The Kingdom of Secrets and Ruin

Dalliah

I watch my mother in the looking glass behind me as she braids my hair gently so that it can match the golden crown atop her head. Unlike my unruly curls that have turned to fluff and frizz overnight due to forgetting my bonnet, my mother’s hair is perfect. There’s not so much as a strand out of place and to be honest, I can’t recall a day where that wasn’t the case.

Even in my earliest memories, she was always primped and primed for the day from the moment she entered my rooms to wish me a good morning, but it wasn’t until recently that I realised that it wasn’t my mother’s pride that caused this, it was my father’s and his.

Looking back I was a fool to think otherwise.

You see my father, King Elric of Apheya, is a simple man with a simple belief, and that is that the royal family should be perfect. They should set the standard for their people and represent a united force never to be broken.

So it is with this in mind that I was cast out.

From the day I was born, it was startingly obvious to those around me that I had a condition yet to be named Vitiligo. It meant that the dark smooth skin that I inherited from my parents was marked with pale white patches, almost as if the colour had been stolen away in the womb.

Some parts are easier to hide than others, but I was unfortunate enough to have been marked with a patch on my face. The upper right portion of it has faded, causing one of my chocolate brown eyes to appear blue, glowing up into the face of the mother who has always loved me and the father who was repulsed.

The second he saw me he didn’t hesitate to declare that the second daughter born to him of his queen was birthed still, and my existence has remained a secret, guarded by only our most trusted servants.

Growing up my sister and I were read stories when she bothered to come visit me in my rooms, and we’d hear of princesses locked in towers, knights in shining armour, and dragons surrounding castles. She’d come to laugh them off as fiction as she grew up, but unfortunately for me, they remained real.

At least the locked-up-in-towers part anyway.

When I became more aware of my surroundings and the life I was to live inside my closed off rooms, it naturally stung to realise that my father hid me, but after 20 years it’s nothing more than a dull ache in my heart now.

My mother loves me, visits me every morning without fail to ensure that I obey the rules allotted to me. They mostly consist on how I am never to leave my rooms except for 1 hour a day when hidden by a veil, but at least my father allows books, paper and charcoal to be bought as frequently as I wish to prevent my restlessness from growing any stronger.

I think a small part of my mother hopes that if I continue to educate myself on history, decorum and all of the other vital subjects taught to a princess, maybe my father will relent… but we don’t share this hope. I mean, I can count on one hand the number of times he’s bothered to visit me since my alleged death, and that was after months of begging on my mother’s part.

No, I’ve given up on my father, much like he has on me but I continue to learn, to read and to draw because it keeps my mother happy and it passes the time. I just can’t help but wonder when this life of mine will finally turn into something worth having. That is, if you could call it a life.

“Either you are behind on your studies again or you’re not listening to me, Dalliah.” My mother scolds me as she places the last pin into my hair and turns towards the face paint bought to cover my markings.

I’d never say this, but I hardly see a point in covering myself when the only people I see know of my condition already. But much like her perfect appearance, she insists that I always be ready for a visit from my father and so she spends the time not just plaiting my hair, but also covering what makes me different.

I’m almost grateful for my blue eye so that I can’t forget it when catching a glimpse of myself in the looking glass throughout the day.

“Sorry Mama, I was daydreaming again… What was the question?” I ask sheepishly and accept the sigh of irritation blown onto my face as she leans in to dab the paint-covered cloth against my face.

“I asked… the date on which the Eradeo Islands first declared war against the continent?”

No wonder she’s frustrated, this is an easy one considering we’re still at war and I doubt even some of the small folk could answer this wrong. Most still remember the day that the first kingdom, Khoba fell into the hands of the Islanders and the messages sent to the others in the continent demanding their surrender.

I could have sworn I heard my father yell about it from here in my tower, but I was only 6 or 7 at the time.

“1357,” I answer quickly to ease any suspicion of hesitation and see the left side of her lips rise slightly in a smile.

“Very good, and when did the Red King take Gaspeau?” She follows up and I can’t help but shiver at the thought.

Gaspeau is the largest prison on the continent, filled with the worst criminals imaginable, guarded by our two largest rivers colliding and sheltered by an unforgiving forest making it practically impenetrable.

Or so we thought.

“1359,” I reply less eagerly this time and my mother must have noticed because she doesn’t immediately follow up with yet another question.

I wonder if this is what my father is like or does she just like to test me like this? To assure herself that she’s schooled me well, all things considered.

“What were you daydreaming about?” She asks softly now that she’s applying the powder that is meant to make the paint on my skin last longer and repel water should my veil get damp on my walk in the garden.

Unfortunately, I can’t answer this question honestly as it hurts her to hear how I long for a life away from the same four walls, and so she mustn’t know that I dream of the forests, lakes and meadows that I read about in my books.

“I was wondering how Maude’s dress will turn out for tonight.” I lie, knowing that she’ll believe me after years of practice.

My sister, Maud will of course be expected to turn up to the grand dinner tonight, celebrating the anniversary of my parents union and will no doubt have a grand dress planned with all of the potential suitors that will be seated around the room.

She’s 22 and still unmarried which is strange for a princess, especially of a kingdom as powerful as Apheya, but our father seems hesitant to let her go. She’s his little girl as I’ve seen written on labels tied upon discarded gifts passed down to me over the years and I imagine he’d hate for his youngest child to leave the nest.

You’d think it’d hurt to think such a thing but alas, my heart is cold to him now as it is to the siblings who were just as eager to forget me.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll visit to show you before it’s time.” My mother says warmly and I try my very best not to roll my eyes.

Maud will not visit me. It’s been years since I last saw her in person and I wonder if she even remembers the sister she used to play with when we were young.

The last visit was for her to bring me a kitten, something I still look back on fondly. Not for her throwing the little thing on my lap with disgust while laughing at my half-painted face, but for the treasure she left behind.

Maud prefers riding horses and hunting with dogs much like my brothers whom she always seems to be chasing after, so when our father gifted her with the kitten, she played with it for a week before passing it along to me.

‘It even looks like you.’

She’d said when leaving with a scornful laugh and she was right. Much like myself, this kitten was blessed with luscious dark fur peppered with little white patches. Little does she know this was the best thing that she could have said to me in that moment. I mean, if a creature so similar to myself could appear to me so beautiful, why couldn’t I?

Still despite her laugh, I feared for months after that, that she might change her mind and that she’d come to take it back from me as she has with dresses, toys and books in the past.

I didn’t want to get too attached to my new companion and so I called him Nameless. But even after the years have passed and I’m sure she’s long since forgotten him, the title has stuck and that’s now all he responds to.

When we lie together on the sun-kissed rug of my room, I sometimes wish that I were nameless too so that I won’t have the Leverer name haunting me as the family I was born to and the name I’ll never be given.

“Will you show me your dress, Mama?” I ask to change the subject from my sister.

“Of course, I will… now tell me about the Red King…”