Page 2 of Omission: Part 2

“I wish to be the queen you deserve, mon roi.”

“What can I do to make this up to you? You deserve better, mon beau.”

Again, there’s a beat of silence and the hiccuping sob from my queen. “I’ll personally make amends for missing such an important dinner with your sister. Present her with a priceless jewel on the queen’s behalf.”

Each cry broke my heart. Her responses—her scent—gave away her fear, not remorse.

It tinged everything, including our connection. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who felt it. Other faes had to have too, even if they no longer understood what the sudden discomfort filling their chest meant. The disconnection between her and them is a large abyss now, and while the ember is still glowing inside, it’s un-nurtured. Dimmed.

Queen Amelia is being written out of our history.

Then, the final nail in her coffin was the so-called lack ofSilla’sfavorite mint soap in her en-suite bath.

Another lie told.

Every single offense was a lie, especially her love of mint. That woman is particular to the scent of roses—floral anything. Moreover, I stocked that bathroom myself. Inspected every inch of her suite to appease my father and gain reprieve for my mother, but that was a fool’s hope.

Maman bore the brunt of his mental lashes, fifteen each time, one after another; a physical and mentally painful experience, yet no marks were left behind.

There is no proof of abuse. Nothing that could ever be pinned on him.

Silla’s disdain for my mother has never made sense to me; literal repulsion is clear as day on her face whenever she visits, but it’s without cause. Mother is always polite when in her presence, ignores every snide comment, and gifts graciously, while the woman doesn’t deserve such care.

And while she’s never been outright cruel, there’s something off in her eyes when she looks at me. It’s not hate, but more like…fear.Trepidation.

A little bit of care, which makes no sense. Why is Silla wary of me?

It’s something I’d been questioning while bringing my mother her favorite tea, a drink my brother stole before I could reach her room. Ruben doesn’t like tea and my father abhors my mother’s choice with its notes of black currant and vanilla, but the action was meant to simply ruin my gesture.

Confirmed a second later when he tossed the cup against the wall where it shattered and the contents spilled all over the marble flooring.

“Come, child, we must be quick.”

“Yes, Maman.” I keep my voice low, a near whisper as to not hurt her head. Her mate’s mental attack left her a whimpering mess both times, the residual proof of his abuse clear in her eyes. They're sad and glassy; the tears that gather at the corners will never fall, but that’s a testament to her strength.She protects me any way she can, even if it’s to her detriment.“Is there anything I can get for you?”

“My sole purpose in this life before I go is to prepare you for what’s to come, Anaya. That you’re ready. That you’re strong enough to rise and?—”

“Are you leaving again?” Because I know the story. I may only be sixteen summers, but it’s a tale spoken about by the court’s female servants whenever the king isn’t around. They don’t hide it from me, though. Some whisper it as a warning, while others as a hero’s folklore.

Because those of a lower status aren’t treated like the elders or guards, more so if you’re a woman.

They see things. They live with the brutality those like Brice, my father’s general—who thinks highly of himself—unleash on their male family members. They clean wounds and stitch them up while fighting back tears because they aren’t allowed.

Not in our kingdom. We’re lucky to have a ruler like King Larue.

“One day, but not like before.” A short sentence, and yet it carries so much agony. Can feel her regret. “And that’s why I need you to listen, and never repeat what I’m about to tell you to anyone.” Wincing, Maman palms her forehead with her left hand, while with the right, she tugs me to sit beside her on the bed. Her body shakes with the effort, her face pinched tight from the pain. “Promise me, Aya.”

Her use of my nickname, one only she uses, causes my heart to clench. For my nerves to heighten; I hide it the best I can behind an honest smile. “I promise.”

“You’re a true queen.” Her bottom lip trembles a bit, and she takes a few minutes to regain her composure. She’s looking toward the door, the points of her ears twitching as if listening for movement outside in the hall. There’s no one there, and once satisfied, Maman turns her violet eyes—so much like mine—back to me. “I hope one day you look back on this conversation with fondness and know how much I love you, my child. You’re the only thing I’ve done right in this world.”

“Maman, what’s going on? You’re worrying me.”

“Hush, ma princesse. There’s nothing for you to fear.” I want to argue that, tell her we should leave together like she did a century ago before my birth, but the words die on my tongue when she shakes her head. The action causes her to wince, and I forget her past pleas and the promises I’ve made to never use my powers; I lift a hand and place it over her head. Feed her a bit of my strength while my skin glows in the dim lighting.

A move that would be easy to see even from a distance, the air around us vibrates with my magic—I’m healing what I can, and fast, because you never know who lurks on our royal grounds. Males and those of status wouldn’t hesitate to sell me out, turn me over to be used by my father as his personal healer, while they reap a reward for such loyalty.

Then, you have those who are desperate to change their ranking.

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