The King They Fear

I was born at the stroke of midnight. I woke at the same hour, eighteen years later.
A moon-drenched sky shone through the elegant paned windows of my large bedchamber, falling on me like strands of silver. I lay sleeping beneath my silken sheets, dreaming of fractured memories and half-formed fantasies. Midnight struck, and so did my magic.
A soft warmth flooded over my body, filling me with a gentle confusion. I shifted, uncertain whether this was part of my dream made manifest. A faint light touched my closed eyes, forcing me out of my slumber.
I opened them and discovered my body awash in the soft white glow of my magic. My powers pulsed like a child playing with an oil lantern, changing the quantity from full to low and back again. The radiance illuminated the whole bedroom, swallowing even the shafts of moonlight.
I sat up, raising my upturned palms to stare blankly at the light. The old clock in my front sitting room chimed the hour, the pulse of my magic perfectly matching the rhythm. My magic grew stronger with every ding, defying my will, which commanded it to settle within me.
My disobedient powers levitated objects around the room. Cushions, pillows, throw rugs, even the flowers in the vase on the nightstand floated out of their container, hovering even with my horrified eyes.
My years of training were all for naught against the onslaught of pulsing heat and floating objects. Neither the mental focus, the consistent eye contact, nor my even breathing allowed me to regain control of my magic.
The items inched into a counterclockwise rotation, moving faster and faster with the pounding of my heart. They created a wind that whipped strands of my long, wavy brown hair against my face.
My frustration spilled out into verbal commands. “Cease this!” I shouted into the wind as its momentum increased. “Stop this at once!”
The storm captured the sound of the tolling clock and amplified the noise within its wild depths. The sound was deafening, drowning out my terrified cries as my pulsing magic increased. The winds whipped about me, wrenching the bedsheets into the frenzy and yanking at my nightgown.
I clapped my hands over my ears and shut my eyes, trapped in the storm of my own making. The chiming reached a feverish pitch, culminating in the final strike. My magic burst out of me in a great wave, sweeping over the room and all the spinning objects. They crashed to the floor, where some of the vases and glass objects shattered.
I sank onto my mattress, a heavy breath leaving me. Then I sucked it back in when a knock came from the door in the wall to my left.
“Princess Cassia? Are you alright?”
Felicia!
I shot up, my pulse quickening. It would have been impossible to pretend nothing had happened. Her bedroom was next to mine, with only a thin wall and that door separating us. It was a wonder she hadn’t knocked earlier.
“Are you alright, Princess Cassia?” She sounded more frantic.
So was I as I swept my eyes over the room. It was a disaster. How could I show anyone such a poor display of my magic skills, especially on this day of days?
The full-length mirror tucked into the far corner reflected my terror-laden face. On a happier occasion, a smile would have graced my lips, ringed by my wavy, mid-back-length hair. My brown eyes had been politely called hazel by those seeking my favor, but my eighteen years of life as a princess had taught me never to succumb to flattery. I at least had my slim figure, but that trembled now as I tried to find a solution to my predicament.
“Everything’s fine!” I shouted back, jumping off the bed and scooping up the broken pieces of a vase.
“Why do I hear the chinking of a clay vase?”
I paused in my frenzy and studied the pot. It was indeed clay, fired in the kilns of one of the many workshops in Aurelia.
“Um, there was a small accident! Nothing you need concern yourself with!”
“Then please allow me to help, Princess Cassia.”
That gave me enough warning to jump to my feet and spin around to face the door, grasping the fragments behind my back. The portal opened and in stepped my servant, Felicia. She was only three years older than me, with straight brown hair and a slightly plumper build.
Felicia’s mouth dropped open as she beheld the chaos. I stood there in the middle of the mess like a child caught with the proof of their guilt.
“What happened here?” she asked, taking a step into the room.
“It really isn’t anything to worry about,” I insisted as I brushed a few shards behind me. “Ouch!” I had forgotten my bare feet. A warm bead of blood popped up from the cut.
“Princess!” Felicia exclaimed, hurrying through the mess and reaching me. She grasped my arms and guided me over to my bed. “Please take a seat so I may look at your foot.”
“It’s really-ouch!” I had tried to apply weight to my foot, but the wound lay on the arch.
Felicia knelt in front of me and lifted my foot. I had to suppress the urge to giggle and kick. “I will need to bandage this, but I would first like to clean some of the room to prevent either of us from further injury.” Her feet, too, were bare.
“Of course. Take your time.” I shifted my foot and winced.
She paused just as she moved away, a frown creasing her lips. “Perhaps I should bandage your wound first.”
I waved her away. “I won’t have two of us hopping around here. There’s no threat of me wasting away any time soon, so please clean up the glass first.”
She bit her lower lip. “If you wish it.”
“Very much so.”
Felicia reluctantly moved over to the shattered remains of the vase and picked up the shards, placing them gently in a nearby handkerchief. I crossed my injured leg over my other one and inspected the wound. The glass had cut a deep slice of flesh, but the blood had congealed over the wound.
“What exactly were you doing?” Felicia spoke up, never once breaking her quick pickup stride.
Think, Cassia! “I was, um, just practicing my magic, and my concentration slipped.”
She paused in her chore, lifting an eyebrow at me. “At midnight?”
I shrugged. “Well, there isn’t much time left to practice, and I thought I would celebrate my birthday at the hour I was born.”
Felicia stared at me a moment longer before she resumed her task. “Your father would not approve.”
A heavy sigh escaped me. Father. King Gareth Brynmor of Aurelia to most of our subjects. “No, I suppose not.” A thought struck me, the color draining from my face. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
Felicia smiled up at me as she stood. “When have I ever told him?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, scowling at her. “There was that one time with the pie.”
“You had stolen it from the kitchen.”
“And that time you told him about my innocent prank on Lady Winslow.”
“I saw you dump that bucket of scorpions on the train of her dress. How could I not inform your father when the whole palace heard her screams?”
A sheepish smile slipped onto my lips. “She did scream pretty loud, didn’t she?”
The corners of Felicia’s lips twitched upward. “I heard the guards at the front gate complained of the sound. Now let me throw these pieces away and see to your foot.”
She soon had me bandaged, and I eased my weight onto the floor. A sharp pain shot up my leg. I stifled a gasp and clutched my thigh.
Felicia grasped my arm on my wounded side. “Perhaps I should tell your father. You should not dance on such an injury.”
I clutched her hand, shaking my head. “I’m fine, really. Besides, there’s almost a day until that happens. I’ll get better between now and then.”
She furrowed her brow, her sharp eyes studying me. “I really wish you would tell him.”
“Maybe after the gala,” I countered, sighing as I looked about the catastrophe that was my room. “And definitely after I clean this place up. But all that will happen after we both have had some sleep.”
“Would you like me to stay with you?” she offered, nodding at the old rocker beside my bed. “I might sleep there.”
I lifted my chin. “And ruin your back so we’re both hobbling around the halls? Certainly not. You go to bed and I-” I dropped back onto my bed, patting the sheets with both my hands. “I will do the same, and we’ll clean this place up when we don’t need a candle to do it.”
She stood over me, a picture of worry with her hands clasped together in front of her. “Then I suppose I will bid you goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Felicia, and thank you for the help.”
“Goodnight, Princess Cassia.”
She slipped away, leaving me with my thoughts. They weren’t pleasant as I inspected my room. The furniture could be mended, the dresser drawers and clothes rearranged, and the portraits rehung.
What couldn’t be so easily mended was the anxiety I felt as I lay down on my bed. “Why now?” I whispered to myself, drowsiness intruding on my thoughts. “Why did you have to act up now, of all days?”
There was no reply. I turned my head, studying a crooked portrait of a beautiful woman with wavy brown hair. She had a bright smile on her face, dressed in her favorite silver gown.
“I wish you were here, Mother…” I whispered.
Sleep took me in its gentle embrace, leaving my unanswered questions behind.