The Cold Prince

3

Word Count: 1779

~Avila

I stare down at my hands, deep in thought.

Regardless of how long I spend scraping at the very edges of my mind, there are no memories to be found.

Pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes, I let out a frustrated groan.

Who am I meant to be? What am I supposed to do now? My initial confusion has melted away into frustration, and I just want to scream.

I cast my gaze off to the window.

The moon is round and full tonight, casting an ethereal glow into the room. My eyes flutter closed, a sweet, flower-scented breeze ruffling through the curtains, blowing over my damp skin, finally cooling it.

I need to get outside. I can't be in this room a moment longer.

Snatching a sheer dressing gown off its hook, I slip it on and make my way out the door and into the corridor.

Everything about this place is vast and cold.

The ceilings are tall and sweeping, adorned with ornate fixtures and painted various shades to create intricate patterns.

My bare feet pad against the cool wooden flooring as I wander toward what I hope is the exit.

Nothing in this manor seems personable. The wallpaper is a plain shade of ivory and all the furnishings are too polished and proper to be of actual use to anyone.

My hand glides down the bannister as I descend the stairs.

"These are all understandable questions, but you must know that I don't yet have answers for them." Roel's hushed voice sounds from the corridor near the stairs.

Wrapping my gown closer around me, I sneak to the near wall, turning my head to listen in to what he is saying.

"She was dead for six months and her body is in perfect condition, no signs of decomposition." It's Crimson.

They are talking about me.

I look down at my hand, imagining my flesh rotting, peeling away to reveal stark white bone. I shake my head, expelling the intrusive thought.

"I would suggest not using words like that around her. Not right now," Roel mutters.

The wall is cold against my back as I lean closer to the archway. I'm desperately trying to fight off the itching in my nose from the flowers that seem to be spawning everywhere around me.

"It has to be magic," Crimson hisses.

She doesn't trust me. I wouldn't either, I suppose, since I don't trust her, but still...

"Look, none of us were checking her casket to see if she ever did truly begin the process," Roel say uncomfortably.

Twisting around, I carefully peek around the corner so I can see them.

Crimson's arms are wrapped around herself as she shifts from foot to foot. "What if it's not my daughter, but an imposter?"

A lump gathers in my throat.

"You know that's not the case. She has no memories, so the person she was has been erased," Roel explains. He looks bothered by her paranoia, while also attempting to comfort her.

I hope they pay him well...whatever it is he does here.

"She may not be fit to be Queen," Crimson hisses through her teeth.

"None of this can be known for certain yet, Crimson. All we can do is slowly integrate her back into her old life." Roel sounds like he is scolding her.