Those Lovely Shards (BXB)

Prologue

A young girl lay in the middle of the bed, trembling, her upper lip and forehead glistening with sweat. Dove picked up a handkerchief from the nearby table and wiped her brow, his own hands trembling. He could only sit beside her, helpless, and watch.

His gaze roamed across the heavy emerald tapestries on the walls, their gold support rods bearing the heads of Basilisks, sapphire eyes glinting in the light. A single candelabrum on a priceless table cast jagged shadows across the dingy stone walls.

She made a weak gesture toward the drawing parchment on his lap. "What are you drawing, brother?"

"A bird," he said, though truthfully, he couldn't focus on his art or the tapestries. A hot breeze crept through the window slats, pushing open the balcony doors framed with platinum and thick glass panels.

"You always draw these tweety little birds. Is it because Mother named you Dove?"

"Partially, but I simply like them."

"Why?" His sister settled into the pillow, sunlight filtering through the drawn shades to illuminate her delicate features. It was easy to believe in magic in her presence.

Her strength waning, she would soon rest, napping like an infant. A hiss of pain escaped Dove's lips. If only they could transform into birds with great, powerful wings.

His gaze drifted toward the sky. "Birds can fly as high and as far as they want, they can travel anywhere they want. I wish we could do that too."

Her eyes crinkled as she spoke. "Oh, can we be born as birds in our next life? And journey across the world together?"

The little boy's voice quivered. "Do you still want me as your brother in your next life?"

His sister squeezed her eyes shut, her face now thin and her once-shiny chestnut hair losing its luster. When her dark lashes fluttered open, it was her father's green eyes Dove saw.

"Of course, you're the best brother I could have asked for," she said.

The tension in his shoulders melted away. "Really? I hope you won't regret your decision later."

"I won't." She yawned and stretched her hands in the air.

A creaking noise drew Dove's gaze toward the door.

A royal guard barged into the room without knocking, his large hands gripping the doorframe for support as he gasped for air. "Your Majesty has requested your presence, Grace."

Dove leaped up, his sister's worried eyes following his every move.

He reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be back soon." Then he followed the guard outside the chambers and through the long, dank hallways until they stopped just outside the royal room.

As they waited, Dove's trained ears caught the chatter of the maids from the adjacent kitchen.

"His looks are phenomenal. Perfect wavy raven hair, ivory pale skin, and those lips are as red as roses. And those azure eyes behind thick lashes? I envy him," a maid mumbled.

"Too bad he takes after his mother. He looks like our enemy. How can he ever be one of us?" Another voice whispered.

Dove remembered how those remarks used to affect him. He would see his people's disappointed faces, and something inside him would wither.

He loathed the numerous tests he had to undergo to demonstrate his loyalty. Several months ago, before going to sleep, he had gazed at his reflection in the mirror above the bathroom basin and saw only his own image—his smooth complexion, eyes with an almond shape, and prominent cheekbones. At that moment, he realized that things would forever remain unchanged. At that time, he would weep and emit shrill sounds, attempting to erase the face staring back at him in the mirror.

The queen's high-pitched voice broke his thoughts. "Dove, come in," she called, and he stepped inside. His stepmother and the royal advisor were present in the room.

Inside, a table occupied the space, and the queen was scribbling on a parchment. With a flourish, she finished and set her quill aside. Her eyes locked onto Dove, penetrating his nerves and making him nervous. Her eyes, bewitching, were accompanied by bee-stung lips of lava-red. Her pencil-thin eyebrows arched, and she lowered her glasses to examine him, an ironic gesture.

Dove perceived the advisor as aged, observing his constant finger-tapping, as if conducting an unseen symphony. The majority of hair atop his head had vanished, and his eyeglasses, thick-framed, encased eyes that appeared perpetually disinterested, gazing into emptiness.

Without preamble, the queen spoke, "I'm no longer paying for your sister's bills. She will be discharged today. I've treated her long enough. The kingdom can't afford to deplete its treasury so soon."

Dove threw himself to the ground, his knees crashing onto the floor. He groveled before the queen, pleading, "Please don't do this. Rosalyn won't survive without medical care. I'll do whatever you want. I'll repay the money in any way you find agreeable. Please don't discharge her."

"I'm afraid, Dove, that wouldn't be possible. You need to let go of your sister."

Dove's body trembled as he processed his stepmother's words. The queen rolled her eyes, unimpressed by his childish tantrums as he crawled towards her. She yanked him up by his arm, pulling him towards the door with startling strength. He kicked the throw rugs beneath his feet, fighting against her grip. She held him firmly and summoned a guard to escort him out. His sobs caught in his chest as he glared at his stepmother through bitter tears.

The queen's chest heaved with the exertion of disciplining Dove. Her grin twisted with delight at his distress.

"If Father were here, he would never approve of you and your decisions," he snarled as two guards grabbed his arms and forced him backward.

"Your father was a weak-hearted, insolent fool captivated by sorrow and infatuation. He was incapable of making wise choices."

"Yet you loved him. I know you're still bitter that he never returned your love. Even when your tricks poisoned his mind, he still loved my mother. And you could never be her. You could never replace her," he shouted.

Dove felt as though worms, toads, and other slimy creatures were crawling out of his chest, it also felt liberating to finally express his thoughts honestly.

The queen gripped Dove's chin, forcefully turning his face towards her. "You ungrateful child," she hissed, releasing her grip and turning to the guard. "Lock him in his chambers and ensure not a single dime of mine is wasted on them anymore."

Dove struggled against the guards who held him, but they dragged him outside and confined him within the four walls of his room. The sound of the bolt clicking echoed in his ears. The walls that had once provided a sense of security from his stepmother's wrath now felt like a prison.

"I'll make you pay for your deeds," he thought. "No matter what you do to me, stepmother, you'll suffer for what you've done to me and my sister."