Ghost in the mirror

The shackles are tight and cruel against Mircea's skin. She struggles to regain her posture, but it only steers the soldier standing behind her to shove her on her knees. The pain is excruciating-her whole body is crying.

Hot tears flow down her face, "Well, what do we have here?" A familiar voice echoes in her ears. She tries to see who it is, but the sun blinds her eyes, making it impossible to make out the person's face. "Let's get started." She commands.

Mircea meets her father's eyes; his wrinkled skin glistening with sweat as some soldiers push him. "Father…" She gasps. She realizes how old and powerless he looks. His human body has deceived him with time.

"Oh, do not take long." The same voice drawls out.

Faustina sits next to their father; both are caged by blood demanding steel shackles. She abruptly glares at Mircea, making her flinch. There is no emotion in Faustina's eyes except for hatred. It takes a minute for Mircea to understand the hatred is veritably directed at her. "I'm sorry." She croaks softly.

"You failed us!" Faustina screams, struggling in the shackles.

"Enough of this!" The bone-chilling voice comes from behind. She is close, closer than Mircea likes.

"Now," The voice again orders.

Mircea is forced to look straight when two soldiers with unsheathed swords stalk her family. It all happens in a blink.

The soldiers cut through the thin air slicing Faustina's and her father's throat open. It doesn't take long for the life in their bright watery eyes to vanish completely. Their bodies slump.

"Good," The voice cocoons near Mircea's ear. She scrambles away from her. "Oh, do not run from your mother like that." The sweet voice echoes around in Mircea's brain.

She gasps, squinting her eyes open rubbing her crystal eyes. A few traitorous tears had found a way out when she had been sleeping. Her hair and nightgown cling to her skin, wet with sweat. She throws off the sheets letting the cool air calm her body and mind.

After lighting a small lamp next to her bed, she pads to her balcony. The room was so familiar she needn't switch on the lights to help her guide to the balcony.

Mircea was accustomed to nights like these. It usually ended up with her waking up in the middle of the night crying and thrashing. However, this was the first time her dead mother was haunting her in her dreams.

Mircea didn't know what to make of this. Maybe, she should disregard it as a bizarre dream and not overthink something this trivial.

She has more important things now. Like how was she going to get her sister out of the slammer and herself off the throne? One thing Mircea was certain about was the throne didn't belong to her.

Soft moonlight glowed as she watched the small village down the mountain. Mircea's chamber was on the other side of the palace showing the back view of the castle.

The night wind gently cherished her skin. There were guards stationed down her balcony. The security has been increased ten folds now that she is queen and the last member of the royal family who can sit on the throne.

Mircea turns back to retire to her bed when she hears small whispers from the guards standing below her balcony.

"Do you think the crown princess killed the king?" A hushed voice chills in the darkness.

"Who knows maybe it is the princess or maybe it is Orpheus." Another guard drawls out nonchalantly.

"But Orpheus wouldn't get the throne even if it has no heir! Only royal blood can rule it." The statement is more like a question this time.

Even so, the guard spoke the truth. Orpheus or any other member who didn't belong to the royal family couldn't sit on the throne. Even if Mircea married someone and he was declared the king, people would see Mircea as their true queen.

It was complicated in ways one couldn't explain. If someone would try to overthrow the throne, all the five kingdoms would come together to choose the new king along with the council.

"Maybe he has someone that can sit on the throne."

"Well, the queen still has some cousins."

"I wouldn't go there. They are weak. It can be anyone."

"I heard someone say he was poisoned for a month and that is why he couldn't recover. Do you think the royal healer was involved in this?" This perks up Mircea's interest, she bends a little in the shadows to listen carefully.

"Yes, I heard it too. But do not blindly believe in rumours. This is the palace. Nine out of ten things are petty lies."

"Ah yes, but don't you think it all is such a tragedy. The late king is yet to be cremated, and they were going to put crown princess's body next to his."

"Careful, Locke. She is no more the crown princess. Our queen is sleeping right above." The other guy doesn't reply for a minute. Mircea deduces that was the end of their discussion and slowly pads to her giant bed.

Who killed her father? Mircea didn't like to think of the possibility but was it Faustina? She wanted to disregard the thought as soon as she even thought about it. However, it was only Faustina that said, trust no one. No, it can't be Faustina. No.

Orpheus wanting the throne is a possibility. Even so, who is his pawn?

If he still has the pawn, chances are he can attack Mircea and execute both Faustina and her and go for the throne again. There is only one way to find out. She has to be the queen. And she will have to visit her sister in the slammer before they cremate Pyron and their father.

***

Mircea is perched upon the chair across the mirror. It is quite difficult to look in the mirror and see the person that is staring back at her.

Layers of clothes choke around her body. The red of the velvet demands attention, the rubies on her fingers shine brightly under the new sun and the crown is heavily wrapped around her braided hair.

Ronda and Arana have swiped charcoal above her eyes, some rose powder across her cheeks and tinted her lips reddish pink. Every kind of diamond is decorating her neck and wrists.

For a second, she sees Faustina in the mirror only with light brown hair and fewer freckles. She would have smiled at her reflection, unlike Mircea, who cannot help herself but frown.

"Your Majesty," They both bow deeply.

"You may leave," A strong, but old voice advances. Mircea looks in the mirror at Etna, the court lady. Etna was the head court lady-she had looked after Faustina and Mircea like a mother when Clemensia, their mother, died.

Ronda and Arana scurry off slightly nodding at Etna.

"You look lovely," Etna states lightly.

"Oh, who are you lying to?" Mircea's face is pale even with the fake blush Ronda had tried to powder on. Etna picks up some hairpins from the table and stands behind Mircea, peeking at her through the mirror. She carefully pulls her hair and tight around the crown.

"I do not do flattery, your majesty. You do look lovely. The crown suits you. You have to make sure it does not slip off your head." Etna pulls a little hard, making Mircea flinch. She glances back at Etna; her face is unreadable as she adjusts the crown properly.

Mircea then glances at the crown sitting on her head, it looks the same even after a decade.

Deaths do not change crowns.

"Do you think Faustina…killed...father?" Mircea intently stares at Etna, her wrinkled face concentrated on her hair. She was the same age as her mother; if her mother would have been alive.

They were close. Clemensia brought Etna with her after her wedding and even after her death, Etna stayed for she had promised to take care of her girls, especially Mircea.

"I am merely a court lady your majesty."

"You are more than that!" Mircea turns around and glares at her.

"You know Faustina well enough to know whether she did this or not!" Mircea continues to shout, but Etna simply finishes off by pinning her hair into a low braid right below the crown.

"What I know is, you are my queen now." Etna gives her a small knife to put it on her waist under her long skirt.

Mircea stands up, "I have already equipped myself. As your queen, I order you to answer my last question." She forces out the words.

Etna gazes at Mircea for a minute before answering her, "I wouldn't trust my own shadow if I were you." Etna bows before setting the knife in her hand in one of Mircea's drawers.