The Heir of Aiwan--Book 1

a queen's prophecy

Queen Morgana, the creator (ai +)

Queen Vaeda, the kind (arlynd)

Queen Lissette, the virtuous (eade)

Queen Johanna, the usurper (cinnaed)

Princess Camille... (arlynd)

200 years ago... Aiwan

Her mother had never been a soft, cuddly woman. The kind you may have read about in fairytales, if you knew the right ones to look for. She was cold and hard and distant. From the moment the then princess had started walking, she was running. Running from her mother's expectations. Running from the responsibilities her birth had made for her. She hadn't wanted any of it, the guards, the meetings, the weight of the crown. Technically, it shouldn't have even belonged to her. Her own mother, Queen Johanna, had been a usurper. She had coveted the throne and snatched the crown off her own sister's still smoldering corpse, if you believed the rumors. Eighteen years with the woman, it was definitely true. She was cruel and vile but also ambitious and queenly. She had been destined to wear that crown. It was practically growing out of her head. She was a cinnaed queen, not an eade like her own mother before her. Queen Vaeda was the daughter of Morgana. Morgana, creator of Aiwan. Yes, that Morgana, of the King Arthur legend.

Vaeda the noble, Vaeda the kind, as she was known. How she had created this monstrosity of a queen, was anyone's guess. She herself had never met her, she hadn't even lived to see her youngest daughter snatch the crown off of Queen Lissette, sweetest daughter of virtue, an eade like her mother before her. She hadn't stood a chance. 

The princess wakes before the sun and stays snuggled into the covers. She can hear the house servants, shuffling back and forth in the hallways. The soft swish of their dresses, the patter of their feet. A sound she has grown used to. She lays there and stews. She is no ai but today's charge keeps her holed up in her bed a little longer. The weight of the future weighs heavy on her small shoulders. Her mother despises her for not being more like her. More ambitious and power hungry. Her lessons go from sun-up to sundown, these few moments before the kingdom wakes are the only reprieve, so she takes them. Even if it means she never gets enough sleep. The fatigue is her constant companion. She watches out the window as the sun begins to crest over the horizon, welcoming a new day of being the disappointment.

A sigh escapes her lips as a servant cracks the door open to let in air to the room. She prefers the stifling air of her overheated room to the crispness of the castle. Her childhood, with her father in the cottage at the base of the mountain had been preferable to this place of disappointed futures. She missed the days when she could just be a girl. When the weight of a kingdom had been a distant thing. She can hear the girl rustling in the behind her. Pulling the sheets off the bed to wash them, fanning a fire in the hearth. The day has begun and she's loathe to face it. 

When she arrives at the dining table, she's happy to note that she's the first to arrive. Princess Camille stuffs a roll into her mouth, letting the warm butter drip down her chin. She basks in the savagery of it. Her violet eyes ignite with satisfaction as she allows herself to slump into her chair. She's so focused on the tasty morsel in her mouth that she doesn't hear her mother approaching until her back is being pulled straight, the awkwardness of the posture pulls uncomfortably at her back.

"If you insist on starting without us, at least be civil about it, " her mother's voice drips disdain. Each syllable cutting hard into the next one. Her mother gracefully glides to her own seat opposite of her and you can't even hear a rustle of her skirts as her bottom connects with the chair. The look on her face, maybe she's hovering there, it's pinched and uncomfortable. This is the face that is etched into every dark nightmare.