Wicked Fate

Five years later

“Do you want to kill me?” I grumble, adjusting the strap of my heels. Of course she had to hand me one that feels as though I were stepping on a particularly pointy rock. Cynia does nothing but laughs at my reaction before ruffling my hair.

“It’s better than wearing the boots you were going to wear.” she says, making a face. “We are trying to get you to marry the prince, not divorce him.”

Sunlight peers though my chamber windows, bathing the room in a bright light. Cynia’s blonde hair glows as she continues to shift through my closet, throwing things that I’m not sure can even be considered a dress. I run a hand through my brown strands before leaning back.

“With the dresses you’re choosing,” I say, holding up a particularly questionable piece of fabric, “I doubt anyone’s going to notice my shoes.” She turns around to give me a look before tossing a dress onto the bed.

“Well, none of the dresses you’ve picked ever worked,” she says exasperated. Well, she is not wrong. I drop the dress before looking out the window. Why was the king so determined to marry me off? The moment I turned eighteen, he had produced a list of princes as though he had been waiting for the day. Of course, with their so-called charming personalities, I couldn’t stand talking to them for a whole five minutes.

The bed dips slightly as Cynia sits on its edge. Her long legs hang down the mattress as she faces me. “Lets count how many suitors you’ve already rejected,” she teases. I pull my eyes from the window, smiling slightly at her antics.

“First, there was the prince of Veymora.”

I roll my eyes at the thought.

“He doesn’t even count as a prince.” I swat a hand, dismissing him. “He talked so much that even his maid looked startled.”

Cynia snorts. “She did look terrified.”

She gives me a teasing look before her next words. “Second was -”

“Absolutely not.” I bury my face in my palms.

Her laughter echoes through the room. “I didn’t even say his name.”

I sigh before looking up. “I remember him,” I mutter, playing with the hem of my dress.

“I’m sure he remembers you. After all, you did throw -” she begins.

“He was asking for it,” I say defensively. “He should be happy it was tea and nothing else.” The pillows cushion my back as I stretch on the bed, my feet landing on a dress. Cynia pushes my feet off before picking up the dress.

“Don’t step on it! You know you have to wear one of these, right?” She dusts off the dress before putting it neatly in the closet. I close my eyes, letting the sun fall on my face. The weather is so beautiful. It’s such a shame that I have to waste it on a prince at this time. What I really wanted to do is go down to the Celestial River and sit by the edge.

Hopefully, he’ll just hate me naturally and this will be over.

“What time do we have to go?” I ask, keeping my voice light. Cynia throws another dress at me.

“As soon as you are done getting ready.” The dress is a deep red, freckled with rubies along the bottom edge. I twirl it around, admiring the way the sunlight reflects off the jewels, casting a red glow around the room.

“Stop playing with your dress and go inside!” I laugh at her impatience before letting her usher me into the changing room. It doesn’t take any more than two minutes for me to put on the dress. The other twenty minutes was spent staring at the mirror. The dress hugs my waist before exploding into skirts of red which glitter with rubies.

There is a frantic knock on the door.

“Izzy? Are you still inside?” Cynia’s voice is full of concern as she knocks again. At this rate, she might as well break the door. I drag my feet towards the door, contemplating whether I should come out. Stalling would be easy, but then again, I’d have to go anyway.

Best to get this over with.

My hands are cold as I open the lock, meeting her panicked gaze. Panic immediately turns into anger as she throws a pillow at me.

“You’ve been in there for so long that I thought you were killed by your dress,” she exclaims, frowning at me. My lips curl into a smile at her expression.

“Come on, let’s go see the prince,” I say, dragging her along with me. She grabs onto my arm with a strength that I’m worried it might bruise before dragging me to a chair.

“First, we have to fix your hair,” she declares. The brush runs through my hair smoothly, the bristles sliding gently along my scalp. I close my eyes at the sensation. Cynia puts the brush down before tying my hair into a double braided crown. Her fingers weave through my hair, crossing different strands together. I honestly don’t know how she does it.

“There,” she says, her voice full of excitement. I turn my chair slightly before gasping at the masterpiece she had made. She was the only one who could do something so perfectly.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, staring at the mirror. Her arms wrap around my shoulders from behind.

“I don’t care what the prince does. Just make sure that your hair remains intact.” I can’t tell if she is teasing me. Knowing her, it’s probably half and half. She turns towards my closet, digging through my least favorite section.

Heels.

I shudder at the thought of having to wear them. Beautiful as they may be, they hurt like hell. I stare at my reflection again, causing a smile to appear on my face. Sometimes I wonder if Cynia can be a magician. I’m about to turn away before a dim yellow glow catches my eyes. I almost dismiss it as sunlight, until I realize sunlight doesn’t glow from underneath a pillow.

I squint at it before relaxing. Oh. It’s just Venexa. I forgot I put it there. My hands latch onto the hilt greedily, holding the blade up to the sun.

Inter stellas scriptum, fato signatum.

The letters glow faintly underneath sunlight, as though they were made of fire. The blade shimmers beneath my fingers, its form melting away until only a delicate gold hairclip remains.

Perfect.

My eyes dart to Cynia, who is still muttering about how she can never find the things that she needs. Thank god she is busy, even if it’s at the expense of me damaging my feet. I shove the clip into my hair, admiring how it fits perfectly amongst the crown.

“Izzy! Try this on!”

I look at her skeptically before hesitantly taking the maroon heels. A groan escapes me as I shove my foot into the shoe, adjusting the straps reluctantly.

“This prince better be worth it,” I grumble, standing up. It’s as if I’m walking on two delicate sticks which are bound to snap soon. The heel doesn’t look that trustworthy.

Cynia’s laughter is wicked. “The way you’re walking doesn’t seem like you’ll make it to the castle.” I shoot her a glare before grabbing her arm, dragging her to the door. My hand grazes the smooth knob before a voice interrupts me.

“Isabelle.” Cynia’s voice drops an octave. “Didn’t I tell you not to bring your sword?” Her smile fades from her lips as though it was never there. My brows furrow together in confusion. She never told me that. At my perplexed look, she frowns.

“You said you gave up being an assassin.”

I blink. Those words did sound strangely familiar. Had I said that? My lips curl into a grimace before looking at her.

“Why can’t I get married and be an assassin at the same time?”

She looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads. I watch as her hands cross over her chest, an uncanny resemblance to my mother.

“First of all, you belong to both kingdoms as soon as you get married.” She looks at me pointedly. “Second -” she pauses before letting out a sigh.

“I’m just saying that maybe it’s better for you.” Her voice is tinged with a hint of sadness. “A life without weapons.” She gives me a slight nudge. I raise an eyebrow at her words.

“So you’re saying that I shouldn’t fight?” My voice is astounded. I knew that she hated me going out on the king’s missions, but she never said anything.

“I never said that. It’s just -” she pauses before looking past me.

“I don’t want to see you come back, ripped to shreds.” Her voice rises slightly at the end.

“I don’t want to see you spend sleepless nights planning.” A tear escapes her and she wipes it away immediately.

“I don’t want to lose you Isabelle.” Her voice softens on my name. I don’t know what to say. A tear slides down her face, tinging her makeup. My hand reaches out immediately, brushing the stray tear with the pad of my thumb. I take her hand in mine before squeezing it tightly.

There is nothing left to say.

Instead, I lead her to the vanity and pick out a brush. This time, I’ll do her makeup. Powder lies on the edge of the brush as I dab it on her cheek, covering up the path the tear made. I look in her eyes.

They are a startling shade of emerald. The color makes me want to laugh. It makes me want to run into the Blackwood forest with my arms outstretched, my fingers brushing against leaves which hang from long branches. Silence fills the room, only disrupted through the sound of the brush going through hair. Her lips curve into a smile as she stares up at me, no trace of sadness left.

“I never knew you actually paid attention to me when I taught you makeup,” she teases, hitting me lightly on the shoulder. I wink at her.

“I had nothing else to do,” I say, stepping out of her reach before she can hit me again.

“Come on,” Cynia says, laughter tinting her words. “The king is waiting for you.” I look at her in shock.

“I thought you said the king wasn’t going.” She laughs at my words.

“He isn’t. He told the chariot driver to tell him when you arrived.” Her voice grows teasing.

Of course he did. I don’t know what I expected. All the king does is wait. He waits for someone to tell him the news instead of figuring it out for himself. He waits for his daughter to turn eighteen before selling her off for no good reason. I know he knows that I can be useful. I’ve shown him on countless occasions.

But he refuses to listen.

Cynia takes my hand, shaking me out of my bitter thoughts. I let her drag me out of the room, still getting accustomed to the new feel of the heels. The door clicks behind me with a finality that I refuse to believe. My heels sink into the royal blue carpet which drapes over the marble stairs. Sunlight fills the palace, reflecting off the chandelier, causing them to scatter across the ceiling like stars.

I drag my free hand along the silver railing, loving its cool surface under my skin. The guards who I’m convinced were born expressionless sink into a deep bow.

“Your Highness,” they say, gesturing towards the chariot that awaits me. I give them a slight nod before walking past them, holding my head up high. I set my face to be void of emotion as I pass them. The public has no use for a crown who thinks for themselves.

The weather is truly lovely. Sunlight catches on the jewels of my dress and I almost smile at the sight. God, I should’ve gone to the river today. The chariot driver whose name I’ve never bothered to learn steps off the horse, sinking into a bow. I wave my hand, gesturing for him to rise. I place my hand in his, allowing him to assist me in the carriage. Cynia sits after me, her dark green dress doing wonders to her eyes.

“You look like you are going to be hung from the gallows,” Cynia says, laughter evident on her face. Perhaps I do. Hell, I probably am. Why did this have to ruin what I would’ve called my perfect day?

Fate, after all, is impossible to escape.