“Kill me.”
The words left his lips before she could register them. This boy-a complete stranger-faced her with sullen eyes and placed a blade in her hand. The convoluted symbols along the handle seemed to glow at her touch.
“Corvus,” the name left her lips, but she did not know it. An overwhelming sense of finality crushed her gut, and she knew; he had to die by her hand. What she didn’t understand was why.
The boy, Corvus, fell to his knees. “Make it quick.”
Hands-her hands reached out to cup his pale face, careful with the knife as her vision blurred. She didn’t know why she was crying. Why did her heart ache so much for this boy? His azure eyes transported her to a moon lit ocean overcast with an oncoming storm. She found herself becoming lost in the never-ending waves, not hearing the angry voices from the woods around them.
“Aria,” Corvus spoke gently, his voice was smooth, like gliding over a cloud. “Kill me.”
The blade felt heavy in her hand. Lifting the dagger, her tears finally poured free down her cheeks. A blinding light overcame them and suddenly, she woke up.
163Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYcdaRp3ebG
Aria had never liked the winter.
As the carriage drew to a sudden halt, rousing her from the strange dream, she became painfully aware of the snowstorm outside. She shuddered at the thought of her future. This would be her life for the next three days-nothing but winter. Drawing her heavy fur cloak closer, she pulled back the silk curtain and flagged one of her escorts to the window.
The knight in heavy golden armor, adorned with the Griffins head-her father’s crest, steered his dark steed straight to her. He was young, only a year younger than her. She remembered how she had pouted for weeks when her father assigned him as her personal guard. She needed no such thing, yet, succumbed to her father’s demands. “Yes, Princess?”
Aria’s father was the Prime King of Beryl. Signifying in representation of all Beryl stood for; Peace, Justice, and Freedom-her house words.
She forced a smile to her lips. “Nestorius, might you be able to tell me why we have stopped?”
Nestorius craned his neck to peek further inside the carriage, at her younger sister, who still slept against the other door. Aria would be the first to admit Nestorius was a handsome man. His bright golden hair, amber eyes and dark, sun-kissed skin, could make any maiden weak in the knees. At most, any maiden who hadn’t seen him before he came of age; when his face was littered with red welts and his body produced the foulest of smells. It was no secret that all his life, Varick Nestorius had always fancied the youngest princess.
His voice was deep and almost melodic, nothing like it had been only a year ago. “There is debris blocking the road ahead, Princess, we must clear it before the carriage can go any further.”
Seraya turned in her sleep. Somehow, the younger girl had managed to unclip the pin holding her thick locks together. The poor girl was shivering through her blanket. Aria withdrew her cloak and tucked it around her little sister. Yes, she hated the cold, but she hated seeing Seraya cold more.
Aria smoothed her emerald travel clothes-a green silk gunna with fur lining along the inside. A parting gift from her father. Though she would have preferred simple trousers and a tunic, but as a princess, her family’s pride was reflected by her very existence-everything about her was being watched and judged. Everything-down to her pale skin, the size of her breasts, the way her snow white hair nearly reached her knees when down, or the length of her braid when it was up. Yes, of all the beauty Aria knew she had, her albinism withdrew any attraction to her.
“Prepare my horse and take me to this obstruction,” She spoke softly but with authority, as a princess should.
Nestorius would not argue with her, and she knew it. As a member of the Alita family, Aria was more than a force to be reckoned with. He swiftly rode to the back of the cavalcade to retrieve one of the two horses gowned in golden saddles. The horse Aria’s father had given her for her twelfth Birth Year, Timber, was a beautiful oaken brown color, with wavy white hair.
The Alita curse will be your blessing, Valery, Aria’s governess, had once told her. The Northern kingdoms were populated heavily with ancient magic. Aria had spent her entire life mastering the arcane arts of her people in hopes to one day rule as queen. She had never been very skilled with people, but animals and creatures alike called to her very soul. She could feel the presence of the horses around her, hear the fauns by the stream in the distance, and see what the soaring raven saw. The Souths disdain for her kind, by merely stepping out of the safety of her carriage, rotted her heart.
As Nestorius helped her mount Timber, she inhaled a big whiff of Sardathelian air; malice and misery were all she could smell. Her limbs cried with pleasure as she stretched them out. Remembering her place and why she was in Sardathel to begin with, Aria tapped Timber’s sides with her heels, and he shot forward.
The kings castle loomed over the whole city; a symbol of the power King Vital believed he held. But under the shadow of her fathers might, she knew he was nothing more than a bug, and her father was the boot. The path through the gray kingdom was cut off abruptly, right before the palace gates. A carriage had been overturned. Only, it was no ordinary carriage. The crest on the door was familiar to her, the House of the Raven-the Gorat family.
As she approached, she noticed the black steel carriage was empty. She turned to Nestorius, who followed her dutifully. “Was there anyone inside the carriage?”
“I’m not sure, Your Grace,” he said. “This envoy was bearing a gift for the young prince-a fairy candle-”
“-Lord Hafixir sent an entire envoy to deliver a candle?”
Aria’s cheeks burned. She was overcome with hatred for the wealthy who flaunted their wealth. Yes, her family was wealthy, but the Alita’s took no pride in showing it off. They were simple, only spending what was necessary to keep up with social standards. The Gorat’s on the other hand, were known to be the wealthiest family in all Beryl-even more rich than the Alita’s. They owned the largest bank system throughout the eight kingdoms.
Nestorius became flustered and fumbled over his words. How could he answer her? It was not his place to judge as nobles did. Aria did not press the situation further, and instead rode around the wreckage just as the commoners were hoisting a large, wrapped box back up the hill. The package could easily have filled an entire carriage itself, she now understood how everything had tipped over on the uneven slope of the road. Timber was having a hard time keeping his balance as his feet slipped on the gravel.
With a heavy, heartfelt sigh, she reached out to the carriage with her mind. She imagined a crane hoisting the heavy metal into the air. The Common folk, all with dark hair and ghostly faces, turned to watch in awe as the carriage creaked and groaned, righting itself.
Next, she reached out to the earth below her, pulling it upwards to level out the road, she could not risk her sister falling down the hill and crashing into the common houses. The overturned carriage seemed to work with a mind of its own, basking in the violet glow of her magic as the golden hinges and wheels popped back into place.
Aria could feel hundreds of eyes on her as she marched Timber pass the Gorat’s gift-bearing carriage and through the silver gates of High Stone Castle. The stone building was caked in ice and snow. Though it was sizably big in comparison to most other kingdoms, Aria was not impressed by the mighty square buildings and spiraling towers. She missed the golden halls of her home, the bright sun, and the scent of the sea. This place felt like a cage to her. Void of happiness and freedom.
A colossal shadow emerged from beyond the thick stone walls. The air-ship bore the Gorat crest on the black cloud full of air. She could practically feel the Aether radiating off the ship as it touched down in the quart yard. Timber nickered nervously as the air released in every direction as the engine sputtered to a stop.
At the helm of the ship stood Lord Hafixir, A pudgy man with a gaunt face. His nose was large and hooked, his hair thin and bright, with sharp cheekbones and brown eyes beneath a heavy brow. Behind him stood two boys. The older son, Aria recognized as Lyle Gorat. He had made appearances in too many of her fathers courts for her to not remember him. He and his father were almost identical, except he was built like a warrior. His skin was pasty and gray, but his face was beautiful, almost timeless. Lyle’s eyes locked with hers and his face broke out into a toothy grin. Aria felt the blush filling her cheeks.
She assumed the boy standing behind Lyle was his younger brother. His sharp features and lean build immediately caught her eye. Though his appearance was beyond different from the two, there was still the vague similarity of his long face and high cheekbones. His hair was hardly a shade lighter than Seraya’s. It was under shaven, shoulder-length locks fell over his face. His eyes were a color that should never be hidden from sight. Pale blue and focused on the ground in front of him, even as his father lead them off the airship, he did not look up once. To Aria, it felt as if he was afraid to meet her gaze.
As she dismounted Timber, her knees buckled. The younger boy-she had seen him before. The blue of his eyes, the curve of his cheeks-she remembered it all in a sudden rush that winded her. This boy-was the same boy she had dreamt of-the one she was meant to kill.
Aria couldn’t recall what she had called him in her dream. His eyes were darker then, his hair longer, but she became surer it was him with every passing second. She found herself smoothing her dress and fixing her hair, which had been pulled into loose strands from the lashing winter winds around her.
Lord Hafixir did not hesitate to welcome his presence upon her. Try as she might, Aria knew she would not be able to avoid the oncoming conversation. Lord Hafixir bowed as low as his gut would let him, both boys following his example. “Princess Aria, what a welcoming sight we’ve arrived to. I’m certain you remember my son, Lyle?”
Lyle leaned forward, planting a kiss to her hand. Aria had to force herself not to gag at the gesture. Pretending to be cordial, despite her desire to run away screaming, She gave a lazy curtsy. “How could I forget, My Lord? It is a pleasure to see you too were invited Lord Lyle, it has been months since we last saw each other. Lady Gweneth is still in good health, I hope?”
Hafixir’s eyes told her all she needed to know, and her heart dropped. Lady Gweneth Gorat was always kind to her. Unfortunately, the late Lady was cursed a few summers before by a Bogart, which had caused her health to decline rapidly. It dawned on her that with Gweneth’s passing, Hafixir would be looking for a new Lady Gorat. If not for himself, then for one of his sons.
“And who is this? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Aria wished to be anywhere else but in that courtyard, no amount of tutoring or formal etiquette could prepare her for such a conversation. She cursed herself for bringing the matter up. Changing the topic was the only way out she saw.
“This is my youngest son, Corvus,” The young lord’s eyes finally lifted to meet hers at his father’s words. Aria felt a shock rush down her spine, nestling in the pit of her stomach. A good kind of tingle was left in its stead as wave after wave washed over her. His gaze beckoned her darkest desires to surface. She felt almost unbecoming of her title in his presence. Corvus, dressed in a black formal surcoat with a woven pattern of purple thread along the sleeves, bowed low. Holding himself in a downward position until Aria dismissed the action.
“As much as I am enjoying our chat, Lord Hafixir. I have had a very long journey and should like to clean up before tonight’s festivities,” Aria practically tore her gaze from Corvus. His silent demeanor made him all the more interesting to her. She found herself unable to remember the sound of his voice from his dream, yet she desired to hear it.
The Lord waved her off with an almost unacceptable bow of his head. Aria was too tired to address the blatant disrespect towards her in that moment and excused herself from the two younger lords.
Her boots clicked as she left Timber to Nestorius, who had only just entered the courtyard. Two guards in dark armor became rigid as she approached the castle-A complex assortment of cold gray brick and shimmering glass. Her breath came out in thick, white puffs.
Aria entered the foyer and sighed, content with the heat that embraced her when the entrance doors finally closed. It occurred to her that Seraya was still in the carriage, but she held faith in Nestorius to see her safely inside. She squinted to make out shapes in the dimly lit room. In every direction, heavy wooden doors loomed over her, closed as if to trap the cold outside.
She felt slightly offended that no one had come to greet her yet, not even a servant. But she knew they must be very busy-too busy to greet their future Prime Queen. Her violet eyes shifted to study the intricately carved panels that stretched to the ceiling, long silver drapes swaying hypnotically. She was so entrapped in the sight, she failed to notice when the door on her right swung open.
A soft cough drew her attention to a young servant girl. The child wore a simple white dress and a silver kerchief over her dark hair. Aria struggled to hold gazes with the girls yellow-brown eyes. The servant rushed to her knees, bowing her head to the cold stone floor.
“I beg y’ forgive mi tardens’, Your Grace! I accept any pun’sh’nt you wahnt!” Her Boarrunian accent was thick, like the braid flowing down her back.
Aria’s gut twisted, no doubt this girl was from the slave stocks. It was no secret that Sardathel partook in the underground black market. Bidding on everything from stolen property to human beings. Her heart reached out to the girl-who was probably stolen from her family when she was only a babe.
“Please,” Aria pulled the child to her feet. “That is not necessary.”
The girl’s eyes were wide and visibly showed her confusion. “Buh’ you ‘ere waitin’, mi ‘Lady?”
Aria smiled gently. “You can make it up to me with a name.”
“Makki,” She bowed. “Mi’ name is Makki.”
“Well, Makki,” Aria bowed back-shocking the poor girl farther. “Would you be so kind as to show me to my room? I’m afraid I’ve had a long journey and would like to clean myself up before the prince’s feast.”
Makki bowed low and turned to the door she had come from. Aria could only just make out the kitchen full of servants, all with the same dark hair and skin as Makki. Their clothes were stained with mud and grime as they labored away at crafting the delicate dishes. All skin and bones-the same anger she had felt earlier flooded her once again as Makki lead her through the door to the left-away from the chaos of preparation.
In her father’s kingdom, Slavery was a serious crime-punishable by death. The servants and maids in her home were all well paid and cared for. They were equal to any civilian. She swore she’d make it a point that her father knows what Sardathel was doing. Though she doubted anything would be done. Her father was Prime King, yes, but he did not control the other kingdoms affairs-he simply regulated them to maintain the peace.
Aria followed Makki out of the foyer, ready for a long bath and perhaps a nap before the night’s festivities.
“Kill me.”
The words left his lips before she could register them. This boy-a complete stranger-faced her with sullen eyes and placed a blade in her hand. The convoluted symbols along the handle seemed to glow at her touch.
“Corvus,” the name left her lips, but she did not know it. An overwhelming sense of finality crushed her gut, and she knew; he had to die by her hand. What she didn’t understand was why.
The boy, Corvus, fell to his knees. “Make it quick.”
Hands-her hands reached out to cup his pale face, careful with the knife as her vision blurred. She didn’t know why she was crying. Why did her heart ache so much for this boy? His azure eyes transported her to a moon lit ocean overcast with an oncoming storm. She found herself becoming lost in the never-ending waves, not hearing the angry voices from the woods around them.
“Aria,” Corvus spoke gently, his voice was smooth, like gliding over a cloud. “Kill me.”
The blade felt heavy in her hand. Lifting the dagger, her tears finally poured free down her cheeks. A blinding light overcame them and suddenly, she woke up.
163Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEGxmJDo2py
Aria had never liked the winter.
As the carriage drew to a sudden halt, rousing her from the strange dream, she became painfully aware of the snowstorm outside. She shuddered at the thought of her future. This would be her life for the next three days-nothing but winter. Drawing her heavy fur cloak closer, she pulled back the silk curtain and flagged one of her escorts to the window.
The knight in heavy golden armor, adorned with the Griffins head-her father’s crest, steered his dark steed straight to her. He was young, only a year younger than her. She remembered how she had pouted for weeks when her father assigned him as her personal guard. She needed no such thing, yet, succumbed to her father’s demands. “Yes, Princess?”
Aria’s father was the Prime King of Beryl. Signifying in representation of all Beryl stood for; Peace, Justice, and Freedom-her house words.
She forced a smile to her lips. “Nestorius, might you be able to tell me why we have stopped?”
Nestorius craned his neck to peek further inside the carriage, at her younger sister, who still slept against the other door. Aria would be the first to admit Nestorius was a handsome man. His bright golden hair, amber eyes and dark, sun-kissed skin, could make any maiden weak in the knees. At most, any maiden who hadn’t seen him before he came of age; when his face was littered with red welts and his body produced the foulest of smells. It was no secret that all his life, Varick Nestorius had always fancied the youngest princess.
His voice was deep and almost melodic, nothing like it had been only a year ago. “There is debris blocking the road ahead, Princess, we must clear it before the carriage can go any further.”
Seraya turned in her sleep. Somehow, the younger girl had managed to unclip the pin holding her thick locks together. The poor girl was shivering through her blanket. Aria withdrew her cloak and tucked it around her little sister. Yes, she hated the cold, but she hated seeing Seraya cold more.
Aria smoothed her emerald travel clothes-a green silk gunna with fur lining along the inside. A parting gift from her father. Though she would have preferred simple trousers and a tunic, but as a princess, her family’s pride was reflected by her very existence-everything about her was being watched and judged. Everything-down to her pale skin, the size of her breasts, the way her snow white hair nearly reached her knees when down, or the length of her braid when it was up. Yes, of all the beauty Aria knew she had, her albinism withdrew any attraction to her.
“Prepare my horse and take me to this obstruction,” She spoke softly but with authority, as a princess should.
Nestorius would not argue with her, and she knew it. As a member of the Alita family, Aria was more than a force to be reckoned with. He swiftly rode to the back of the cavalcade to retrieve one of the two horses gowned in golden saddles. The horse Aria’s father had given her for her twelfth Birth Year, Timber, was a beautiful oaken brown color, with wavy white hair.
The Alita curse will be your blessing, Valery, Aria’s governess, had once told her. The Northern kingdoms were populated heavily with ancient magic. Aria had spent her entire life mastering the arcane arts of her people in hopes to one day rule as queen. She had never been very skilled with people, but animals and creatures alike called to her very soul. She could feel the presence of the horses around her, hear the fauns by the stream in the distance, and see what the soaring raven saw. The Souths disdain for her kind, by merely stepping out of the safety of her carriage, rotted her heart.
As Nestorius helped her mount Timber, she inhaled a big whiff of Sardathelian air; malice and misery were all she could smell. Her limbs cried with pleasure as she stretched them out. Remembering her place and why she was in Sardathel to begin with, Aria tapped Timber’s sides with her heels, and he shot forward.
The kings castle loomed over the whole city; a symbol of the power King Vital believed he held. But under the shadow of her fathers might, she knew he was nothing more than a bug, and her father was the boot. The path through the gray kingdom was cut off abruptly, right before the palace gates. A carriage had been overturned. Only, it was no ordinary carriage. The crest on the door was familiar to her, the House of the Raven-the Gorat family.
As she approached, she noticed the black steel carriage was empty. She turned to Nestorius, who followed her dutifully. “Was there anyone inside the carriage?”
“I’m not sure, Your Grace,” he said. “This envoy was bearing a gift for the young prince-a fairy candle-”
“-Lord Hafixir sent an entire envoy to deliver a candle?”
Aria’s cheeks burned. She was overcome with hatred for the wealthy who flaunted their wealth. Yes, her family was wealthy, but the Alita’s took no pride in showing it off. They were simple, only spending what was necessary to keep up with social standards. The Gorat’s on the other hand, were known to be the wealthiest family in all Beryl-even more rich than the Alita’s. They owned the largest bank system throughout the eight kingdoms.
Nestorius became flustered and fumbled over his words. How could he answer her? It was not his place to judge as nobles did. Aria did not press the situation further, and instead rode around the wreckage just as the commoners were hoisting a large, wrapped box back up the hill. The package could easily have filled an entire carriage itself, she now understood how everything had tipped over on the uneven slope of the road. Timber was having a hard time keeping his balance as his feet slipped on the gravel.
With a heavy, heartfelt sigh, she reached out to the carriage with her mind. She imagined a crane hoisting the heavy metal into the air. The Common folk, all with dark hair and ghostly faces, turned to watch in awe as the carriage creaked and groaned, righting itself.
Next, she reached out to the earth below her, pulling it upwards to level out the road, she could not risk her sister falling down the hill and crashing into the common houses. The overturned carriage seemed to work with a mind of its own, basking in the violet glow of her magic as the golden hinges and wheels popped back into place.
Aria could feel hundreds of eyes on her as she marched Timber pass the Gorat’s gift-bearing carriage and through the silver gates of High Stone Castle. The stone building was caked in ice and snow. Though it was sizably big in comparison to most other kingdoms, Aria was not impressed by the mighty square buildings and spiraling towers. She missed the golden halls of her home, the bright sun, and the scent of the sea. This place felt like a cage to her. Void of happiness and freedom.
A colossal shadow emerged from beyond the thick stone walls. The air-ship bore the Gorat crest on the black cloud full of air. She could practically feel the Aether radiating off the ship as it touched down in the quart yard. Timber nickered nervously as the air released in every direction as the engine sputtered to a stop.
At the helm of the ship stood Lord Hafixir, A pudgy man with a gaunt face. His nose was large and hooked, his hair thin and bright, with sharp cheekbones and brown eyes beneath a heavy brow. Behind him stood two boys. The older son, Aria recognized as Lyle Gorat. He had made appearances in too many of her fathers courts for her to not remember him. He and his father were almost identical, except he was built like a warrior. His skin was pasty and gray, but his face was beautiful, almost timeless. Lyle’s eyes locked with hers and his face broke out into a toothy grin. Aria felt the blush filling her cheeks.
She assumed the boy standing behind Lyle was his younger brother. His sharp features and lean build immediately caught her eye. Though his appearance was beyond different from the two, there was still the vague similarity of his long face and high cheekbones. His hair was hardly a shade lighter than Seraya’s. It was under shaven, shoulder-length locks fell over his face. His eyes were a color that should never be hidden from sight. Pale blue and focused on the ground in front of him, even as his father lead them off the airship, he did not look up once. To Aria, it felt as if he was afraid to meet her gaze.
As she dismounted Timber, her knees buckled. The younger boy-she had seen him before. The blue of his eyes, the curve of his cheeks-she remembered it all in a sudden rush that winded her. This boy-was the same boy she had dreamt of-the one she was meant to kill.
Aria couldn’t recall what she had called him in her dream. His eyes were darker then, his hair longer, but she became surer it was him with every passing second. She found herself smoothing her dress and fixing her hair, which had been pulled into loose strands from the lashing winter winds around her.
Lord Hafixir did not hesitate to welcome his presence upon her. Try as she might, Aria knew she would not be able to avoid the oncoming conversation. Lord Hafixir bowed as low as his gut would let him, both boys following his example. “Princess Aria, what a welcoming sight we’ve arrived to. I’m certain you remember my son, Lyle?”
Lyle leaned forward, planting a kiss to her hand. Aria had to force herself not to gag at the gesture. Pretending to be cordial, despite her desire to run away screaming, She gave a lazy curtsy. “How could I forget, My Lord? It is a pleasure to see you too were invited Lord Lyle, it has been months since we last saw each other. Lady Gweneth is still in good health, I hope?”
Hafixir’s eyes told her all she needed to know, and her heart dropped. Lady Gweneth Gorat was always kind to her. Unfortunately, the late Lady was cursed a few summers before by a Bogart, which had caused her health to decline rapidly. It dawned on her that with Gweneth’s passing, Hafixir would be looking for a new Lady Gorat. If not for himself, then for one of his sons.
“And who is this? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Aria wished to be anywhere else but in that courtyard, no amount of tutoring or formal etiquette could prepare her for such a conversation. She cursed herself for bringing the matter up. Changing the topic was the only way out she saw.
“This is my youngest son, Corvus,” The young lord’s eyes finally lifted to meet hers at his father’s words. Aria felt a shock rush down her spine, nestling in the pit of her stomach. A good kind of tingle was left in its stead as wave after wave washed over her. His gaze beckoned her darkest desires to surface. She felt almost unbecoming of her title in his presence. Corvus, dressed in a black formal surcoat with a woven pattern of purple thread along the sleeves, bowed low. Holding himself in a downward position until Aria dismissed the action.
“As much as I am enjoying our chat, Lord Hafixir. I have had a very long journey and should like to clean up before tonight’s festivities,” Aria practically tore her gaze from Corvus. His silent demeanor made him all the more interesting to her. She found herself unable to remember the sound of his voice from his dream, yet she desired to hear it.
The Lord waved her off with an almost unacceptable bow of his head. Aria was too tired to address the blatant disrespect towards her in that moment and excused herself from the two younger lords.
Her boots clicked as she left Timber to Nestorius, who had only just entered the courtyard. Two guards in dark armor became rigid as she approached the castle-A complex assortment of cold gray brick and shimmering glass. Her breath came out in thick, white puffs.
Aria entered the foyer and sighed, content with the heat that embraced her when the entrance doors finally closed. It occurred to her that Seraya was still in the carriage, but she held faith in Nestorius to see her safely inside. She squinted to make out shapes in the dimly lit room. In every direction, heavy wooden doors loomed over her, closed as if to trap the cold outside.
She felt slightly offended that no one had come to greet her yet, not even a servant. But she knew they must be very busy-too busy to greet their future Prime Queen. Her violet eyes shifted to study the intricately carved panels that stretched to the ceiling, long silver drapes swaying hypnotically. She was so entrapped in the sight, she failed to notice when the door on her right swung open.
A soft cough drew her attention to a young servant girl. The child wore a simple white dress and a silver kerchief over her dark hair. Aria struggled to hold gazes with the girls yellow-brown eyes. The servant rushed to her knees, bowing her head to the cold stone floor.
“I beg y’ forgive mi tardens’, Your Grace! I accept any pun’sh’nt you wahnt!” Her Boarrunian accent was thick, like the braid flowing down her back.
Aria’s gut twisted, no doubt this girl was from the slave stocks. It was no secret that Sardathel partook in the underground black market. Bidding on everything from stolen property to human beings. Her heart reached out to the girl-who was probably stolen from her family when she was only a babe.
“Please,” Aria pulled the child to her feet. “That is not necessary.”
The girl’s eyes were wide and visibly showed her confusion. “Buh’ you ‘ere waitin’, mi ‘Lady?”
Aria smiled gently. “You can make it up to me with a name.”
“Makki,” She bowed. “Mi’ name is Makki.”
“Well, Makki,” Aria bowed back-shocking the poor girl farther. “Would you be so kind as to show me to my room? I’m afraid I’ve had a long journey and would like to clean myself up before the prince’s feast.”
Makki bowed low and turned to the door she had come from. Aria could only just make out the kitchen full of servants, all with the same dark hair and skin as Makki. Their clothes were stained with mud and grime as they labored away at crafting the delicate dishes. All skin and bones-the same anger she had felt earlier flooded her once again as Makki lead her through the door to the left-away from the chaos of preparation.
In her father’s kingdom, Slavery was a serious crime-punishable by death. The servants and maids in her home were all well paid and cared for. They were equal to any civilian. She swore she’d make it a point that her father knows what Sardathel was doing. Though she doubted anything would be done. Her father was Prime King, yes, but he did not control the other kingdoms affairs-he simply regulated them to maintain the peace.
Aria followed Makki out of the foyer, ready for a long bath and perhaps a nap before the night’s festivities.
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