Black Blood

Chapter 2

I am halfway through my breakfast when half of the table stands up and silently leaves the room.

Christiaan stands up from the chair next to me, forcing me to do the same. My half-full plate is left behind. A server rushes to the table and snatches away the plates. She doesn't look at the guests and doesn't say a word.

It is my father's dangerous protocol that forces them into this attitude. Most servers are afraid of the upper class. They were born and raised here and know no better. We call them servers, but it is better to call them slaves. Guards are paid, servers are not. They need the king's approval to leave, as my father never gives it, they are stuck here. I feel sorry for them, but I wouldn't know what to do without them.

'Dinner,' is my cue for the day. After his words, Christiaan and my father leave the dining room. The smile my father gives Christiaan is something I haven't seen since I was a child. Sometimes I'm convinced that Christiaan is more of a son to my father than I am his daughter.

'Shall we go?' Startled out of my daydreams, I step aside and look at Elien and Minos. Minos gives me an apologetic look, which I quickly dismiss.

'Yes,' I reply before taking Minos's place. The man smiles before leaving me alone.

My slender brother takes my arm and leads me through the halls.

We walk towards the gardens. It's not like we have many other options. Elien and I are forbidden from leaving the castle grounds.

The gatekeepers in blue uniforms silently open the large wooden doors before we cautiously climb the stone steps. The towering wall around the gardens obscures the once beautiful view of Mita.

The village, which lies at the bottom of the hill, was beloved by my mother. She regularly took me to visit markets, special people, or just to have a chat. I can remember running through it as a little girl, enjoying my freedom and the fresh air. I often long for the carefree time back then.

Although as a child, I always wanted to grow up, I now long for my younger years. With age come responsibilities that we never asked for.

'Father is always whispering. Do you know what he's talking about?' Elien asks.

'No.'

'Too bad. Father never tells me anything and keeps saying I have to wait until I'm older,' complains the eleven-year-old. If he only knew what would happen when he's older, he'd change his mind, I hope.

We walk into the gardens via the stone path. The grass, which was covered in snow and ice for months, is turning green again, flowers are blooming, and the trees are getting their leaves back. There seemed to be no end to the icy winter, and even now, the temperature is not high, the sun absent and covered by a blanket of clouds.

Nevertheless, the trees are well cared for, the hedges are trimmed, and the grass is not a millimeter too long. In winter, the gardens are an oasis of snow or grass. In the summer, the red, blue, and green plants take over. You will never find weeds between the paths and certainly not dried-up flowers. The gardens are one of the few projects of my mother's that are kept in their original state.

'Have you read any books lately?' Elien tries to keep the conversation going.

He's always the one asking the questions and telling stories. My days are either too monotonous or not suitable for children's ears that I have nothing to tell him.

'The Honeycomb,' I lie.

Although reading is one of the best pastimes this castle offers, the days of good books are long gone. There was once a series of books about all the peoples, magic, and history.