Page 11 of The Lost Prince
Maybe a hole would open up in the middle of the floor and swallow me. Maybe they would find me lacking and dismiss me back to my mother’s apartments.
Vession split the line of us as we approached the thrones, half of us going left, the other half right. At the end of the line, I ended up square in the middle, staring right up at the queen.
Her cold eyes bore into me, shining silver like my mother’s jewelry. Leaning forward on her throne, her nails tapped against the wood of her arm rest.
Click. Click. Click.
“May I present this year’s reaped, delayed due to the flux.”
Vession bowed low, his long beard nearly touching the ground as he bent over.
“I am not used to seeing such older boys among the younger ones. It makes for an interesting crop, does it not?” The queen’s voice was just as cold as her eyes, no matter how pretty she was.
And she wouldn’t stop looking at me.
I hated my black hair. My hands shook, so I balled them into fists and tried to hide them at my sides.
“Just Nobles and mud boys? No boys from the other quarters? No stone, bread, or artisan?” the queen snapped.
The other quarters. Mother had mentioned them, but I knew little about them. It would be fun to meet other boys from there.
“The flux, my queen. No survivors of the appropriate ages. We shall have to wait a few years,” Vession replied, bowing low.
The queen sniffed, then continued her progress.
“I see why you were eager for this,” came the low, dulcet tones of the king. I raised my eyes to the throne next to the queen’s, set back slightly so that the queen and king appeared the same height. Or did the queen look slightly taller? It was probably how mean she looked, whereas the king’s expression was honest and open.
And his hair was black.
My lips parted in shock, and my jaw dropped slightly.
The king’s hair was black.
My entire world tilted on its axis. Confusion, frustration, and anger swirled and boiled into a potent cocktail in my veins. Why was I teased for my hair when our king had black hair as well?
It made little sense. None of this made any sense.
I wanted my mother.
“I assure you, I do not know what you’re talking about,” replied the queen brusquely. “We knew years ago it was successful. This is just further proof it was the right decision.”
What were they talking about?
The king raised an eyebrow but said nothing further, leaning back in his chair and content to let the queen run things. As he always did, I was starting to suspect.
The queen gathered her sparkling skirts and descended the dais, going to my left first and inspecting all of us.
I used the time with her attention off me to close my eyes and breathe, trying to slow my racing heart. To my left, I heard the queen asking polite questions of the boys, remarking on a fine appearance here, and lovely eyes there.
Breathe. Be yourself. In, and out.
My eyes snapped open, only to find the king’s gaze lingering on me. The queen stepped between us, and I froze.
“Well, well, well. Here you are. Zephyr, is it?”
She said it so casually, as if my name didn’t matter. But she knew it, didn’t she? Had she called any of the other boys by name?
No, she hadn’t.
