Royal Beginnings

History has never been my specialty, but every Fostorian knows about the royals and the mages. Even mere babes know at least a more innocent version of the slaughtering; anything that will encourage us to turn in a person we suspect of having magic is supplied from a young age. A royal myself, I'm taught this hatred from within my own home. I see this deadly passion not only when my mother rants about safety and strengthening our defenses, but in the public square on days like today. Upon the hard stones are burnt wooden stakes used for executions.

"Oh, Lord," my twin sister, Arabella, grasps my hand. "I cannot withstand another of these horrid massacres."

Burning mages at the stake is one of the punishments in Fostoria, aside from the guillotine, hanging, poison, and fighting to the death. It might be the worst as well; there's certainly nothing more gruesome than listening to the sounds of screaming and sizzling meat, combined with the smell of burning flesh. Arabella presses a hand to her stomach and diverts her eyes from the stakes.

Another scream pierces through the air as the final stake becomes aflame. I take in the girl's voice as she begs for mercy; it's raspy and dry like she can barely breathe. Her face is red and peeling from the heat, but I can tell that before the flames licked at her skin, she was a beauty to behold.

The blonde tenses and slides around, as if she can slip free from the wood. As she continues to shriek, I notice a smirk forming on the Queen's lips. It shouldn't surprise me that my mother takes pleasure in harming magic-users; after all, she's the one that convinced the King to kill as many of them as possible.

"Annette, darling, such a brooding face is ill-suited for a princess," my mother tells me, "especially because your future fiancé could see you."

In case watching somebody burn to death isn't torture enough, I am reminded of the start of my courting season; soon, I will be engaged. I'm lucky enough that it isn't a typical arranged marriage like my parents had. My father wants us to marry for love as well as to make alliances, so our potential candidates are here to win our hearts. There aren't many men here to receive our hands in marriage, but a single man is one too many for me. I think it's ridiculous to chase somebody's heart, but Arabella finds it positively romantic.

"Could this be so?" Arabella straightens her dress and composes herself. Instead of rolling my eyes at how childish it seems, I force a pleasant look onto my face and nod.

"Careful," I whisper, "you might have a hair out of place." While this is meant to be a joke, Arabella frowns before regaining her dazzling smile.

Being twins, our faces look almost identical. If our hair colors were the same, telling the two of us apart would be difficult to most, but I know better. All the slight aspects of her face that I do not possess make her more beautiful than I.

We smile at our subjects as we make our way to the carriage. Once inside, the Queen starts telling my father about magic-user outbursts and sightings.

"They are becoming far too common," she says, "we need to dispose of them completely."

The King gazes out the window, and I can see he is looking at the burnt part of the forest, destroyed because it was inhabited by magic-users. Somedays I wonder if Fostorian royals have anything to do besides hosting silly courting seasons and hating magic-users.

"You think we have not done enough?" He frowns before continuing, "with all the executions, destruction, and blood spilled, no mage would dare to break our rule."

"Think about our children, Bryan."

I almost scoff at my mother's words; since when has she shown that she cares about us? Ever since the magic-users attacked Fostoria, all her thoughts have been directed towards decimating them. As I think about the innocent people they killed, and the towns they burned down, my sympathy towards them lessens. We've harmed them, but the magic-users lit the first match that started this.

"As always, my dear, you're right."

The gate opens for our carriage, and we enter the castle grounds before the carriage stops. My sister stumbles as she steps out of the carriage and catches herself on the shoulder of our escort. She giggles under her breath but hushes when our parents meet us on the stone ground.

"Ever the flirt," I whisper, which makes her laughter erupt again. The Queen flashes us a look, but Arabella either misses it or does not care. Her lilac dress flows in the wind as she steps across the stone path, beaming in the light of the sunset. How one remains so lighthearted after seeing the death of another is unknown to me. Leaving my mother to discuss 'important matters' with my father, I lift my skirt and race after Arabella.

Once I catch up to her, she rambles about the upcoming ball and our courting season, both of which I have no interest in. Arabella plucks a rose from the bushes next to the castle entrance and twirls with it against her heart.

"Oh, Annette! How my heart longs for the beat of another," she says while she dances along the hall.

"Not only a flirt but a poet, too," I tease, "you expect to find love in the hands of men who care only for your crown?"

Arabella pauses in her dancing as if to think over my words. Our suitors do not try to win our hearts in hope for love, but rather for a proper Queen. Love is meant for fools, which explains the fascination my sister has with it.

"Surely you can't mean that," she replies, her arms dropping. "I dread the thought of marriage that cannot satisfy my heart."

Arabella's thought of love is kissing and dancing, while I believe that though it is foolish, love should be respect and passion rather than childish fantasies. My sister continues her slow dancing until she reaches the door of her chambers.

"I bid you farewell, sister, as I hope to fall into a slumber filled with thoughts of balls and gowns." The door closes softly after Arabella, and I make my way to my chambers alone, accompanied only by my thoughts.

While it is not a daily occurrence, witnessing a mage being burnt at the stake is not foreign to Fostorians. I have trouble imagining the feel of flames against my bare skin that comes with tight ropes and rough wood. The thought sends a shiver through my body, and I am grateful when I enter my chambers and find my servant has prepared a hot bath.

"You have my thanks, Maria," I tell her as she helps me out of the deep navy dress and corset. Her lips twitch into a slight smile, illuminating the beauty of her countenance.

"The pleasure is mine, Highness." She guides me to the clawfoot tub after tying my hair up in a quick bun. The water soothes my body as well as my mind, dissipating thoughts of burnt flesh and blood-curdling shrieks.

My eyes track across the room, regal and rich. Organization comes to me as naturally as hunting comes to a rabbit; that is to say, it does not. The messiest part of the bedroom is my desk, filled with paper and books. Arabella invests her time in more social affairs, but I prefer residing in solitude.

The excitement of my sister is enhanced by our courting season; balls and dates with men chasing our "hearts." She will receive all the dances and flowers she wishes to have, but I can only wonder if the hearts of these men will be true and pure enough for the lovely Princess Arabella.

"My sister chases marriage, but I hesitate to be wed," I begin, "and it is now that I ask for your advice, Maria."

"Your beauty is rivaled only by that of your sister, so similar in appearance." While her compliments flatter me, the meaning of them does not arise. "You shall win over any man you seek, and I believe you will be happy."

"I am focused on princes with exceptional lawmaking. Even if it means my happiness, I am not sure I can follow my sister and train my eye on those better suited for lovemaking."

Maria chuckles at my words but turns to me with an expression lacking humor. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, leaving me to wonder what is troubling her.

"Oh, Maria, I do not mean to bring you pain."

She smiles slightly and dabs the tears away with her apron. Her breaths waver as she calms herself enough to speak with a strong voice.

"I cannot bear the thought of you living unhappily for the sake of your crown," my servant replies, "but it is not my place to question your future marriage."

Unsure of how to respond, I place my hands on the edges of the tub and look to the door. Slumber is a welcome way out of an interaction, especially one that will produce tears if continued.

"It is with a heavy heart that I retire to my bed and leave you. Your advice has not fallen on deaf ears, and I hope it pleases you to know I will seek for a man who will keep both my kingdom and I content."

My servant's eyes brighten, and she lets my hair down before dipping it into the water once. She helps out of the bath and into a silky nightgown before instructing me to sit in a cushioned stool. As she twists my hair into a tight bun that will produce luscious curls for the ball, I gaze at the gown on display.

The light ash-blue color is a contrast to the pink dress my twin sister will wear. Silver designs and swirls accentuate the color and enhance the beauty of the gown.

It reminds me of the ocean, which lies just below my balcony. Our kingdom is lucky to be near the water despite the piracy and smuggling that comes with the sea. Of the ocean, I dream. The salty waters against my soft skin provide the comfort and joy that towns and castles cannot.

Maria's hands leave my hair, and I thank her before retiring to my bed. The plush blankets lull me to sleep, where I await a night of strange dreams.

I partially realize I am only dreaming, but the cold night's wind sends shivers through my spine that seem too real. When I look down, my head grows dizzy, and I fight to stay balanced. My hands grip onto the crevices in the stone wall of the castle, slipping with every breath.

Above me, water starts pouring from the sky, causing me to freeze. My delicate and small hands slide faster as rainwater lodges in the cracks of the walls.

A scream lodges in my throat as I lose my footing and come tumbling down towards the hard ground. Between the stones and I is a boy, perhaps twelve years in age, poised to catch me all while clinging to the wall. We collide, and while he slows my descent, both of us hurdle towards the ground. I close my eyes and wait for impact, but it does not arrive.

My eyes open to the morning sunlight shining into my bedroom, casting a beautiful light onto the silver sheets. I gather the blankets and sit up with a pounding heart and shallow breaths from the dream. It's nothing but a nightmare, right?