. She almost missed him as he walked past, but one boy in a big group of them called out to him and he sprinted towards them from a few feet to her left. She sighed in relief. He wasn't following her, he was just coming to meet his friends and join in market day festivities.

Amelia paced the aisles of the market, looking for Aaronian booths. There were always a couple hidden in the crowded square. Looking through their goods and wares brought her back to her childhood. The palace servants used to bring her and Maria little trinkets from the market and teach them all about the cultural significance of the tiny objects. They'd learned more history from the cook and the maids than they had from their tutor. Amelia loved learning about all the old kings and princesses, but Maria had been even more passionate about it than she.

The best gift she'd ever received had been from Agnes, the palace cook. She'd returned from market day with a simple leather bracelet. Burned into the leather was the symbol of the nightingale, the crest of the first royal family of Aaron. Their own family crest was a brown bear. Each crest had an important story behind it. The nightingale, according to Agnes, was a reminder to all that the country must be united, one melody, one voice. Amelia had favored the gift because of her love of music. The analogy had meaning to her beyond any the brown bear could give. If she was still queen, she would have had to choose her own crest at the age of twenty-one, if she hadn't married by then. She would have chosen the honey badger, a symbol that the people of Aaron could depend on her strength and loyalty and that, as long as they stood together, Aaron could overcome any challenge set before them, including the cruelty of the past. Honey badgers had been known to defeat even bears.

Albin was working in the family bakery on the mid-morning of market day. His mother had offered to pay him extra wages for manning the store while she and his father set up a stand at the market. He couldn't decline for several reasons. However, there was no logical explanation for him being in such a foul mood over earning a higher coin rather than walking around and spending the rest of his wages.

He rolled his sleeves up for the fifth time in between rushes, leaning wearily against the counter. With no customers to bargain with, he fingered the smooth burn marks on his arms demurely. The scars were a natural label for a baker to have. If you worked near blistering ovens, you were bound to get burned.

Albin straightened again as a young woman walked into the bakery. It only took a half-second of recognition before his heart sank down into his chest.

The woman flipped her long, fair hair over her shoulder, and slowly made her way over to the counter, carrying the pretense of browsing.

"Miss Constance." Albin greeted her, internally cursing.

"Oh, please, Albin. You're so humorous." She stifled a measured giggle behind her hand. "You know full well that my name is Claire."

With a pout of her lips, she tilted her head. "Don't you?"

"Of course, Miss Claire. I meant no offense." he bit out, though offense was exactly what he had intended. "What can I do for you?"

"Hmm." She tapped a finger slowly on her bottom lip, no doubt inviting attention in that direction. Albin kept his eyes firmly trained on her coin purse.

"Oh, I do just love your mulberry pies. You are the one who bakes them, aren't you, Albin?"

He drummed his fingers across the counter and relented. Though it was the purest form of agony to be warding off Claire's advances while he could be doing a number of other things, namely wandering the market, he would just have to be polite and carry on.

Claire was a paying customer, after all.

"Some of the time. You know how it is- I haven't the time for standing around and baking all day." He chirped in a cheery tone. The irony of this comment didn't pass him, apparently. He envoked it with a pessimistic embrace.

"Oh, I'm sure you're a very busy man- what with all the heavy lifting and... the like." She trailed off, a coy smile perched on her features.

Albin swallowed back an impatient retort, instead laying proffessionalism thickly onto his tone.

"So, mulberry pies. How many would you like?" He turned to gather packing paper for the pies, both relieved and anxious to be turning his back on Claire.

"Five pies sound just about right." She paused. "Oh, but however will I carry them all by myself?"

He gritted his teeth, knowing the next step that came with this cursed dance all too well.

At that moment, an absolute splendor of a frizzy-haired angel came to his rescue, making a perfectly timed entrance from the storeroom.

"Ah, Miss Claire!" The hired hand, Martha, cast a gap-toothed smile across the counter. "What a number of pies! I'm sure Albin would love to escort you home with them, but I'm afraid that he has a prior arrangement with some dough. You'll just have to settle with me."

Albin gave Martha a look on indebted thankfulness, and took his cue without hesitation. He was so relieved, in fact, that he couldn't talk himself out of pretending not to hear Claire's parting remarks for him.

Back with the stoves, he tossed his serving apron onto a hook and dusted his hands, checking on the loaves that were baking. Carefully, he listened to the dying voices of Martha and Claire, biding his time.

With Claire's ridiculous display, his mind was made up. He would just have to get out of minding the store, somehow. Beyond all appearances, he really did have more important things to do than baking.

The Viper tapped her daggers, letting a sigh out through her teeth as she stood at the gates. She was an active fugitive - and had been for many decades - but with her new guise as a blonde, golden-eyed, honey-skinned young woman she didn't have to worry about getting busted.

It still amused her how easy it was to deceive humans. All she had to do now was get an audience with the queen. She'd caught wind that the Queen Maria had some concerns about her sister, Amelia, taking the throne by force. Viper had had many years of practice with such things. She'd been an assassin, guard, hitman, mercenary, and bounty hunter, among other things. Her mask had been one that was legendary in the underworld and feared in most parts for what had to be at least a hundred years. She'd stopped counting. Popular theory had it that she was either a legend or that "Viper" was a title and not the same individual. No one could live that long, after all.

Well. Not unless they made a pact with a certain demon, anyways.

I'm unconvinced the pay will be worth this, the hissing voice whispered in the vaults of her mind.

Don't worry. We'll get plenty, I'm sure. She is a queen, after all.

That's what you said last time.

Well, we're both alive, aren't we? she pointed out as the guard came forward.

"Come this way," he said gruffly. Finally. She'd been waiting long enough. "The queen has been informed of your presence, Miss Sterling."

It was true; even as he spoke, a guard was knocking on the chamber door of the queen to inform her of the late-night visitor who insisted her presence was urgent business and who had presented the royal seal. What he didn't know was that it was forged, but that particular bit of information would wait before it reared its ugly head into the light.

Raiden woke up with a start, though not particularly violently. He dmfound himself leaning against a wall, shade thrown over himself and the alley, keeping him cool as he tried to figure out where he was. Obviously, he wasn't in his small bed that he was so used to, but it wasn't anywhere he recognised either. This place looked kinda olden days, if he was honest. Something out of a movie from a few years ago or something. Whatever. He needed to find out where this place is.
He stood up, dusting off his jeans and cyan hoodie he loved so dearly, before walking towards the street. He wasn't particularly keen on going deeper into that shady alleyway, if he was honest.
As two ladies exited the building he was originally leaning against, he pressed himself flat against the wall, hoping they didn't notice him.
His bright hoodie probably didn't help him with regards to stealth, but he hoped the shadows of the building itself was enough.
And it seemed like it was, as the two ladies passed without so much as breathing in his direction. He let out a sigh of relief, before wondering to himself why he hid himself from them. He was looking for information, was he not?
The ladies did seem busy, though.

He peeked out the alley, glancing left and right, before bolting inside the building the two women had just left. Smelling the smell of freshly baked dough, his stomach rumbled. Loudly.

Raiden walked up to the counter, where behind it another man stood. He looked somewhat confused, but that was none of Raiden's current worries.
"Let's get this bread," Raiden mumbled to himself, looking over the menu.
"Can I get a uhhhhh...bakers' dozen buns to munch, please? Also, I have no idea where I am, what this place is or if I'm on some movie set i shouldn't be on 'cause y'all are filming."
He then leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper, "If you guys are actually filming, just tell me and I'll hide somewhere," he straightened up.
"But if you aren't, then I'm gonna have to ask you where in the world am I?"

"Hey! Girl! Don't touch that!"

Amelia jerked her hand away from a small bust of her father. She hadn't seen that face in a while and she'd kind of gone into a trance, not realizing that she was touching the face until a man's shout had driven her back into reality. The suddenness of her movement had made her hood drop down to her shoulders. She wasn't able to pull it back up quickly enough on account of her distraction. The man who had shouted was glaring at her and seemed to be waiting for an apology, but a glow of recognition and surprise dawned in his eyes and she froze. The man drew breath, then shouted, even louder than he had before.

"It's the thief! Cecilia!"

He raised his finger and jabbed it towards her with a fervent energy. Those close enough to hear stopped what they were doing immediately and turned to locate the source of the disruption. Another Aaronian seemed to recognize her too and he skirted the little table in his booth swiftly and lunged towards her. A few market-goers finally comprehended the word "thief" and began to rush at her, encircling her. She looked around for a way out. There was a small break between two booths and she shoved past two women laden with market goods, knocking packages and food out of their arms. They shrieked and descended upon their belongings like vultures, blocking the way of the angry men who chased Amelia.

She slipped through the break and crashed into someone. She had already pulled her knife from the small scabbard concealed in the folds of her cloak. She didn't want to use it, but she would if she had to. Up until this point, she'd only needed the knife to threaten would-be attackers, but she doubted the threat of a little throwing knife would stop this many men. She knew how to use the knife, she'd just never had to use it on a human before. She raised it above her shoulder before even looking at the man's face. A hand closed over her wrist and dragged her down the alley, she tried to pull back and fight out of the man's grasp, but he was strong despite being not much bigger than her. Finally, she looked up at his head, which was familiar, though his face was turned away from her. They turned a corner and she caught a glimpse of his profile.

Amelia gasped. "What are you doing?"

The man glanced to her briefly. "I'm trying to help."

Amelia tried to pull back again. "I don't need help," she growled.

He nodded. "Yeah, you and your throwing knife can take care of yourselves, huh?"

She huffed and gave in a little, as much as her paranoia would allow. She could hear shouts echoing in the alley now, coming from both directions. They were closing in.

"Thank you. I am absolutely indebted. I owe you my life for helping me lose it. I'll make sure to acknowledge you in my last words as I march to the gallows."

The man paused at a door and looked around their empty section of alleyway. "Don't be so dramatic," he said, pushing the door open and dragging her into a dark, musty house.

There was a wooden table and stool in the middle of the room. The man pulled the stool out from underneath the table and, with a flourish of his arm, presented the seat to her.

"So, now that I've saved your life, do I get to hear the story?"

She reluctantly sat on the stool. She didn't see what else she could really do. She still gripped the knife in her fist. She'd given up an advantage by sitting on the stool, but she refused to relinquish this one protection. "First tell me who you are and where we are and why you helped me."

"Okay. My name is Larson, this is the Mayor's head cook's house, to whom my friend is apprenticed, and who just happens to be out of town at the moment, and I mainly just helped you because I sometimes fancy myself a great hero and it seemed like a perfect opportunity. You being the damsel in distress and all."

"I'm not a damsel."

"No," he smirked, folding his arms. "You're a thief, aren't you Cecilia?"

"I'm the girl they call Cecilia, the thief in Aaron, but Cecilia is not my name and I haven't been in Aaron for two years. I left about the same time Cecilia's robberies began. I don't know if you heard about the latest robbery. It happened last week, on Wednesday. If I remember correctly, that's the day I caught you staring at me through your window."

Larson shifted uncomfortably. "I wasn't exactly staring. I was studying. Obviously your a mystery, and I suppose I decided you were worth solving. So, Mystery Girl, why are you known as the thief Cecilia if you've been in Gallee for two years and Cecilia has been in Aaron for just as long? And if you're not the thief girl, who is? And I guess the most important question is who exactly are you in the first place?"

Albin frowned as the bell on the door chimed again, only moments after Claire and Martha had left. He took a moment to compose himself.

One more customer wouldn't put him too far behind schedule- the resistance meeting was uncanny for being held during large events and busy hours in the town square, and his comrades would understand if he was a few moments late.

The bell tower pealed accordingly in the distance, and he did his best to put the time of day out of mind to serve the customer.

When he turned to look at said customer, however, he had to take a step back in shock. The young man on the other side of his counter was wearing some sort of outlandish garb that Albin couldn't place in the slightest.

The words 'foreigner' and 'performer' came to mind, but neither seemed quite right.

And then the young man started speaking, and his strange accent through Albin off once again, along with mentions of a 'movie' and 'filming' that he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Buns. He could assist the boy with that, at least.

Shaken out of his shock, he turned to wrap a tray of buns in a packing parcel. Ah, and the boy had also asked where they were, in terms of location. He could answer that.

"This is Felicity, the capital city of the kingdom of Aaron." He said in a clipped, polite tone. He had decided to ignore the mention of the terms he hadn't understood.

"Ah, where were you on your way to? Perhaps I could provide some sense of direction in relation."

He passed over the bread, very muddled, confused, and waiting for both an answer and payment. His thoughts of the resistance meeting had all but evaporated.

Maria was starting to believe that Cecil was a ghost. It wasn't the disbelief on the faces of her guards that swayed her. It wasn't the fact that only Maria could see her. The girl's extensive knowledge of Middle Era lifestyle and politics didn't even phase her.

Oh, no. The reason why Maria was now beginning to believe in the supernatural? She was absolutely sure that no one alive could possibly be this annoying.

Cecil followed her everywhere. The sound of water that didn't really exist hitting the floor was a constant, and it was going to drive Maria insane. Cecil refused to shut up about how terrible of a queen Maria was and how her entire kingdom was in ruin. Maria kept her cool- the last thing she needed was rumors that she was hallucinating- even though she wanted to scream.

But even Maria had a breaking point. Luckily, it was in the middle of the night, when no one was going to hear her shouting at a ghost. Cecil was singing the same lullaby she'd been singing for two and a half days non-stop, and Maria was beginning to get the worst headache of her life.

"Would you please stop singing that?"

Cecil huffed. "Why not? It's not like you're going to sleep, anyways."

"I can't argue with your logic, but it's still giving me a migraine."

Cecil folded her arms, glaring in Maria's general direction. "Fine. I'll stop, on one condition."

Maria sighed and rolled over so she was facing Cecil. "What?"

"Tell me why you can't sleep."

"Why do you even want to know?"

Cecil shrugged. "So far your life is pretty boring, even if you are a queen. I need some form of entertainment."

Maria sat up and pushed the hair back from her face, giving up on trying to sleep. "I tried to kill my sister."

"Why?" There was no judgement in her tone, only mild curiosity.

Maria laughed, but it was humorless. "I wanted to power."

"Contrary to popular belief, there's a difference between wanting power and not wanting to be powerless."

Maria could feel tears brimming in her eyes. She hadn't cried in over two years, and she wasn't about to start now. "Great. I told you why I can't sleep. Now will you let me rest?"

She hated how unsteady her voice sounded.

"Yeah, okay. Good night, Maria."

***

Maria had been discussing some mild rebel activity with her Head of Defense when Cecil started to drone on about how her husband had kept things in check while she was still alive. Maria would've felt bad for her, had she not known for a fact that Princess Cecil had hated her husband, who had been King of Aaron and twenty years her senior. Maria also knew of a few historians that hypothesized Cecil was the one who had poisoned him at a banquet celebrating their three year anniversary. Unfortunately, Cecil had never become queen, as the Great Flood killed her before she could be coronated.

"My dear Brael, bless his departed soul," Cecil glanced at the ceiling, as if her late husband was floating above their heads. "Always had more personal government. Once you localize law enforcement, people will stop disobeying. No one wants to get whipped by their neighbor and have to sit by them during Mass the next week."

Maria ignored her. "If we grant leniency on the smaller matters, then the rebels will be under the impression that I am weak, or desperate. I am neither. We will enforce all laws, no matter what. That is not up for discussion."

In reality, it was more of an argument than a discussion- and her Head of Defense thought he was winning. He'd been trying to bully her into granting him more power ever since she'd been coronated. Maria had made an attempt to stay civil, but one more placating little smile from him and he'd be thrown out of the palace.

"I apologize, your Majesty, but if we look at the outward provinces too closely, no one will feel secure. When people are scared, they act out."

Cecil scoffed. "Are you really going to let him talk to you like that?"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Listen, you served my father well, so I'd rather not have to dispose of you. However, if you keep getting in my way, I'm going to start feeling a lot less bad about it."

The man didn't seem to believe her, if the smug smile he was wearing had anything to say about it. "I understand that-"

"You understand nothing. I want a council assembled, of all the unit leaders from each province. I will interview each of them, personally, without you present. Maybe they'll be able to tell me why their commander thinks he's superior to the queen herself."

His face turned red, but he didn't reply.

"Is that clear enough for you?"

He bowed stiffly. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Good. Now, please get out of my rooms."

He left, letting the door swing shut behind him.

"Why is he still alive?" Cecil picked at her fingernails. "I would've had him executed months ago, if I were you."

"As you have so graciously acknowledged, I'm in way over my head here."

Cecil shook her head. "Yeah, you are. But why do you need him when you have a much better adviser, who literally has no ulterior motives?"

Maria laughed. "You mean you? How am I supposed to know that you have no ulterior motives?"

Cecil frowned. "I'm dead. What possible reason would I have for wanting you to fail?"

"Free entertainment?"

Cecil just sighed and looked up. "Helping you is a much better pastime to help you than to ruin you, and I have a lot less ulterior motives than that other guy, either way. Besides, you remind me of myself, when I was younger."

"I'm technically older than you."

Cecil waved her hand in dismissal. "Whatever. You're a lot like me, just a little less cruel."

Maria raised her eyebrows. "I tried to kill my own sister to become queen."

Cecil narrowed her eyes. "People do crazy things when the feel trapped."

Maria glanced at the floor, avoiding Cecil's gaze. It was uncanny, how well Cecil knew her already.

"Anyways, can we go somewhere that doesn't look like a dungeon?"

Maria scoffed, but it didn't carry any bite. "Fine. I'll show you the gardens."

"There are gardens?"

Maria could tell that Cecil was mocking her, so she replied only by walking out of the room. After a few minutes, they stepped into the golden warmth of the sunlight and the sweet, fresh scent of wet earth.

As they retreated further into the garden, Maria's hand brushed against a new sapling. The leaves withered and browned behind her, like the tree had been touched by the hand of death itself.

***

Maria awoke in the night to silence.

"Cecil?" Maria called out with a trembling voice. "Are you still here?"

Something in the room had changed. Not only had Cecil's incessant humming stopped, but the temperature had dropped more than a few degrees.

Her heart plummeted. It felt very, distinctly, wrong.

An eerie wail filled the space. Maria followed the sound, out of her room and into the long corridor outside.

A small child, as ethereal and insubstantial in the moonlight as Cecil had been, cried beside an open window.

"Hello?" Maria said again, softly this time. "Are you okay?"

The child turned its head. It was a little boy, no more than two or three years old. He babbled senselessly, failing to regulate his heavy, gasping breath.

Maria whispered a soothing lullaby and coaxed the toddler into her room. Her heart broke with every one of his sobs.

A knock at her door startled her out of her vicarious sorrow.

"Yes?" She shouted, trying to sound angry and not the kind of helpless that she felt.

A muffled voice told her she had a visitor. She jerked the door open, coming face to face with one of her more regular guards.

"Uh, they said it was urgent?" The guard seemed startled by her appearance. He was in the habit of assuming she held no emotions.

Maria closed her eyes. It's not like she would've been able to fall back asleep anyways, so she sighed and looked straight ahead. "Let whoever it is into the throne room."

The guard nodded swiftly and left.

She threw on a cloak and slipped her feet into her warmest shoes before heading out of her room.

When she entered the throne room, a figure was standing towards the back, shrouded in mist and shadow. Maria had to remind herself to stand up straight. She may be shaken, but she would never be weak.

"What do you want?" Maria asked in the most commanding voice she could muster. "I don't appreciate anyone wasting my time."

Amelia took a deep breath. It wasn't that she trusted Larson; in fact, she wasn't in the mood to judge people she didn't know. But she hadn't really talked to another person in years. Besides, the way things were looking at the moment, she would have to leave this city anyway. She didn't know where she'd go, but she might as well unburden herself to a perfect stranger who wouldn't believe a word she said. It would probably be more dangerous if he did believe her.

"Have you ever been to Aaron?" she asked, narrowing her eyes to gauge his response.

"I grew up there, actually. I was born in Cameron. I've been gone for a couple of years, like you, I guess. My father worked for the mayor of Cameron. If you can help it, don't ever go to Cameron. It's quite unspectacular and the mayor is odious. I'm surprised he's married, and to a beautiful woman, way out of his league. I used to be in love with her. We're about the same age, though she is a couple years older than I am. I mostly left because she went through with it and I haven't really forgiven her for picking him. He's an absolute sloth. And I'm a pretty decent guy: handsome, charming, very close to her age. It was an insult."

Amelia raised her eyebrows. "Next time I visit Aaron, I'll keep that in mind."

"Right. So you were born in Aaron too?"

"Yes, I was born there. In Felicity," she sighed. "I don't have anything bad to say about it. If you haven't been to Felicity, you should. It's such a beautiful place. There was this bakery in the square with the best bread ever and I used to go to market day all the time. All of the vendors were so kind and lovely. I've never been anywhere that rivaled it."

"Do you think you'll ever go back?"

She shook her head and her eyes welled with tears. "No. I can't." She sniffed and blinked her eyes and then she looked normal again. "I can never go back."

"Who are you?"

Her face went blank. "Nobody. There are thousands of people who live in Felicity and thousands more who come and go. I don't know their names and they don't know me."

"So the queen put a bounty on your head for no reason? She changed your name for no reason? What are the odds that out of the thousands of people in Felicity that don't even know each other, the queen would know you? You have to have some significance, especially if she's gone to all this trouble to conceal your real identity."

"You know, most people would have just assumed that I was telling the truth and took my word for it."

Larson grinned. "I know, I'm smarter than most people."

"Don't let that go to your head, " she rolled her eyes.

"Of course not. Only a compliment from someone as important as you could make that happen."

"I'm not important. Not anymore."

"I beg to differ. Royalty is always important, is it not, your highness?"

She fell in behind the guard as he led her to the throne room. Rich, crimson carpets were laid out over the stone floor and the vaulted ceiling held a chandelier that was unlit as of yet. A few torches burned to give some dim light to the smoky room.

Viper looked up at the sound of footsteps to see the queen herself enter, a frown on her face. ""What do you want?" Queen Maria asked in a sharp, commanding tone. "I don't appreciate anyone wasting my time."

"Well, darling," she said, stepping out of the shadows near the wall and into the better lit area towards the middle of the throne room, "I believe I have something to offer you - something that could work very much in your advantage. You may, perhaps, question my credibility, but I guarantee that you won't do so for very long.

"I know that this throne is not rightfully yours because of that pesky sister you have. Amelia, wasn't that her name? As the elder she's heir and we both know this throne is only temporary until she returns to take it or kills you. You, naturally, would find this entire situation to be rather...unsavory.

"Now comes the offer: I can find your sister, and, at your command, either kill her or bring her back here for you to deal with and clear up this entire messy situation while you still get to keep your throne. Don't think I'm bluffing or that I'm incapable: I've been everything from an assassin to a mercenary in my time, Queen Maria, and some young girl won't escape me. All I ask in return is some...compensation."

Maria blinked the surprise away from her features. She may be far out of her depth, but she'd die before she gave up her facade.
"I don't know what gave you the impression I was in the market for your brand of assistance, but I can assure you that your offer is unnecessary." Maria took a seat on the throne that she'd broken her own heart to get, narrowing her eyes. "If I have something to take care of, I will do it myself. If you want it done right, and all that."
In reality, Maria was more than a little torn. But no matter how uncertain she was feeling, she was certain of one thing. She didn't want her sister dead.