The witch and the wolf

Adrian woke up drenched in sweat, his senses on high alert. He focused his eyes on the crescent shaped nightlight his sister placed on his desk, and sighed heavily. This was his third night with no sleep. The third night of him dreaming of a pale faced woman whispering to him. Her voice, gentle as the wind, meant to be calming, but left him feeling anxious and strained instead. He sat up and reached for his water bottle, reminding himself that the big event was less than 12 hours away. He knew he needed to get some sleep if he wanted to be productive at the shop today. Business was slowing down and the Emperors puppets raised the city taxes again. The war in the east had spilled closer to the capital, and the emperor was scared to lose any ground to the white army. People in the city were on a constant high alert, scared to lose their homes, afraid to die, or worse, become slaves. Rumours ran high, everyday they became more outrageous then the last. Children captured fared the best, often placed into a trade they could perfect over the years. Those without talent were trained as fighters. Meant to support the enemies true warriors, the ones born into the Evert bloodline. Adults captured by the Everts met a deadlier fate. Often driven into labour, harvesting minerals from deep within the mines. Food was a luxury that they could not afford and many died within the first month of capture. And then that left me. Not quite an adult by society standards, but no longer a child. At 16 I didn’t look like a child. I stood at 6 feet with a medium build and a toned body. My parents ran a bakery, which never left me hungry, but I was expected to earn my keep. From a young age I was expected to do the heavy lifting. My father, a proud man, lost his leg when I was 4. A scratch from a nail that eventually tore the flesh from his bone. The doctors couldn’t do anything except amputate and hope that the infection didn’t spread further. They prepared my mother for the worst, stating they would make him comfortable. The nights that followed were agonizing. He screamed and cried, begging to be put out of his misery. On the 10th day, he finally made the turn for the better. The antibiotics working, helped heal his wounds and prevented further infection. I was 4, but the expectation was placed heavily on my shoulders. I knew I had to do what he no longer could. My sister arrived 10 years later. A miracle as my parents would say. She was small, never cried, and never fussed. She was my parents joy, filling a void they lost years earlier. For them it was a chance to do it all over again, and do it better this time. Liz adored me from day 1. She smiled as soon as I entered the room, and put on a version of her fussing when I left the room. She was happiest when she was with me and often tried to help with my chores. Her “help” made my chores take twice as long, but I enjoyed her innocent world views, and her thousand questions. In appearance, we were complete opposites. Where I had olive skin which looked like I spent days in the sun, she was white like a Porcelain doll. My hazel eyes swam with earthy undertones of brown and red. Her eyes, almost clear, so blue that no sky or ocean could compare. Her hair bright blonde, almost sparkled in the sun. My hair, dark as the earth, felt dull. A small curl forming against my forehead after a hard days work. Her hair was perfectly straight with no strand out of place. She was different than the rest of the family and people always assumed she was adopted. If I didn't witness my mothers very pregnant stomach, I would have questioned her parentage as well. I looked out the window and contemplated my fate. If captured, I would be lucky to work as a labourer in one of the villas. It was hard work but came with a roof over your head, a place to sleep and a few meals a day. If you did your job well and the owners liked you enough, they could petition for you to stay. It was a better alternative then certain death. I give up any attempt at sleep and swing my feet off the bed searching for my favourite black runners. I can feel the excitement in the city, the air around me thick and humid. I find the atmosphere suffocating. Today is the emperors daughters coronation for her 16th birthday. She would be introduced to the world, showing her face to the curious spectators. The early coronation was a ploy to rally the troops. A sort of morale boost for the front lines. A princesses coronation happened on her 18th birthday, that was a tradition that dated back a 1000 years. Many were offended at the rushed introduction, others happy at a change. I couldn’t care less about any of it. Seemed like a massive waste of money. I grabbed my tshirt and headed to the bathroom to complete my morning routine. Looking at my reflection I could see the lack of sleep taking a toll. I chuckled softly and carried myself down the stairs to the kitchen. “What are you doing awake?” A voice startled me. I searched in the dark and spotted my dad sitting at the table. I couldn’t see his face but felt that something was off. “Couldn’t sleep” I whispered. “Hmm” a soft reply. My father grabbed his crutches and pulled himself up.