The Kingdom of Secrets and Ruin

I watch my mother in the looking glass as she gently braids my hair to match the golden crown atop her head.

Unlike my unruly curls that have turned to fluff and frizz overnight due to forgetting my bonnet, my mother’s hair is perfect. There’s not so much as a strand out of place, and to be honest, I can’t recall a day when that wasn’t the case.

Even in my earliest memories, she was always primped and primed when she entered my rooms to wish me a good morning. But it wasn’t until recently that I realized it wasn’t my mother’s pride that caused this; it was my father’s.

Looking back, I was a fool to think otherwise.

You see, my father, King Elric of Apheya, is a simple man with a simple belief: that the royal family should be perfect. They should set the standard for their people and represent a united force never to be broken.

So, it was with this in mind that I was cast out.

From the day I was born, it was startlingly obvious to those around me that I had a condition yet to be named vitiligo.

It meant that the dark, smooth skin I inherited from my parents was marked with pale, white patches, almost as if the color had been stolen away in the womb.

Some parts are easier to hide than others, but I’m unfortunate enough to have been marked with a patch on my face.

The right side of my forehead down to the top of my cheek has faded color, causing one of my chocolate-brown eyes to appear blue.

The second my father saw me, he didn’t hesitate to declare that the second daughter born to him was birthed still, and my existence has remained a secret since, guarded by only our most trusted servants.

My mother loves me, visits me every morning without fail, to ensure that I obey the rules allotted to me. They mostly consist of how I am never to leave my rooms except for one hour a day, when hidden by a veil.

At least my father allows books, paper, and charcoal to be bought as frequently as I wish to prevent my restlessness from growing any stronger.

“Either you are behind on your studies again or you are not listening to me, Dalliah,” my mother scolds me as she places the last pin into my hair and turns toward the face paint bought to cover my markings.

I think a small part of her hopes that if I continue to educate myself on history, decorum, and all of the other vital subjects taught to a princess, maybe my father will relent…but we don’t share this hope.

“Sorry, Mama, I was daydreaming again…,” I say sheepishly and accept the sigh of irritation blown onto my face as she leans in to dab the paint-covered cloth against my face.

As she works, I notice something odd in the looking glass behind her. There’s a shadow around her left eye, somewhat discolored beneath the paint she uses.

“Mama, what happened to your eye?” I ask, reaching up to touch the spot on my own face.

Her hand stills for just a moment, and I see her jaw tighten in the reflection. “Nothing, sweet one. Just a little…mishap this morning.” She dabs some of my own paint around the area, covering whatever lies beneath. “Your father has been quite stressed lately.”

“Because of Yeolan?” I ask, remembering the news that had filtered even to my tower room.

“Yes.” Her voice is quieter now, more careful. “The Red King sits at our border now. It makes everyone tense, especially your father.”

I want to ask more about the shadow around her eye, about why her voice sounds so tired when she mentions Father’s stress, but something in her posture tells me not to press.

Instead, I watch as she continues applying paint to both our faces—hers to hide whatever Father’s stress has caused, mine to hide what Father sees as imperfection.

“Now, I asked the date on which the Eradeo Islands first declared war against the continent?”

This is an easy one, considering we’re still at war. I doubt even some of the smallfolk could answer this wrong.

Most still remember the day that the first kingdom, Khoba, fell into the hands of the Red King and the messages sent to the others in the continent, demanding their surrender.

I could have sworn I heard my father yell about it from here in my tower, but I was only six or seven at the time.

“1357,” I answer quickly and see the left side of her lips rise slightly in a smile.

“Very good. Now, what were you daydreaming about?” she asks softly, now applying the powder that is meant to make the paint on my skin last longer and repel water should my veil get damp.

I can’t answer this question honestly. It hurts her to hear how I long for a life away from the same four walls, and so she mustn’t know that I dream of the forests, lakes, and meadows that I read about in my books.

“I was wondering how Maud’s dress will turn out for tonight,” I lie.

My sister, Maud, is expected at the grand dinner tonight, celebrating the anniversary of my parents’ union. She will no doubt have a grand dress planned, with all of the potential suitors that will be in the room.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll visit to show you before it’s time,” my mother says warmly, and I try my very best not to roll my eyes.

I just can’t help but wonder when this life of mine will finally turn into something worth having. That is, if you can call it a life.

“Will you show me your dress, Mama?” I ask to change the subject.

“Of course I will… Now, tell me about the Red King.”

“Dalliah! Dalliah!”

I hear my mother’s voice echoing down the hall long before my door is opened. It’s been hours since she was last here braiding my hair, and I wasn’t expecting to see her until morning.

Her hair is undone, her crown nowhere in sight, and is that a dressing gown covering her?

Has something happened? Has Papa upset her again?

Marjorie, a maid of mine, told me that his speech at the dinner barely even mentioned their marriage, which was meant to be the whole purpose of the meal.

“Mama? Are you okay?” I rush to meet her, grabbing her forearms and examining her face with concern.

Usually, she wears a similar sort of face paint to mine, along with kohl on her eyes and rouge on her lips, but none of that is present, which worries me. I haven’t seen her this way in a long time.

“Dalliah, he is here! The Red King is here!” my mother exclaims, and it feels as though every drop of blood in my body turns cold.

The Red King? Did she mean to say that name?

“Mama, are you s—”

She interrupts me by pulling on the servant’s cord that leads to Ingaret and Marjorie’s room; she’s so severe with it that I swear I hear the bell from here.

“Yes, I’m sure, his army is approaching our gates as we speak! Your father and brothers are in crisis talks right now in the hall. We don’t have much time!”

She runs a hand down my cheek, her eyes taking every inch of my bare face in as if committing it to memory. Why on earth is she committing it to memory?

“My sweet flower, you know what he has done to the other royal families, don’t you?” Her voice comes out as barely a whisper.

I swallow hard because I know the answer, though I wish I could have remained ignorant at this moment.

Because he killed them. All of them.

“If the castle falls tonight, then we are done for. But you, Dalliah, you might live.”

Her breaths are shaky as she tries to inhale enough air to be able to speak again. I run my hands up and down her arms to try to calm her down, though I doubt it will help at a time like this.

“Pack only what you can hold, and we’ll find you a dress suitable for a servant,” she orders me.

Pack what I can hold? What could I possibly own that would be worth a damn if I’m to lose my mother?

“Do it now, Dalliah!” she yells, seeing that I’m still frozen in place as she rakes through my clothing chest. “If we can pass you off as a maid, they’ll never suspect a thing, my love. You will be safe.” She promises this in a voice that is clearly fighting to stay calm.

The tears I try my best not to shed start to sting my eyes as I call out for my cat, Nameless. While I love my books, I couldn’t possibly choose those or anything else over my little friend.

He comes waddling out from under my bed, likely hiding from the noise of my mother, as he’s never warmed to anyone but myself.

I pick him up swiftly into my arms, and rather than fight me off like he might have otherwise, he remains still, as if he knows the gravity of the situation we’ve found ourselves in.

For a second, I start to worry, not knowing if servants have pets. I know nothing about life outside my walls. Will they take him from me?

No, they couldn’t. And besides, he knows how to remain hidden where needed. We both do.

“Face paint! Get your face paint, or they could remember the condition from your birth!” my mother practically screams at me, seeing that all I hold in my arms is my cat.

I go to fetch it and wrap it in a piece of cloth while she carries over a dress given to me by Maud for my eighteenth birthday. She was feeling particularly frugal that year with her allowance. It will more than pass as a servant’s garb.

My mother drags my nightgown from my shoulders, ignoring the squalling Nameless that leaps onto my dresser in protest, and replaces it before I can even push the hair from my face.

It feels as though my breasts are being crushed against my ribcage from how tight it is, but I have bigger things to worry about just now as I slide the cloth and cat into my large front pocket.

“Come with me, Mama. Hide with me!” I beg her, wondering why if I can pass as a maid, she couldn’t. Our people are loyal, aren’t they? They’d never say anything, right?

I’m ashamed for not suggesting this sooner. I’m sure another one of my gowns will pass as a simple day dress. They’re nothing like her vibrant reds or sparkling gold pieces.

“I wish I could, my love, but my face is too well known around this castle, while only a trusted few know of yours. The blood oath that they made will protect you, but it’s too late for me,” she says in a rush while tying a scarf around my hair, the same way Marjorie tends to when working.

Then, from beneath the hidden pockets of her dressing gown, she pulls out a long-bladed knife with deep-red leather bound around the handle. It’s beautiful in a deadly sort of way, and for a second, I forget who hands it to me.

My mother, the queen, with a blade in her hands.

It finally starts to hit me just how much danger she’s in right now, and I swear it feels as though my heart is being torn in two with every breath.

I can’t hide while her life is in danger!

As if reading the words on my face, she shakes her head, wiping the single tear that has escaped from her eyes. “You could be the last Leverer, Dalliah. You have to do this for your family.”

For my family? What family? The only person I truly have is her.

“Do this for me, Dalliah. Save yourself and live.”

Before I can argue, something I’ve never dared to do with her before, Marjorie sprints into the room, looking as disheveled.

She’s one of our most trusted servants, and I can honestly say that this is the first time I’ve felt dread upon seeing her enter.

“Take Dalliah and hide somewhere,” Mother says. “We don’t know how the soldiers will treat the staff.” Her voice takes a turn as she speaks. I’ve read enough books that I shouldn’t have to know that death isn’t the only danger tonight.