48 Truth - Backstory (2)

Freya trained hard for days, and the days turned into seasons. The cool summer turned into a freezing winter.

She returned home, humming a song, swinging the empty basket, not caring about the icy wind caressing her cheeks.

Getting in, she dropped her heavy coat and removed her wet boot and cape. "Mom, I sold everything," she shouted. "Mom!" hurrying in, she found her mother still sleeping in her bed. Her forehead was burning. "Mom," she called gently. Her mother opened her eyes slowly. "Mom, I will call the physician." Freya ran out. Her heart thumped.

The fear of losing her only family made her eyes teared up. Her foot slipped on the slippery ground, falling hard. The icy wetness spread over her body. Freya ignored the achiness and sprinted over the bustling streets, knocking forcefully on the door.

After grabbing the physician, she ran back. "My mother is sick. I –"

"Wait, little boy, I will bring my potions and go back," the man said. Freya waited and then hurried to the house with a horse carriage the physician summoned.

"Take this potion two times, in the morning and the evening, for a week. While this she will drink it only once a day," he said, pointing at two potions, one with green liquid and the other pink liquid. Freya nodded and sent the physician out.

After two tormenting days, her mother got better. Freya yawned, walked out of her room then ascended the stairs. "Mom, I am famished," she said, rubbing her eyes.

Freya listened to a gasping sound; she looked down to see Mrs Eferhon looking at her strangely.

"You are from the Roya—" Mrs Eferhon stuttered.

"Return to your room, NOW!" her mother shouted.

Freya didn't know what was happening, so she pursed her lips and walked upstairs, closing the door of her room and lying on the bed.

Time went by, the door was opened, and her mother shuffled in. "Freya," Lavender called, but she turned her head and refused to gaze over.

"Why did you shout at me? I did nothing wrong," she complained.

"I think it's time to tell you the truth. You are big enough," Freya's mother said, sighing.

"Huh! Truth?" she questioned.

Her mother hugged her. "Thirteen years ago, I ran away from the Kurba's royal palace with you. You were a baby," she narrated, and Freya blinked. "You know, our kingdom is in a war for years. When the war started, I was pregnant with you. I tried convincing your father, the king, to stop his army, but he refused. One year later, the king died, and the battle for the throne began. You were only a few months old. I could think of any solution but to run. I came to this far town where my distant cousin, your Aunt Priscilla, lived—"

Freya stood up facing her mother. "Mom, are you saying that my father was a king and you are the queen," Freya recited what she understood from her mother's story. "So I am a princess?" she asked, frowning.

"Yes, the eleventh princess."

"I have ten siblings?" she said, her voice quivering with happiness.

"Technically, you had eleven siblings. The king had four wives and twelve children. You had one older brother, and the others were your step-siblings," she explained.

Freya jumped from happiness. "Can I see them? And the castle? Is it beautiful? Are there a lot of servants?" she asked, but her mother dropped her head and said nothing.

"The castle isn't like you imagined. It's a place full of schemes and unkind people. The battle for the throne took many lives, including your brother's," she said, her eyes filled with sadness.

Freya's joy turned into fear. Seeing her mother sad, she sat beside her quietly. All she had to know was that she didn't want to be a princess. Living in the town was good. She had to work and help her mother.

"The new king, Kalian, was a quiet and shy child back then. He was the last one suited to be a king, but who knows his hideous nature and what made him do to took the throne? No one escaped his wrath. You know that silver hair is one of the royal family's traits. The fairer the colour, the stronger the heir would be. Like yours, it glowed like stars. When people see it, they will know your identity immediately. It caused me a lot of problems to conceal it until I found the changing potion."

Freya hummed, understanding why her mother was so adamant to cover her hair.

Days passed like usual. After the two elderly discovered her real identity, their treatment didn't change a bit. Her master always pointed at her flows while she started to learn the etiquette classes with Madame Eferhon. She skipped most of her lessons and went to practice fighting.

Times flew, and it was summer again. The grandson of Mr Eferhon came to spend the vacation with his grandparents. After spending more time, he still looked at her with an inferior gaze.

Freya walked to him and threw the bow in his direction, which he grabbed. "Three rounds," she suggested. He hummed and shot the arrows one by one, and they landed close to each other in the centre. Seeing the result, he raised his chin.

She walked over and shot the three arrows at the same moment, and they landed on the same spot. "How is it?" she raised her chin and said.

"I can do this," he bragged, but could not do that for a long time.

"I cannot lose to you," he shouted, trying again. His appearance crumbled. His well-combed hair was drenched with sweat and sticking to his face. His clothes were wrinkled, and he panted heavily.

"Stop that. You hurt your hands," Freya went closer, but he glared at her.

"Go away," he yelled.

"Danielson!" an angry voice sounded from behind. The boy stiffed and dropped his head. "Is that how you talk to the guests?" he asked, and the boy shook his head. "Want to say something?"

"I apologize for my behaviour," he said.

"I do not think I am the one who needed to apologize to," Mr. Eferhon intercepted.

He shifted his gaze to her and apologized. Freya shook her hands and smiled. The man continued to reprimand his grandson.

She lowered her head as she blamed herself for how the situation ended. She wanted to prove to Danny that she could practice the bow and fight but not get him in trouble with his grandfather.

She would ask her mother to make delicious cakes and bring them to him as an apology.