Page 8 of Heavy is the Crown
Ava
(“Labor” – Paris Paloma)
My eyes gaze out over the crowd collected in our home. The receiving room is a large, open, marble-floored area with giant columns supporting it. Banquet tables line the outer edges of the room and servers move about offering drinks to the people who have joined us. People of all genders mingle within, dressed as if they are going to a club. But instead of access to a club, they’ve all managed to secure a coveted spot to see my father yell at his advisors.
“This is unacceptable! How have these people stayed hidden so long? Find them!”
My father’s advisors shake in fear before his rage. The Order of Infernal Sin has been a thorn in his side for as long as I can remember; recently, however, they’ve become bold in their quest to remove him from his throne.
“Y-Your Grace,” an elderly advisor stammers, a sheen of sweat making his gray hair stick to his forehead. “The Order has gotten larger; we are doing everything we can—”
A wave of my father’s power moves through the room, and screams erupt as the man in front of him bursts into a bloody mess on the floor. Nervous laughter and gasps erupt from the crowd. My stomach rolls.
“Find The Order! Eradicate them!” he seethes to his remaining advisors. They utter promises I know will only result in more death. If they could have found The Order, they would have. I glance toward my father, sitting on his gaudy throne with my mother directly to his right. Jackson sits just to the left of him, while I’m planted firmly off to the side, not in line with the other chairs but set off alone next to the window, where sunlight can leak in like a mockery of heavenly rays.
A pretty little package, the perfect picture of obedience. Tonight, my mother has me dressed in a tight bodice that is the color of blood, the lace whirls moving from the corset into the flowing skirts that match in color. My blonde hair is pulled up high in a tight updo that is making my head pound, but the thick makeup on my face doesn’t allow me to rub at my temples. As much as I love to party, I have no interest in going to the party that will follow this. I want nothing more than to take my hair down and wipe the makeup off my face.
I shift my gaze to my brother, who is dressed comfortably, his dark linen shirt and pants exposing his muscled body. His golden skin is so at odds with my own alabaster white. The running joke between him and his friends is, I’m not his shadow, I’m his ghost. We haven’t spoken since the other night; I’ve avoided him to the best of my ability. This life has been killing me, I just didn’t realize it until Jackson snapped at me.
He offers a smile to Oisin, who is seated with Arcanna toward the front of the dais my family sits on. Oisin’s dark featuresbrighten when he sees my brother's smile. He attempts to offer one to Arcanna, but it falters briefly, like someone tripping and regaining their footing. Arcanna, however, keeps her face oddly blank. She’s been distant with all of us recently, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. I look back to Oisin, and a strange look passes over his face when our eyes lock, but it quickly winks out and he returns his gaze to my brother.
“Lady Ornate,” my father’s booming voice echoes out, and Arcanna’s mother comes forward. Her long periwinkle skirt brushes the floor, and when she bends forward in a curtsy, her breasts can be seen peeking through the lace turtleneck under the corset she wears. Her hair is thick and dark as night, just like Arcanna’s, but her eyes hold none of the warmth that our friend’s normally do.
“Your Grace,” she purrs as she stands up. My mother lifts an eyebrow at the suggestive tone she has. My mother’s jealous streak is legendary. While she may not want to fuck my father, she sure as shit doesn’t want anyone else doing it either.
My father clears his throat, but it’s my mother who jumps in. “Lady Ornate, my lovely. You have been a true gem in our kingdom.” My mother’s voice, to anyone else, sounds sweet, but I can tell the lady knows my mother is anything but sweet. “You have delivered both my children, as well as helped many others in their labors. However, we cannot be greedy; we must share you. I’m sorry to see you go, but the kingdom needs a healer such as you. It would be selfish to keep you.”
Panic and confusion start to show on Lady Ornate’s face as she takes in my mother’s words. Her frantic gaze shoots from my father back to the queen.
“Effective immediately, you’ll be traveling to the forest of the priestesses, where you’ll help teach them your ways.” What my mother is really saying is,You are being exiled, and you’ll be lucky if you make it there alive.
“But, Your Grace—” she starts. My mother holds her slim hand up, silencing Lady Ornate before two guards move up on either side of her. My father doesn’t move, even though the woman he’s been sleeping with the past month keeps trying to garner his attention. When it’s clear my father isn’t going to help her, she schools her expression and nods, her face holding nothing but venomous contempt for my family. Whirling, she exits the room with her head held high and doesn’t even bother to look back at her daughter.
Arcanna keeps her face clear of emotion as she watches her mother be escorted out. Once the doors shut, she stands and walks in front of the dais. Jackson frowns, confusion painted over his face.
“Arcanna, dear, you are, of course, welcome to stay here,” my mother coos. Jealousy pings my chest for a moment; she’s always fawned over Arcanna in a way she never has over me. But maybe it’s because she only views me as a pawn in her never-ending chess match to win power.
Arcanna offers a smile. “Thank you, Your Grace.” Arcanna pushes her thick hair off her shoulder, still avoiding Jackson’s gaze. She wears loose pants that almost appear to be a skirt, and a tight wrap covers her torso, leaving her arms bare. Tattoos cover her exposed areas.
“That just leaves the decision of who to appoint as Lady of the Souls,” my father grumbles. He’s losing his patience. He wants to get on with the party.
Arcanna clears her throat. “I would like to be considered,” she says, and the whole room goes silent.
A split second later, Jackson shoots up out of his chair. “Absolutely not!”
Arcanna shoots him a look that would make a lesser man cower. “That isn’t your decision, YourGrace.” She spits the title like a curse. As if she punched him, he staggers back and dropsinto his seat again. I scoot to the edge of mine—Arcanna has never used Jackson’s title, not even in the presence of the king and queen.
“Do you understand what you are asking?” my father asks.
“Yes.” Her answer leaves no room for interpretation.
“You can’t mean that,” Jackson says, voice a whisper, but given the quiet in the room, it might as well have been a yell.
The position of Lady of the Souls has been empty for a decade; the job is a death sentence. She would reside between the Forest of Souls and Land of the Damned, helping souls cross to one place or the other, along with protecting the most important place in Hell: the Well. The place where all our magic, the magic of the royal family, resides. She would never be allowed to leave the position; she would effectively be there until she died. Which, for her, would be a very, very long time.
“Son,” my father barks in warning, a reminder that it is not just our family here; our people are watching this, and it is not befitting for the future king to be this upset over a female he will never marry. He turns his attention back toward Arcanna. “If you are serious about this, I will gladly consider you for it.”
“I am,” she says sternly.
