Page 1 of Omission: Part 2 of Elena M. Reyes

PROLOGUE

MEMORIES

Anaya

Last conversation with her mother…

“Come and sit with me for a minute, Anaya,” Mother calls out as I pass her open doorway, a now-empty tea tray in my hand. I’d been given the honor of preparing for, and then attending to, the needs of my father’s sister while she visited the fae court.

Silla arrived a few days after being summoned by our king.

I welcomed her and then the elders, my grandfather included, by serving them a le goûter upon arriving. Just as I graciously hosted an ostentatious dinner later that evening, my lips not moving from their permanently curved, yet demure smile. No teeth shown. Face relaxed. Always saying oui to whatever ridiculous request these guests had because they couldn’t serve themselves something as simple as a glass of water.

It’s beneath them, but not me. I’m a prisoner, my gilded cage full of sharp edges—the metal formed into thorns and blades that cut at every turn. My title is nothing more than a life-long sentence under the guise of nobility. I’m seen as an object, not a person, and used to further push our king’s moral beliefs.

To most members of the fae kingdom, we’re the picture-perfect family.

We’re led by a stern, yet loving monarch who prides himself on the façade he’s erected over the remains of my mother’s legacy, a tired queen saved by a loving mate and eldest son who stepped in to take care of those under her aegis.

You are nothing but a pawn I move at my discretion. You have no voice or choice; remember that, my child.

A lesson I learned the hard way multiple times throughout the years via warnings, punishments, and then snarled promises, the latter of which was to permanently take my maman from me.

Because a good and proper princess:

Is bound by duty.

Serves her people.

Has the privilege to be seen, never heard, and admired by all for her selflessness.

Furthermore, these traits can be explained as part of our royal etiquette, but I know better. It’s a way to further push our king’s misogynistic views, and they apply to all females unless you’re his sister.

All of his devout followers are men. Every high-ranking member of the court is a male.

Aunt Silla’s presence filled the palace with a buzz that felt off. The halls were overpowered by a tinge of heaviness I tried to evade while she gallivanted as if she were a true member of the royal family. While our true queen went into a forced seclusion.

Maman was hidden from sight while our guest believed she was recuperating from an unknown ailment. A lie.

No one questioned it, though. Don’t think my father’s devout followers care.

Silla’s stay on fae territory lasted a little over twenty-four hours, and she wreaked havoc in her wake. Each minute here was spent in private discussion with our elders, the military, and lastly, our king—I haven’t slept yet.

Mother hasn’t either. Not because she’s sick or tired, but because of her punishment sessions before dinner and after, while the rest of the visitors enjoyed a cup of coffee. While they ate a decadent dessert and my aunt smiled, our father retired to his office with my mother, whose head hung low.

“You will stand here and not make a sound or intervene, my child. Do not make this worse on your poor mother and force my hand, or I’ll make her bleed this time. Understood?”

“Yes, Father.” My voice is low and my throat feels tight—eyes becoming glassy—but I force the tears back.

“Very good.” The hint of pride in his tone makes me want to scream, but that also can’t happen. I’m trapped. Forced to lower my head and give in to his command, no matter how much I want to rebel and hurt him. “Once I exit, you will count to ten and then attend to Amelia. Get her unseen to her chambers. Do not disappoint me.”

Then there’s silence. Utter stillness.

For a few minutes, there’s nothing until it begins.

Low. Slow. A whimper turned sharp cry as the minutes tick by, and her apologies follow each pain-filled sound.

“I’m so sorry for Silla’s displeasure, mon cherie. I’ll do better.”

---