Perpetual Winter

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONEThe Fate of a Princess

“They’re coming for her.”

“No!” The female voice which answered him wavered. I imagined her wringing her hands in front of her flaccid face and imploring him for mercy. The crack between the sill and the window frame offered a tiny peek into the servants’ dining room. Screwing my left eye closed, I wriggled sideways in the flower bed beneath it. Cool bricks pressed their chill through my shoulder as they had many times before this one. My constant need for information had worn their rugged surface smooth over the past sixteen years. Sunshine warmed the back of my dress, adding its contrasting voice to my discomfort. The soil shifted beneath my knees. Desperate for more gossip, I strained my ears to hear above the sound of seagulls calling to each other over the high tide.

My guard appeared in front of the fireplace, his back straight and his proud head held high above his leather breastplate. The vibrant yellow of his uniform glinted in the sunlight through the window. Bending, he lifted the poker and hefted it in strong fingers. “Go away old woman,” he said, his tone harsh. “Your services are no longer required.” He plunged the poker into the fire, lifting the slumbering logs from underneath and reviving the waning flames. The scarred fingers of his left hand reached up to touch an iron kettle hanging over the fire.

“But she needs me!” My childhood nursemaid stepped into view, her chins wobbling beneath the neat bow fixing her bonnet on top of her greying curls. “The child won’t understand.”

My guard sighed and his black hair moved against his collar. The poker spun in his fingers and his chin lifted. I expected my nurse to heed the warning and take a step back. I gritted my teeth and heard them grind together in my head. He hooked the poker over its ornate stand and the sword hilt at his side winked in the orange firelight as he rose to his full height.

“She doesn’t need to understand, Bliss.” His voice rumbled through the gap and his words seared my heart. “Estefania is leaving tomorrow. Prepare her belongings. You won’t accompany her.”

I pressed my fingers over my lips to stem the horrified gasp escaping as a hiss. Until that moment, I imagined they spoke of my sister’s fate and not mine. Absent for over thirty sunrises, I didn’t miss her angry outbursts. My nurse told me she wanted her own space and entourage. Princessa Zinnia had moved into another section of the palace, allegedly with the king’s consent. I doubted the validity of any such permission. The Melitto king never visited us. Sequestered on the island my entire life, portraits of his unsmiling face provided my only knowledge of him as a father figure.

Bliss continued to intercede on my behalf as my guard ignored her. “But why send the Men of Forlornn?” she demanded. “What help do they offer a motherless wretch? They will wall her up in their fortified city for the rest of her life. She’s as wild as a hornet and even their fortresses won’t contain her.”

I saw my guard’s fists ball against his sides. He observed the flames with his head bowed and didn’t turn enough for me to gauge his expression. “They know where she is.” His reply sounded flat and Bliss gave a shrug of defeat.

“Then you’ve failed,” she said with a sigh.

“Thank you for the reminder.” A familiar sarcasm laced his tone and my lips pursed. A lifetime of his presence had taught me the subtle nuances of every twitch of his facial muscles. I wished he would turn so I could see the truth written in his rugged features. He sounded resolute, my fate decided by him and others gathered behind closed doors.

“She still believes she visits a beehive.” Bliss swallowed, and my interest piqued. “She claims to have a hive twin called Simile who embodies the nicer parts of her nature.” Bliss huffed and shuffled her feet. “It’s an easy excuse. I might copy it for myself.” When the guard didn’t answer, she continued digging her own verbal grave, as usual. “I might have a twin who drinks all the mead.” She giggled, a grating high-pitched sound. I winced, sensing the guard’s humour worsening. His shoulders squared as though to cement my impression. Bliss took a step forward and touched his sleeve. Biceps turned to stone as he whirled away from her, the armoured leather of his breastplate creaking.

His back remained in view and I watched for a sign that he’d heard her defamatory words. He took a step back and then froze in his familiar stillness, his gaze on the fire. Bliss shook her head. “I thought she’d grow out of it,” she sighed. “This game she plays will get her into trouble.”

My guard nodded then, and that single action proved enough to make me hate him. I hadn’t realised until that moment how much his opinion mattered or how desperately I needed him to believe me. Ignoring the rest of their conversation, I sank back against the wall as misery filled my gut with a painful weight.

A feather light touch against my wrist drew my attention and I looked down to find an ant making its journey along my forearm. It wove a lazy arc around my wrist, its purposeful walk appearing haphazard. It looked tiny against the black and white tattoo of marching honeybees which my mother had given me in her womb. The black queen which nestled in the crook of my elbow reminded me of our shared secret. The tattoo had matched my mother’s while she lived, a monochrome version of the stunning raised bees which graced her porcelain skin. I had loved their ochre and black bodies and dreamed of mine one day appearing as vibrant. I ran a finger over the tiniest bee near my wrist. No human had carved it. The Spirit of Nature put it there, a passport giving me entry rights into the hive.

“What’s your plan?” My nurse’s voice rose to an angry screech as she railed at the guard. Kneeling up again, I pressed my right eye to the crack and peered inside the dining room. Bliss stood with her hands resting over her ample hips. “You can’t let them come for her! What is your plan?”

“This!” Frustration burst from my guard’s lips and he whirled to face her. I saw the ragged scar which bisected the right side of his face. “This is as good as it gets. They will take her.” His eyes closed and the scar became a complete line from his eyebrow to his chin. He raised his arms in defeat and spun towards the door, a man once again as the disfigurement disappeared from view. I had never known him without its blight, though my curiosity had pushed for information about its origins.

The door slammed as he strode from the room and left Bliss there alone. I switched to my left eye and saw her profile as she lifted a jug of mead from the dining table and poured herself a full tankard. “She won’t understand,” she whispered. Mead slopped over the sides of the cup as she lifted it to her lips. The fingers of her other hand fluttered by her side like the gossamer wings of a butterfly. “How can she understand when I never have?”