CARTER WESTFORD STRAPS his cotton-cloth sack over his
shoulders and walks out of his room. He studies the ground floor;
busy with life as the Flower Festival approaches.
There is joy in the air; it is obvious that everyone is eagerly
awaiting this event. It is, after all, such a well known event that
even Phillimont and Lystotia have their fill of it –though, it could
never be as grand or beautiful as the ones held in Vynier.
Reaching the entrance doors, Carter spots Avie in the distance.
She’s picking a rose from the garden to take to Ericia. Carter
smiles; observing her. He walks over.
“I didn’t know you had such free time,” he says.
She stands and turns to him. “It’s not time spent being free,” she
replies, picking another rose, “I’m getting these for the Queen.”
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“Ah,” Carter says, nodding, “I’ve seen you picking flowers
many times over in the past weeks,” he says, “are they somewhat
ceremonial?”
“Ericia regularly fills a vase with her mother’s favourite flowers
–she finds it calming... and I suppose I understand the reasoning
behind it, too. It’s almost as if it’s a way of keeping her mother
alive.”
“Sentimental,” Carter says, “quite a Queen indeed.”
Avie studies the soldier. “Where... are you off to, might I ask?”
“Oh,” Carter says, beaming, “I intend to go into the city today.
There are some people I must meet. Family, to be specific.”
“Oh,” Avie says, “you have family here? How wonderful! I
suppose it must have been difficult keeping in contact with them,
being in separate kingdoms and all...”
“I’ve written a couple of letters,” Carter says, scratching his
head in indifference, “But after a while the responses ceased and
the letter-writing stopped altogether. Truthfully, it’s been years
since I’ve seen them.”
Avie laughs but then frowns. “That’s terrible,” she says, “but I
suppose you do know where they are, right?”
Carter laughs a nervous laugh and looks down at his boots.
“Actually,” he says, “I don’t even know what they look like
anymore.”
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Avie almost drops her hand full of roses. “How, sir- There must
be someone who knows them. What village did they live in? What
is the title of the family? Perhaps I can help.”
“You can?” Carter asks, hopeful.
“Well, my mother is a servant –she was the servant of the late
Queen. She was always in the village. She must know every family
title there by now! I’m sure I can ask for her help.”
Carter’s hazel eyes beam brightly. “Well, if you can then please,
by all means, do so. I would greatly appreciate it.”
“My mother may be free to help you today, but then again, she
might not,” Avie says, biting her lips. “With all the guests we have
to attend to and all...”
Carter shakes his head, “I understand. Even if I do not find my
family today, I intend to go into the village for goods anyway. I
would simply love to take back to Phillimont some artefacts from
Vynier.”
“Then let me not keep you here,” Avie says, waving him off.
He laughs, waving back at her, turning and beginning to walk
off. “Oh,” he says, “They’re title is Callie. If you can find out their
whereabouts for me, I would be ever so grateful.”
“Callie?” Avie asks, “Alright, I shall see to it...” he starts
walking off again, “How are they related to you?” Avie shouts.
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“My uncle, aunt and first cousins!” he says, almost bouncing on
his steps as he disappears down the path and away from the palace.
“Callie,” Avie feels the word at the tip of her tongue.
At first, it doesn’t cross her mind that the name is familiar.
Something inside her goes sour as she wonders where it came
from.
Callie... she thinks... why is it so...?
When Avie finally realises it, her eyes go wide. She gasps,
bringing her hand up to her neck and almost choking herself;
unable to breathe. She stares at the empty path taken by the
soldier.
C... C... Callie?
***
A servant girl stands before Queen Ericia. She is sitting in herstudy with no other souls around but the two of theirs.
“You are aware that you can be punished terribly for your
crime, are you not?” Ericia asks, sternly.
The girl, frightened, says nothing. Ericia stares at her, raising a
brow in amusement, almost wanting to smirk.
“Your Majesty,” says the girl, bowing quickly, “I... I’m terribly
sorry. Please spare me!”
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Earlier, Ericia had burst through the doors of the study to find
this girl digging into the golden box hidden in the drawer of the
table her mother’s flower vase and ashes stand on. The golden box
holds some of the late queen’s miniature belongings such as
significant pieces of jewellery given to her by her own mother and
father. Ericia found the servant girl with a silver chain and a
golden ring in hand, and though Ericia had already gone off, raging
in anger about it to the cowering girl, she formulated in her head a
plan and stopped yelling almost immediately as she thought about
it.
“If I spare you,” Ericia says, “then you owe me a favour.”
The servant girl begins to cry. “Anything, My Queen.”
“If you had said that you wanted these precious pieces to buy
something necessary, I would have forgiven you easily, Miss
Lydia,” Ericia says, running her thumb along the silver chain in her
hand and the gold ring she had put around her finger, “but you
were bold enough to say it was an attempt made to boast to your
friends that you’re brave enough to complete something as utterly
immature as a dare. I’m disappointed.”
“I know, My Queen,” Lydia says, “I truly am sorry. Please
forgive me. I’ve committed a grave sin.”
“I can forgive you, but there’s something I need you to do,”
Ericia says, “if you want to show that you really have the guts to
do something truly daunting, that is...”
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Lydia looks up at the Queen, whose face is overcome with
mischief.
“My Queen?” Lydia asks, puzzled.
Ericia clears her throat, rests the pieces of jewellery on the seat
and stands. She walks towards Lydia. “The King has five food
tasters who try his meals before him to ensure that he is never met
with harm,” Ericia says. “They are randomly chosen to serve as the
last servant every single day, and because of that they are of course
very unsure about who serves the king directly.” Ericia pulls a
small, long, translucently brown vile from her long black sleeve
and shows it to the girl. “I will soon be in charge of the running of
the staff here, and I will be making a switch with new routines for
servants. Your job, little miss cunning, will be to use this.”
“What is it, Your Majesty?” asks Lydia, staring at the vile being
handed to her.
“It is a remedy formulated especially for the king. As I’m pretty
sure you’ve heard, my father, though constantly on the run, has
not been well. Such a remedy will do both him and the kingdom
some good,” Ericia says, walking back to her seat, “if I may say
so.”
“Am I to use the entire vile?” Lydia asks, staring at the bottle.
“With every cup of tea my father drinks, and with every bowl
of soup, pour one drop into it. It is quite a concentrated thing,
that bloody thing. Smells awful. There’s nothing like it, I’ll tell
you... but it ought to work. Don’t make it known to him that this
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is the serum being used. He quite hates the thing and has never
fancied taking a drink once he knows it is in it.”
Lydia says nothing; she stands there staring at the liquid in the
vile until Ericia finds her too curious to cure.
“Remember, Miss Lydia,” Ericia says; her stern tone steady,
“this is what you must do in order not to be punished. If you can
face the king, young one, you can do anything. If you truly want
something to be proud about, use this opportunity. You would
save a nation by saving a king. Is that not noble enough?”
Lydia bows. “I understand, My Queen. I will do my best as your
servant.”
Ericia nods and dismisses the girl with an unamused wave of the
hand, watching her retreat through the doors. As they shut, Ericia
breathes a long sigh out, releasing anxiety she hadn’t shown
building up.
***
On the first morning of the Flower Festival, Prince Rowan is upbefore the sun rises, fencing with a soldier from Phillimont who
had just completed his patrol shift. The sound of distant grunting
and groaning could be heard echoing all the way into Princess
May’s room –to which May responds by waking up annoyed and
calling in her servant to prepare the bath.
Citizens of Vynier are already awake –even in the darkness
people had begun to light candles and prepare instruments, bake
cakes, pastries and delicacies and wrap gifts which they would
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exchange with others. The best garments are prepared, also, and
children awake eagerly awaiting the sunrise when the music will
begin.
Ericia’s maids arrive an hour earlier than normal to prepare her.
When she wakes up, she can barely understand what’s happening
around her, being moved from the bed to the bathroom where she
is left to herself to fully wake up in a bath full of fragrances and
then return to her room to change.
Ericia looks stunning. Her gown is white, and all around the
skirt is sewn shining, golden roses onto the fabric, making the
dress itself look like a glimmering flower. It’s got long, lacy
sleeves, the heart line at the front exposing slight cleavage. A
golden crown mimicking a flower crown entirely made from
golden coloured wire-bent roses lies at the top of her head. When
she’s finished with hair and makeup, she herself looks as beautiful
as a flower in bloom. Avie even tells her she looks like a fairy –
that if such things could exist they would do mythical creatures as
such no justice in the presence of such a radiant queen.
Today, Ericia will be going out into the Hyre Village for the
celebration with her father, accompanied by the Princes and the
Princess.
At breakfast, Ericia scarcely glances at the handsome princes –
Rowan clearly staring her way and Henry fighting not to- and the
quite disagreeable princess. By the time breakfast is over, all
Royals are eager to make their way out of the palace and breathe a
bit of the village air.
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The carriages move away from the palace, and it’s the first time
Ericia is able to ride with the other Royals –able to see where she
is going and who she will meet.
Ericia can already hear the shouting and the music, even from
far away. When the carriages stop at the village centre, there is
already a crowd waiting there, tables upon tables filled with
foods, drinks, and gifts are laid out, and the owners of these give
their prizes out without thinking about the cost of things.
To the people of Vynier, the Flower Festival was a time of joy
and celebration to welcome the Spring. It was a time in which the
King made most of his promises –ones which he would later on
fulfil, and please the people so that they continue to believe in
him.
Ericia is expecting to experience the fullness of the celebrations,
and so when King Charles instructs her to come out of the
carriage and shows her off to the people, Ericia smiling brightly
and being welcomed with cheers, she is overwhelmed by the
beauty of it all; the people, the decor, the smell of the foods and
the pretty gifts laid out. Ericia almost cries.
Celebrations commence. There is dancing, singing, instrumental
acts, jugglers, story-tellers, some acrobats, and even a boat race
done by the children of the village near a river. Ericia experiences
it all, revelling in the excitement.
Henry stays low throughout the celebration, and though he is
quite content in seeing the people so happy, he remains indifferent
about being with the group of Royals. Looking at Ericia, Henry
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realises that the more he dares to stare at her, the more he wants
to stay.
May notices Henry observing the Queen as she claps excitably
for the first boat that has crossed the finish line at the end of the
race. As the crowds cheer and Ericia laughs, welcoming the
winner into her arms for a hug, Henry... actually... smiles. He
smiles until he spots Rowan walking towards Ericia. He smiles
until the Betrothed Prince brings the Queen into a hug and
squeezes her. The smile on Ericia’s face hasn’t faded as she quickly
takes into his arms. Henry’s face becomes neutral once more, and
he falls behind the crowd, wanting to return to his carriage and
head back to the palace.
While walking away, there is a loud crash near the marketplace
across the river. Prince Henry stops, startled along with everyone
else by the sound. He turns abruptly, looking to see what had
happened.
From out of the marketplace, a crowd of children, teenagers and
adults walk out in torn and dirty clothes, their faces filled with
dirt, their skin clearly calloused, their bodies thin and weak.
The crowd of celebrating villagers goes silent as they observe
the strange looking people from across the river.
Ericia stares at the people, horrified at the sight of the reality
buried behind the celebration.
Not long after the silence falls, one of the weak children across
the river begins to sing.
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“They have done nothing,
They have done nothing,
They have done nothing for us...
Your Highness, we’re dying,
We’re starving and crying,
Does nobody care to save us?”
The other members of the group repeat this verse, becoming a
choir of weak voices which quickly become drowned by the
laughter of the individuals of the Hyre Village standing beside
Ericia.
Ericia, overdosing on sadness at the voices of the broken people,
doesn’t stop listening to them as they attempt to sing louder and
louder and draw nearer to the bank of the river.
“We’re left in the mud,
We’re left to the sod,
Nothing but paupers on street corners...
On nothing we’re feeding
Our children, they’re needing
We pray mercy for our sons and daughters...”
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Prince Henry listens to the song, having remembered the first
stop he had made in Vynier when he arrived. He had heard
something similar –the passage from Phillimont into Vynier meant
he had to pass through the city of the lowest caste of Vynierian
citizens. Upon his stop he had heard the people singing weakly as
they are now. The words of the song sung then echo in his head as
he slows his way forward through the crowd.
“...Oh Princess, Oh Princess, your people are distressed
So royal so fair, are you...
... Oh Princess, oh Princess, your people confess that
We have no faith left in you...”
The song had gone on to describe may terrible things –about
how the people had never seen the royals –about how the people
had never seen their princess’ face –about how the royals have
done nothing for them –about how useless they feel alive when
they could be better off dead... Henry had gathered a strong
opinion about Princess Ericia, seeing firsthand the damage in the
nation. Prince Henry, pushing his way through the crowd, finds
Ericia, standing beside the children who had finished their boat
race. She’s motionless; speechless; left in shock. Henry is sure that
Ericia had never seen the people look so poorly –never seen them
so weak, so hungry, so desperate.
Their eyes tell the tales of many sad days and many hardships.
Ericia’s eyes well up with tears. She almost falls as she attempts to
walk backwards.
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The singing continues, but soon enough, one of the members of
the broken choir starts to make his way down the river in an
attempt to cross the stream.
King Charles moves in, yelling to instruct guards to take charge
of the situation.
Rowan pulls Ericia by the wrist –Henry watches- and Ericia only
slightly grimaces at the grip as she’s pulled away, tears dropping
onto her dress as she’s almost pushed back into the carriage and
the door is locked.
King Charles makes a quick statement and commands all royal
carriages and servants to make their ways back to the palace.
In the carriage, Avie watches Ericia –whose face had gone
expressionless, tears still dripping down her cheeks. Avie pulls the
cloth down the carriage window and shuts all the light out. The
sounds of shouting overcome the lower casted people and Ericia
suspects that there are more now than she saw before she was
pushed into the carriage. She can hear the screaming, the
obscenities, the hate in their voices as their yell in hatred and
anger. Ericia cries in silence. Avie says nothing.
***
It is dinner time back in the palace. Ericia pokes at her food,finding it undesirable to eat. She wants to push the plate off the
table –along with all of the other pieces of fine china- and scream,
ripping her clothes apart, but instead she sits and sighs, the
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haunting voices of the destitute citizens echoing in the depths of
her mind –loudly.
When Rowan realises that Ericia isn’t eating, he clears his throat
and speaks, being quick to point it out in concern. “Ericia,” he
says, “the steak is exceptional. You’re missing out by simply
poking the heat out of it.”
Ericia hears him, but she doesn’t bother listening. She doesn’t
respond. She continues to poke at the food.
“Ericia,” May says in an innocent whine, “What’s wrong, my
dear, have you lost your appetite?” She pouts.
Ericia doesn’t look up at May.
Ericia waits. Perhaps her father will say something. Perhaps he’d
slam his hand onto the table –or stab his fork into the wood, and
yell at her in front of everyone. Perhaps he’d finally scorn her.
He’d say all sorts of hurtful things that would embarrass her and
end dinner by storming out of the room, having left his food
uneaten.
Instead he sits in silence, ignoring her –and the concerns of the
Wright royals- entirely.
Eventually, Ericia forces herself to eat a few slices of the meat,
and soon after this, she excuses herself from the dinner table.
Immediately heading up to her room, Ericia practically thrusts
herself into the bathroom and throws up the little she had
managed to swallow, into the toilet.
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She collapses to her knees and kneels there, eventually flushing
the toilet and dragging herself over to the sink. She inhales...
exhales... inhales... exhales... and forces herself to stand up to
look at her reflection in the mirror before her.
Suddenly Ericia convinces herself that the person she’s looking
at in the mirror is not her, but a young woman who is incapable of
doing anything. Before anything worse could physically happen to
her, she can already spot her own cheekbones stretching the skin
on her face; she can spot the dark under eye bags and the dead
gaze.
Ericia’s hands begin to shake. The voices –the voices of
desperation won’t leave.
Something penetrates Ericia within the forefront of her head and
she immediately collapses, having to fight for the strength to drag
herself out of the bathroom and into her bedroom where she then
throws herself onto her bed and knocks out cold.
***
King Charles bursts into Ericia’s room, hardly even startling herbefore his hands grip around her neck and squeeze tightly.
“Did you really think you could get away from me?!” he yells
into her face.
Where are the maids? Ericia wonders... Where are the guards?
“Did you really think you could go to Lystotia? Did you really
believe I would allow you to?” says the King.
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Ericia recalls the time she had told Rowan she would love to go
with him to his own kingdom. She definitely won’t go even if she
could. How could she leave her own kingdom after seeing the
state of it; she hadn’t seen half of the problem yesterday.
Her father’s hand over her throat tightens yet again, and she
begins to hear the songs... those terrible truths....
When Ericia finally goes unconscious from an inability to
breathe, she actually wakes up, and Avie is in her room, at the end
of her bed; mortified at the sight of the awakened Queen.
“Eri...” Avie whispers, the candle on the table beside her,
flickering across the dark room. “Are you awake? Are you okay?
It’s alright... it was just a dream...”
Ericia sits up promptly, pushing herself backwards to lean
against the wall behind her. She grabs the blanket, biting and
screaming into it.
“What happened? What’s causing these bad dreams? There is
nothing more frightening than the shrill cries of a disturbed
Queen.”
“Avie...” Ericia says, too lowly to be heard, “I can’t take it
anymore.”
“What?” Avie asks.
“I cannot take it anymore!”