Stolen Throne (Fiction)

My eyes snap open, nightmares sliced apart by the blade at my throat. Steel shimmers in the moonlight, chases chills down my spine.

“Up.” A rough command sends me shuffling forward. We stumble out of my chambers and down the hall. Silence screams, the early bustle of servants and guards eerily absent.

Footsteps echo against the walls as a man approaches, his eyes cruel and cold and the color of mud. A large grin boasts missing teeth.

“You found her then?” A foreign accent lifts speech, a dialect just short of familiar.

“Aye.”

The confirmation prompts a leering appraisal that the man makes no attempt to hide, his eyes roving over night clothes rumpled and stretching across bare skin.

“Ah, now ain’t you lovely. The king’s precious little sister. The crown’s jewel, they call you. Ain’t that right?”

Pride keeps my chin high, lips still. Dirty hands reach up as if to touch my face. My nerves snap, weave steel into my gaze; fingers dance at my side. To his credit, the movement does not go unnoticed. He smirks as his hands drop.

“Got some fire in you, do you princess?”

“Why are you here?” Words bleed through clenched teeth.

“Why? Well, let’s see. Money, mostly. Maybe a bit of fame. A bit of royal blood. And hell, now that I’ve seen you, princess, well. I might have to add you to the list.” His roaring laughter reverberates through the empty hallway, but I’m too distracted to react to his poor attempt at humor.

“Royal blood.” My throat tightens as I repeat his words. The laughter dies and I’m met with a sinister smile.

“Not yours, princess. Not this time.” A deep sigh sounds behind me.

“Enough, Trey. Do the job.” Trey’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t argue.

“As you wish. Right this way, princess.”

Phantom spiders crawl through my insides. Fear mounts as we walk, shifting and swirling and stitching a thousand threads of panic that threaten to tear me apart.

When we stop outside of my brother’s chambers, I stop breathing.

The doors creak open, and the scene rips me at the seams.

Blood pools on the floor, spreading to corners and seeping into cracks.

In the middle of the darkness, a body lies.

“No.” The whisper falls, a pin drop. My knees find the floor.

Royal blood.

Tears blur my vision, but I brush them away. I can’t stop staring at his body, lifeless and limp, willing him to wake. Grief breeds denial, formulates excuses.

The sting of the knife against my back serves as an unwelcome tether to reality.

My brother. They killed my brother.

Royal blood. Not yours this time.

“You bastards.” Rage burns in my veins, fuels me. My elbow crashes into flesh, pain explodes as bones collide. The world fades into nothing but movement and agony. Hands restrict my limbs, pin me down.

“Careful, love, or you’ll end up just like him.” My abductor’s face comes into view at last, shadowed under a frayed hood. Gray eyes on weathered skin. “Come on. We’re leaving.”