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They call me the Night Queen, with a heart as dark as the night itself. And as such, I will rule my future kingdom. No light shall ever touch my broken heart again.
On her twentieth birthday, the beautiful but arrogant Princess Mina von Rhine crosses the point of no return. Unwilling to be married off to a warmongering Northerner, she defies her father, the powerful King of the Rhine, and ridicules all her potential suitors.
Furious at her appalling behavior, her father vows he will give Mina's hand in marriage to the first unmarried man who walks through the palace gates—be it nobleman or beggar. And when an impoverished Northern soldier arrives at the castle the following day, the king stands by his word and offers Mina to him.
This ill-suggested match, however, might prove of use to Mina after all. The Northern soldier doesn’t seem too fond of the marriage himself, so Mina offers the handsome but insufferable warrior enormous riches if he helps her escape into the North.
But the journey through war-torn lands forces the princess to realize that if she can’t melt her frozen heart, marriage might be the least of her concerns.
On her twentieth birthday, the beautiful but arrogant Princess Mina von Rhine crosses the point of no return. Unwilling to be married off to a warmongering Northerner, she defies her father, the powerful King of the Rhine, and ridicules all her potential suitors.
Furious at her appalling behavior, her father vows he will give Mina's hand in marriage to the first unmarried man who walks through the palace gates—be it nobleman or beggar. And when an impoverished Northern soldier arrives at the castle the following day, the king stands by his word and offers Mina to him.
This ill-suggested match, however, might prove of use to Mina after all. The Northern soldier doesn’t seem too fond of the marriage himself, so Mina offers the handsome but insufferable warrior enormous riches if he helps her escape into the North.
But the journey through war-torn lands forces the princess to realize that if she can’t melt her frozen heart, marriage might be the least of her concerns.
Prologue
My seventh birthday was quite a spectacle. Cheerful music, dancers in colorful robes, and noble families from near and far. Exotic foods on a table as long as several horse carriages centered the great throne hall of my father, the mighty Rhine King. Mother and I were sitting right next to him at the head of his table. Noble families of the highest and lowest ranks chattered loudly. The women were showing off their silken dresses and new jewels as their husbands argued passionately about politics.I took another big bite of my chocolate cake and looked into the golden mirror on the wall across from me. My thick blonde hair was tied into an elegant braid, and I was wearing the new golden tiara my father had gifted me. It had a large, precious stone in its middle, sparkling crimson like a setting sun. I smiled as it slipped down my head to the left again, all the way over my ear. My mother, who was sitting next to me and my father, pushed the tiara back up as she rolled her beautiful green eyes.
“You spoil her, you know that,” she said to my father. “She has five of them in silver and three in gold already.” Nobody but my mother dared to talk to my father in this tone. He was one of the most powerful and richest kings in the lands known to men.
My father’s eyes grew soft the moment he lowered his golden wine glass and looked at my mother. He loved her dearly; the whole world knew it. And how could he not? She was by far the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, and, more importantly, she was just as kind and loving. Sometimes, I wondered if he loved me only because I looked like her. I worried one day I might wake up, find my face changed, and he would love me less. My father was a fair and just man, but he was feared for his cold and detached nature. Large, strong, and with a thick beard, he reminded me of a bear. But when it came to Mother and me, he was as soft as a lamb.
“She didn’t have one with a red diamond,” he said, a wide grin on his thin lips. My mother sighed as his large hand grabbed her small waist and pulled her close, including her chair. He whispered something into her ear, which made her smile and blush. She gently pushed him away. My father laughed at her reaction, the sound loud and jolly.
“You are impossible,” she scolded him, still smiling.
“Your Highness.” Stepping closer to the table were an elegantly dressed couple with two children, a boy maybe a few years older than me and a girl who looked to be on the cusp of womanhood. They were dressed in the finest silks, but the fact that they didn’t have seats close to my parents indicated they were of a lower rank.
They bowed, then the woman stepped forward.
“My son”—she pointed at the boy with hair as black as charcoal—“has a gift for your daughter to honor this fine day.”
I rose to my feet in excitement. Another gift. I had already received more than I could count that day, from the finest dresses to Asian dolls, but something told me this one would be special. Or perhaps there was simply something about this boy I liked.
“A gift?” I practically yelled.
“Mina!” my mother scolded. “Lower your voice—you are not selling fish at the market.”
The nobleman and his wife smiled.
“A snow-white foal,” the noblewoman continued. “It was bred from the finest lineage in our stables.”
My father scratched his beard. “You are Heinrich von Wilbrandt from the North, lord of the mighty mountains of Kulgrat, aren’t you? I hear your horses are so fast they could outrun the devil himself.”
The man smiled and bowed again. “You are too kind, Your Highness.”
My father nodded. “What a fine gift. You have my gratitude.”
“Father, can I go and see it?” I ran around my mother’s chair to grab his arm; it felt big in my little hands.
He leaned over to me. “As long as you promise to watch your dress in the stables. We don’t want to upset your mother—”
“Thank you!” I cut him off, and, being too eager to run around the long table, I crawled beneath it to join the Wilbrandt family.
“Follow me,” the Wilbrandt boy said and stormed off.
“Mina!” my mother called after me in shock, but the boy and I had already run off and disappeared into the festive crowd.
“What’s your name?” I asked him as we made it into the endless hallway, almost running into a servant carrying a tray with drinks.
“Excuse me!” I shouted as we reached the stairs that led into the courtyard and to the stables. Giggling, excited, the boy grabbed my hand.
“I’m Alrick, son of Heinrich von Wilbrandt, lord of the mighty mountains of Kulgrat,” he huffed as we descended the stairs. “This horse will be the finest you have ever seen.”
My feet felt as if they were floating on a breeze as we raced through the busy courtyard and into the stables, nearly colliding with Paul, one of the stable hands.
“Your Highness,” Paul said, a look of surprise on his face. I liked Paul. He knew everything about horses. And as strange as it was, his long face looked like one as well.
“Is it here?” I asked, hopping up and down.
Paul bowed and leaned his manure fork against the gray stone walls of the stable. “It is, Your Highness. This way.”
Paul led us past the many stalls occupied by both horses and donkeys. Without his guidance, it would have taken ages to find my present. Several servants were tending to the animals, from feeding to brushing them with handfuls of hay. He stopped in front of a stall near the end of the stable. He opened the stall and stepped aside to reveal a beautiful white mare with its small foal. The mother was eating hay while the foal was lying on the floor.
Carefully, Paul stepped inside and petted the white mare on its small but sturdy-looking neck. Alrick and I followed slowly, so as not to scare the little foal.
“Is it actually mine now?” I asked, placing a gentle hand on the foal’s forehead. It didn’t shy away from my touch.
“Yes,” Alrick said as he reached out his own hand to pet the foal.
The sound of metal hitting the floor startled the foal, and it jumped to its feet. Its shoulder collided with my chest as it hid behind its mother, and I fell backward.
Alrick jumped to my side, grabbing my elbow to pull me back up.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I looked at the tiara that had fallen off my head and was about to pick it up when Paul looked at me in utter shock.
“Your Highness.” Paul’s face was pale as he pointed at my hand. “You are bleeding!” I looked down at myself and immediately felt a burning sensation pulsating from an inch-long scratch in my palm.
“You again!” a man shouted from the direction the noise had come from. Paul, Alrick, and I stepped out of the stall to find a girl about my age surrounded by several servants. The girl was dressed in rags, and her face and arms were covered in dirt. She was clenching a few carrots and an apple tightly to her skinny chest.
“It’s the little thief from last week,” one of the younger stable boys said.
Paul made his way to the little girl, his hands balled into shaking fists.
“You little rat! Because of you, the princess is hurt!” He grabbed one of the many whips hanging from the walls.
“I’m so hungry.” The girl started crying as she fell to her knees.
Paul stepped in front of the girl and raised the whip high above his head. “This will teach you a lesson!” He brought the leather tassels down in a slashing movement, hitting her right on her chest. In a pitiful scream, the girl dropped the food to cover her head. Paul raised the whip again, his face twisted in anger, but just when he was about to strike again, I launched forward.
“Stop!” I shouted as I ran up to the little girl. Paul froze; all heads turned in my direction.
“Your Highness?” Paul asked, confused.
“I said stop it,” I repeated, grabbing the girl by her arm. It felt cold and bony. The color of her skin was of an unhealthy blue and white.
“She was just hungry,” I said. “You scared her!”
Suddenly I had an idea. I shot back up to my feet, rushing past Paul and Alrick into my foal’s stall. I looked for the tiara my father had given me and grabbed it from the hay-covered floor. Determined, I ran back to the girl.
“Here,” I said.
The little girl didn’t move. Her brown eyes scanned the crowd, briefly stopping at Paul.
“Your Highness,” Paul said, “you are kind, but—”
“Here,” I said again, interrupting Paul. I held the tiara even closer to her, right in front of her face. Her brown eyes locked on mine, and before anyone could say anything else, she grabbed the tiara and sprinted out of the stable, leaving the carrots and apple behind.
Paul shook his head, his face twisted in worry. “How are we to explain this to His Highness?”
Alrick walked up to me and grabbed my hand. I looked at him and, for the first time, realized that his eyes were as blue as the sky. Never had I seen eyes so blue.
“What a kind heart you have, Princess,” he said, squeezing my hand.
A warm, glowing feeling rose up in my chest as if the sun had risen inside me. I smiled at him.
“My mother,” he said, still looking at me, “always tells me that the gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.”
My smile widened as the warmth inside me grew. “You have more than one god?”
Alrick nodded.
“Well spoken, my lord,” Paul said, bowing his head.
I opened my mouth to thank Alrick for his praise, but before the words could form on my tongue, the hysteric voice of a maid echoed through the courtyard.
“The princess . . . where is the princess?”
I exchanged confused looks with Alrick and Paul as we all made our way out. The silver-haired woman was one of my mother’s maids. The moment her wide eyes found me, an icy-cold shiver replaced the warmth I had just felt.
“Your Highness!” the maid cried. “Come, quick. It’s your mother. There is no time left!”
Tears running down her cheeks, the maid stormed over to me and grabbed my wrist. Her fingers dug into my skin.
“Hurry, the queen, hurry,” she muttered as she dragged me back to the castle.
I had never felt so scared in my life. Out of all the things in this world, please, God, not her, I begged as I made my way up the stairs to my mother’s chambers.
I had no idea where Alrick was, but strangely enough, his words started running through my head like a galloping stallion.
The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.
I was taking the stairs two steps at a time in order to keep up with the maid.
The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.
Over and over again, I summoned those words like magic.
The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.
A painful heaviness pressed down on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I was burning up from the inside.
We turned around the corner into the hallway that led to my mother’s bedchamber. It was filled with hysterical maids and servants, all of them crying, some of them holding their heads in their hands in outright despair.
“The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first,” I shouted, jerking my hand out of the maid’s grasp. I had stopped walking, afraid to take another step.
“The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first,” I yelled at the maid as if screaming it might make it true.
But the moment I heard my father’s pitiful cry coming from my mother’s room, I knew that the phrase held no real power. And I vowed never to speak them again.
Chapter 1
I was sitting behind my gold-framed mirror at my gold-painted makeup table, staring at my reflection. My maid, Frida, towered behind me, arranging my hair into a stylish bun. As fashion dictated, I was wearing a light-pink silken dress with one of the new corsets that would shrink my already tiny waist considerably more.
“Is there something the matter with Her Highness today?” Frida asked. Her wrinkled hands shook a little. Lately, they always seemed to be shaking. She would soon be offered to retire and stay at the castle unless she chose to return to her hometown. She wrapped another of my golden curls up and pinned it in with a needle.
“No. Nothing is the matter.”
Yes. There is.
Frida nodded. Then frowned. “It wouldn’t be the matter of Her Highness’s eye color again, would it?”
I sighed as I looked at the dark brown of my eyes. Why did they have to be brown? My mother’s eyes were as green as grass. If I had her eyes, maybe Father would want to see me more often.
“I said no. There is nothing the matter,” I insisted. It had been almost thirteen years since that horrific birthday on which my mother had passed away so shockingly. The thought of another birthday looming gave me a headache.
“Good,” Frida said firmly. “So I won’t have to restate the fact, again, how much Her Highness resembles her beautiful mother. From her golden hair to her fine facial lines and graceful womanly body.”
I rolled my eyes. I regretted telling Frida about my problems with my eye color. And yet, Frida was one of the few people at the castle—maybe the whole kingdom—who wasn’t afraid of me. Most servants sent prayers of thanks to the heavens every time they escaped my presence without garnering my displeasure. It sometimes bothered me to be so hated, but not enough to pretend to care.
“Ouch!” I huffed as the needle in Frida’s shaking hand stabbed the back of my ear. I threw Frida’s old, sunken face a glare in the mirror, but she wasn’t looking at me. Instead, she was staring out the window.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” she said, her gaze still fixed outside.
“What is it?” I asked as my eyes followed hers out the tall glass window next to my makeup table. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see the courtyard as well as Frida did.
“Nothing, Your Highness, just another poor soul begging for work without success.”
“When will it ever stop?” I said. The war in the North between the northern king and his noble families had forced many of their people to flee south in hopes of a better life. Years of unresolved violence had littered other kingdoms with the poor and crippled begging for food in the streets. My father had implemented food and clothing programs through the churches, but even he was unable to keep up with the flood of misery.
“When will this horrid war finally end?” Frida mumbled, still looking out the window as raindrops started tapping against the glass. “It’s all these men posturing for power. When has a woman ever started something as gruesome as war?”
I remained silent.
“There you have it. That’s when it will stop,” Frida concluded. “When women have a voice.”
“Ouch,” I cried again, but this time, I pulled out from under Frida’s grip. Annoyed, I rose to my feet and walked up to the window. Frida stepped beside me. Out in the courtyard, under the falling rain, was a mother covered in filth. Two little boys held on to her hands, both children dressed in rags. Even in the rain, I could see the tears streaming down her pain-twisted face. One of our household aids—one of the cooks, most likely, judging by his weight—yelled something at the woman and threw his hands up and left. The woman grabbed both of her children and squeezed them against her legs in a clumsy embrace before turning and making her way over the enormous stone courtyard back toward the entrance gate. My chest tightened looking at her. She wasn’t wearing shoes.
Stop it! Control your feelings.
A sweet and kind princess, like the girl I had once been, would have said something empathetic. But this world had no place for sweet and kind people. Sweetness and kindness got you eaten alive.
“Your Highness,” a maid’s soft voice startled Frida and me.
I turned to see a young, freckled face carefully peeking through the door to my room, not daring to open it all the way. “What do you want?” I asked in a harsh tone.
“Y-your father, Your Highness. The king wishes t-to see you.”
Her stutter annoyed me, even if I was the cause for it. I threw her a curt nod with my chin held high. She bowed through the crack in the door and was about to leave, but I found myself stopping her.
“Wait.”
The maid froze, her face blank with fear.
“Y-yes, Your Highness?” She closed the door a little more, as if that would shield her from me. I let out a forced breath, returning to my seat at the makeup table. Half my curls were still hanging out.
“Oh, please do inconvenience yourself and step into my room when I’m addressing you, or don’t show your face in front of me ever again,” I said harshly. “It annoys me having to talk through a crack.”
The maid carefully opened the door all the way and bowed. “I apologize, Your Highness, p-please forgive me. I didn’t mean—” I could hear the tears in her voice. “I didn’t mean—”
“That woman,” I interrupted her, tired of hearing my maids crying, begging me to allow them to stay at the castle. Not once had I relieved any of them of their duties. Not even the most incompetent ones, like the one who had spilled hot soup all over me on not one but three occasions. Three!
The maid looked up at my reflection in the mirror. “What woman, Your Highness?”
“The one in the courtyard with the two little boys.”
The maid turned toward the window, which was now filled with droplets of rain.
“Go after her and offer her work.”
“E-excuse me?” the maid said.
“There was a woman in the courtyard asking for work. I want you to go after her and give her work.”
The maid and Frida exchanged looks.
“Work as what, Your Highness?” the maid asked, her tone almost a whisper. Frida, who had resumed torturing my head, cleared her throat.
“I think the girl is wondering as to where Your Highness would like to employ the woman. From the kitchen to the stables, the house has too many hands already.”
That was true. My father had filled the halls with desperate souls eager for work.
Frida frowned. “Your Highness is very kind but—”
“Kind?”
No! Not that word. No, no, no!
Against my will, the sentence that haunted my nightmares as much as my daydreams ran through my head.
The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.
And with the phrase came the images of my mother’s empty eyes staring into nothingness as her red, swollen face was robbed of its beauty during those last, desperate breaths.
“It has nothing to do with being kind,” I snapped at Frida. “More so with the uselessness of my current maids. Your hands are shaking like an earthquake, and whoever that is over there isn’t capable of entering a room properly.”
Silence set in. The maid by the door was trembling. They both knew better than to speak when I was upset. The Night Queen, the servants called me, with a heart as dark as the night itself. Maybe they were right.
“As far as I’m concerned, this woman is greatly needed. Now go,” I ordered the young maid, “before I give her your position, and it will be you journeying from town to town begging for work.”
The maid bowed, eyes wide in fear, then she twirled around and slammed the door behind her. The stomping sound of her feet echoed down the hallway as she ran as if her life depended on it. Which, in her mind, it did.
Frida sighed, then continued with my hair. “Are you quite finished, Your Highness?”
I frowned at her in the mirror. “Quite so.”
“Then let’s get you ready for your father. I will change the bun to the one your mother used to favor. It won’t take long.”
I let my silence be a sign of agreement. As much as I hated how it made me feel needy and weak, I did enjoy seeing my father. Even if those feelings hadn’t been mutual since the day my mother died.
My seventh birthday was quite a spectacle. Cheerful music, dancers in colorful robes, and noble families from near and far. Exotic foods on a table as long as several horse carriages centered the great throne hall of my father, the mighty Rhine King. Mother and I were sitting right next to him at the head of his table. Noble families of the highest and lowest ranks chattered loudly. The women were showing off their silken dresses and new jewels as their husbands argued passionately about politics.I took another big bite of my chocolate cake and looked into the golden mirror on the wall across from me. My thick blonde hair was tied into an elegant braid, and I was wearing the new golden tiara my father had gifted me. It had a large, precious stone in its middle, sparkling crimson like a setting sun. I smiled as it slipped down my head to the left again, all the way over my ear. My mother, who was sitting next to me and my father, pushed the tiara back up as she rolled her beautiful green eyes.
“You spoil her, you know that,” she said to my father. “She has five of them in silver and three in gold already.” Nobody but my mother dared to talk to my father in this tone. He was one of the most powerful and richest kings in the lands known to men.
My father’s eyes grew soft the moment he lowered his golden wine glass and looked at my mother. He loved her dearly; the whole world knew it. And how could he not? She was by far the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, and, more importantly, she was just as kind and loving. Sometimes, I wondered if he loved me only because I looked like her. I worried one day I might wake up, find my face changed, and he would love me less. My father was a fair and just man, but he was feared for his cold and detached nature. Large, strong, and with a thick beard, he reminded me of a bear. But when it came to Mother and me, he was as soft as a lamb.
“She didn’t have one with a red diamond,” he said, a wide grin on his thin lips. My mother sighed as his large hand grabbed her small waist and pulled her close, including her chair. He whispered something into her ear, which made her smile and blush. She gently pushed him away. My father laughed at her reaction, the sound loud and jolly.
“You are impossible,” she scolded him, still smiling.
“Your Highness.” Stepping closer to the table were an elegantly dressed couple with two children, a boy maybe a few years older than me and a girl who looked to be on the cusp of womanhood. They were dressed in the finest silks, but the fact that they didn’t have seats close to my parents indicated they were of a lower rank.
They bowed, then the woman stepped forward.
“My son”—she pointed at the boy with hair as black as charcoal—“has a gift for your daughter to honor this fine day.”
I rose to my feet in excitement. Another gift. I had already received more than I could count that day, from the finest dresses to Asian dolls, but something told me this one would be special. Or perhaps there was simply something about this boy I liked.
“A gift?” I practically yelled.
“Mina!” my mother scolded. “Lower your voice—you are not selling fish at the market.”
The nobleman and his wife smiled.
“A snow-white foal,” the noblewoman continued. “It was bred from the finest lineage in our stables.”
My father scratched his beard. “You are Heinrich von Wilbrandt from the North, lord of the mighty mountains of Kulgrat, aren’t you? I hear your horses are so fast they could outrun the devil himself.”
The man smiled and bowed again. “You are too kind, Your Highness.”
My father nodded. “What a fine gift. You have my gratitude.”
“Father, can I go and see it?” I ran around my mother’s chair to grab his arm; it felt big in my little hands.
He leaned over to me. “As long as you promise to watch your dress in the stables. We don’t want to upset your mother—”
“Thank you!” I cut him off, and, being too eager to run around the long table, I crawled beneath it to join the Wilbrandt family.
“Follow me,” the Wilbrandt boy said and stormed off.
“Mina!” my mother called after me in shock, but the boy and I had already run off and disappeared into the festive crowd.
“What’s your name?” I asked him as we made it into the endless hallway, almost running into a servant carrying a tray with drinks.
“Excuse me!” I shouted as we reached the stairs that led into the courtyard and to the stables. Giggling, excited, the boy grabbed my hand.
“I’m Alrick, son of Heinrich von Wilbrandt, lord of the mighty mountains of Kulgrat,” he huffed as we descended the stairs. “This horse will be the finest you have ever seen.”
My feet felt as if they were floating on a breeze as we raced through the busy courtyard and into the stables, nearly colliding with Paul, one of the stable hands.
“Your Highness,” Paul said, a look of surprise on his face. I liked Paul. He knew everything about horses. And as strange as it was, his long face looked like one as well.
“Is it here?” I asked, hopping up and down.
Paul bowed and leaned his manure fork against the gray stone walls of the stable. “It is, Your Highness. This way.”
Paul led us past the many stalls occupied by both horses and donkeys. Without his guidance, it would have taken ages to find my present. Several servants were tending to the animals, from feeding to brushing them with handfuls of hay. He stopped in front of a stall near the end of the stable. He opened the stall and stepped aside to reveal a beautiful white mare with its small foal. The mother was eating hay while the foal was lying on the floor.
Carefully, Paul stepped inside and petted the white mare on its small but sturdy-looking neck. Alrick and I followed slowly, so as not to scare the little foal.
“Is it actually mine now?” I asked, placing a gentle hand on the foal’s forehead. It didn’t shy away from my touch.
“Yes,” Alrick said as he reached out his own hand to pet the foal.
The sound of metal hitting the floor startled the foal, and it jumped to its feet. Its shoulder collided with my chest as it hid behind its mother, and I fell backward.
Alrick jumped to my side, grabbing my elbow to pull me back up.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I looked at the tiara that had fallen off my head and was about to pick it up when Paul looked at me in utter shock.
“Your Highness.” Paul’s face was pale as he pointed at my hand. “You are bleeding!” I looked down at myself and immediately felt a burning sensation pulsating from an inch-long scratch in my palm.
“You again!” a man shouted from the direction the noise had come from. Paul, Alrick, and I stepped out of the stall to find a girl about my age surrounded by several servants. The girl was dressed in rags, and her face and arms were covered in dirt. She was clenching a few carrots and an apple tightly to her skinny chest.
“It’s the little thief from last week,” one of the younger stable boys said.
Paul made his way to the little girl, his hands balled into shaking fists.
“You little rat! Because of you, the princess is hurt!” He grabbed one of the many whips hanging from the walls.
“I’m so hungry.” The girl started crying as she fell to her knees.
Paul stepped in front of the girl and raised the whip high above his head. “This will teach you a lesson!” He brought the leather tassels down in a slashing movement, hitting her right on her chest. In a pitiful scream, the girl dropped the food to cover her head. Paul raised the whip again, his face twisted in anger, but just when he was about to strike again, I launched forward.
“Stop!” I shouted as I ran up to the little girl. Paul froze; all heads turned in my direction.
“Your Highness?” Paul asked, confused.
“I said stop it,” I repeated, grabbing the girl by her arm. It felt cold and bony. The color of her skin was of an unhealthy blue and white.
“She was just hungry,” I said. “You scared her!”
Suddenly I had an idea. I shot back up to my feet, rushing past Paul and Alrick into my foal’s stall. I looked for the tiara my father had given me and grabbed it from the hay-covered floor. Determined, I ran back to the girl.
“Here,” I said.
The little girl didn’t move. Her brown eyes scanned the crowd, briefly stopping at Paul.
“Your Highness,” Paul said, “you are kind, but—”
“Here,” I said again, interrupting Paul. I held the tiara even closer to her, right in front of her face. Her brown eyes locked on mine, and before anyone could say anything else, she grabbed the tiara and sprinted out of the stable, leaving the carrots and apple behind.
Paul shook his head, his face twisted in worry. “How are we to explain this to His Highness?”
Alrick walked up to me and grabbed my hand. I looked at him and, for the first time, realized that his eyes were as blue as the sky. Never had I seen eyes so blue.
“What a kind heart you have, Princess,” he said, squeezing my hand.
A warm, glowing feeling rose up in my chest as if the sun had risen inside me. I smiled at him.
“My mother,” he said, still looking at me, “always tells me that the gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.”
My smile widened as the warmth inside me grew. “You have more than one god?”
Alrick nodded.
“Well spoken, my lord,” Paul said, bowing his head.
I opened my mouth to thank Alrick for his praise, but before the words could form on my tongue, the hysteric voice of a maid echoed through the courtyard.
“The princess . . . where is the princess?”
I exchanged confused looks with Alrick and Paul as we all made our way out. The silver-haired woman was one of my mother’s maids. The moment her wide eyes found me, an icy-cold shiver replaced the warmth I had just felt.
“Your Highness!” the maid cried. “Come, quick. It’s your mother. There is no time left!”
Tears running down her cheeks, the maid stormed over to me and grabbed my wrist. Her fingers dug into my skin.
“Hurry, the queen, hurry,” she muttered as she dragged me back to the castle.
I had never felt so scared in my life. Out of all the things in this world, please, God, not her, I begged as I made my way up the stairs to my mother’s chambers.
I had no idea where Alrick was, but strangely enough, his words started running through my head like a galloping stallion.
The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.
I was taking the stairs two steps at a time in order to keep up with the maid.
The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.
Over and over again, I summoned those words like magic.
The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.
A painful heaviness pressed down on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I was burning up from the inside.
We turned around the corner into the hallway that led to my mother’s bedchamber. It was filled with hysterical maids and servants, all of them crying, some of them holding their heads in their hands in outright despair.
“The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first,” I shouted, jerking my hand out of the maid’s grasp. I had stopped walking, afraid to take another step.
“The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first,” I yelled at the maid as if screaming it might make it true.
But the moment I heard my father’s pitiful cry coming from my mother’s room, I knew that the phrase held no real power. And I vowed never to speak them again.
Chapter 1
I was sitting behind my gold-framed mirror at my gold-painted makeup table, staring at my reflection. My maid, Frida, towered behind me, arranging my hair into a stylish bun. As fashion dictated, I was wearing a light-pink silken dress with one of the new corsets that would shrink my already tiny waist considerably more.
“Is there something the matter with Her Highness today?” Frida asked. Her wrinkled hands shook a little. Lately, they always seemed to be shaking. She would soon be offered to retire and stay at the castle unless she chose to return to her hometown. She wrapped another of my golden curls up and pinned it in with a needle.
“No. Nothing is the matter.”
Yes. There is.
Frida nodded. Then frowned. “It wouldn’t be the matter of Her Highness’s eye color again, would it?”
I sighed as I looked at the dark brown of my eyes. Why did they have to be brown? My mother’s eyes were as green as grass. If I had her eyes, maybe Father would want to see me more often.
“I said no. There is nothing the matter,” I insisted. It had been almost thirteen years since that horrific birthday on which my mother had passed away so shockingly. The thought of another birthday looming gave me a headache.
“Good,” Frida said firmly. “So I won’t have to restate the fact, again, how much Her Highness resembles her beautiful mother. From her golden hair to her fine facial lines and graceful womanly body.”
I rolled my eyes. I regretted telling Frida about my problems with my eye color. And yet, Frida was one of the few people at the castle—maybe the whole kingdom—who wasn’t afraid of me. Most servants sent prayers of thanks to the heavens every time they escaped my presence without garnering my displeasure. It sometimes bothered me to be so hated, but not enough to pretend to care.
“Ouch!” I huffed as the needle in Frida’s shaking hand stabbed the back of my ear. I threw Frida’s old, sunken face a glare in the mirror, but she wasn’t looking at me. Instead, she was staring out the window.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” she said, her gaze still fixed outside.
“What is it?” I asked as my eyes followed hers out the tall glass window next to my makeup table. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see the courtyard as well as Frida did.
“Nothing, Your Highness, just another poor soul begging for work without success.”
“When will it ever stop?” I said. The war in the North between the northern king and his noble families had forced many of their people to flee south in hopes of a better life. Years of unresolved violence had littered other kingdoms with the poor and crippled begging for food in the streets. My father had implemented food and clothing programs through the churches, but even he was unable to keep up with the flood of misery.
“When will this horrid war finally end?” Frida mumbled, still looking out the window as raindrops started tapping against the glass. “It’s all these men posturing for power. When has a woman ever started something as gruesome as war?”
I remained silent.
“There you have it. That’s when it will stop,” Frida concluded. “When women have a voice.”
“Ouch,” I cried again, but this time, I pulled out from under Frida’s grip. Annoyed, I rose to my feet and walked up to the window. Frida stepped beside me. Out in the courtyard, under the falling rain, was a mother covered in filth. Two little boys held on to her hands, both children dressed in rags. Even in the rain, I could see the tears streaming down her pain-twisted face. One of our household aids—one of the cooks, most likely, judging by his weight—yelled something at the woman and threw his hands up and left. The woman grabbed both of her children and squeezed them against her legs in a clumsy embrace before turning and making her way over the enormous stone courtyard back toward the entrance gate. My chest tightened looking at her. She wasn’t wearing shoes.
Stop it! Control your feelings.
A sweet and kind princess, like the girl I had once been, would have said something empathetic. But this world had no place for sweet and kind people. Sweetness and kindness got you eaten alive.
“Your Highness,” a maid’s soft voice startled Frida and me.
I turned to see a young, freckled face carefully peeking through the door to my room, not daring to open it all the way. “What do you want?” I asked in a harsh tone.
“Y-your father, Your Highness. The king wishes t-to see you.”
Her stutter annoyed me, even if I was the cause for it. I threw her a curt nod with my chin held high. She bowed through the crack in the door and was about to leave, but I found myself stopping her.
“Wait.”
The maid froze, her face blank with fear.
“Y-yes, Your Highness?” She closed the door a little more, as if that would shield her from me. I let out a forced breath, returning to my seat at the makeup table. Half my curls were still hanging out.
“Oh, please do inconvenience yourself and step into my room when I’m addressing you, or don’t show your face in front of me ever again,” I said harshly. “It annoys me having to talk through a crack.”
The maid carefully opened the door all the way and bowed. “I apologize, Your Highness, p-please forgive me. I didn’t mean—” I could hear the tears in her voice. “I didn’t mean—”
“That woman,” I interrupted her, tired of hearing my maids crying, begging me to allow them to stay at the castle. Not once had I relieved any of them of their duties. Not even the most incompetent ones, like the one who had spilled hot soup all over me on not one but three occasions. Three!
The maid looked up at my reflection in the mirror. “What woman, Your Highness?”
“The one in the courtyard with the two little boys.”
The maid turned toward the window, which was now filled with droplets of rain.
“Go after her and offer her work.”
“E-excuse me?” the maid said.
“There was a woman in the courtyard asking for work. I want you to go after her and give her work.”
The maid and Frida exchanged looks.
“Work as what, Your Highness?” the maid asked, her tone almost a whisper. Frida, who had resumed torturing my head, cleared her throat.
“I think the girl is wondering as to where Your Highness would like to employ the woman. From the kitchen to the stables, the house has too many hands already.”
That was true. My father had filled the halls with desperate souls eager for work.
Frida frowned. “Your Highness is very kind but—”
“Kind?”
No! Not that word. No, no, no!
Against my will, the sentence that haunted my nightmares as much as my daydreams ran through my head.
The gods show kindness to those who show kindness first.
And with the phrase came the images of my mother’s empty eyes staring into nothingness as her red, swollen face was robbed of its beauty during those last, desperate breaths.
“It has nothing to do with being kind,” I snapped at Frida. “More so with the uselessness of my current maids. Your hands are shaking like an earthquake, and whoever that is over there isn’t capable of entering a room properly.”
Silence set in. The maid by the door was trembling. They both knew better than to speak when I was upset. The Night Queen, the servants called me, with a heart as dark as the night itself. Maybe they were right.
“As far as I’m concerned, this woman is greatly needed. Now go,” I ordered the young maid, “before I give her your position, and it will be you journeying from town to town begging for work.”
The maid bowed, eyes wide in fear, then she twirled around and slammed the door behind her. The stomping sound of her feet echoed down the hallway as she ran as if her life depended on it. Which, in her mind, it did.
Frida sighed, then continued with my hair. “Are you quite finished, Your Highness?”
I frowned at her in the mirror. “Quite so.”
“Then let’s get you ready for your father. I will change the bun to the one your mother used to favor. It won’t take long.”
I let my silence be a sign of agreement. As much as I hated how it made me feel needy and weak, I did enjoy seeing my father. Even if those feelings hadn’t been mutual since the day my mother died.
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