The Four Kingdoms

by Maryam Durrani

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll tie it off.”

  “You—”

  “You don’t know what I’m capable of,” I scowled. “Don’t you dare tell me what I can’t do.” I got to my feet, yanking down my shirt. Grabbing my sheathed sword, I stalked off, slamming the door behind me, and made my way home.

  “Adalia,” Princess Zinovia greeted with a nod, her back straight and her neck arched regally.

  “Your Highness.”

  She motioned for me to follow her into a room, dismissing the guards. I shut the door behind them and faced her. Today she wore a coral gown, her lips red and cheeks rosy. A gold necklace hung from her neck, matching the bracelets decorating her arms and the jeweled tiara on her head.

  “My coronation is nearing,” she spoke, “but I’m afraid there are people who do not think I should rule, as you mentioned before. I need you to stay by my side until I am crowned, for I’m afraid there will be attempts on my life.” She continued as I listened, “There is a feast today, and I would love if you joined us.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said with a nod.

  Exiting the room, I started patrolling around the large corridors, careful not to move too fast. I pressed a hand to the bandages hidden under my clothes and sucked in a deep breath. I had to take a carriage secretly to get to the castle, because riding a horse could damage whatever small part of me that wasn’t already broken.

  I was late. I paced in my room, trying to remember if I’d forgotten anything. I stood in front of the mirror. My long hair was curled, my lips red as blood. The maid had brushed a pink powder on my cheeks, toning down the sharpness of my features. I looked completely different.

  Colder.

  I am late. I looked fine, in a dark dress that hugged my waist and helped me blend in. So, so late. Inside, I felt like a mess. I felt for the knives strapped to my legs and took a deep breath, making my way towards the door. I walked into the empty corridor, hitching up my dress to give me some leeway. If someone attacked, Zinovia could be dead by now. I failed my mission already.

  I stood in front of the doors, nodding at the guards who pushed them open. I curtsied, only to the princess, keeping my eyes on the empty seat beside her.

  I took a seat, taking in my guests, when my heart suddenly froze in my chest. One of the guests was none other than the queen. My queen.

  Queen Lorelle.

  She hadn’t noticed me—she was busy talking to Hansen, who had his seat beside her. I raised my fist, blocking the lower half face from view, but I kept my eyes on Lorelle.

  She looked so tired.

  Her dark circles might have been covered over with makeup, but her once cheerful eyes were dark. Her face was masked in a smile that I could see right through. She moved slowly, as if she was afraid she’d do something wrong.

  I watched as Zinovia’s food taster took the first bite. When it was all clear, the royals began to eat.

  I turned to the princess.

  “I didn’t know you were inviting Astodia’s queen,” I whispered under my breath.

  “Do you know her?” she asked softly. “They wanted an

  alliance.”

  “Are you willing to ally?” I asked her.

  She nodded wearily. She wasn’t interested in eating.

  “They’re not the only ones who need to make friends,” Zinovia said, setting her goblet down. I raised mine to hide my face as Lorelle’s eyes skimmed around the table. Her eyes fell on me, and she frowned. I kept my goblet up until she looked away. She seemed too stressed to pay any attention to me. “Two young queens,” the princess laughed. “Who ever thought it would come down to this?”

  Towards the end of the feast, I excused myself and took my post by the door. That way, I could stay away from Lorelle and Hansen, but still be looking out for Zinovia. Again, I pressed the base of my palm to the wound next to my hip. It stung. Every movement brought me pain.

  I watched as the royals spoke to one another, some retiring for the night, until Lorelle and Zinovia were left. Even Hansen excused himself and made way to his chambers, ignoring me.

  A scroll was brought, and eventually Lorelle dipped her quill in ink and signed it. I smiled. At least she was getting the help she needed.

  I exited, waiting outside the doors for the princess. After ten minutes, the doors opened and I turned to face Zinovia, only to come face to face with a dark shade of blue eyes instead of a soft brown.

  “I knew it was you,” Lorelle sighed. “As soon as I saw those gray eyes, I knew it could only be you.” I felt as if there was dirt in my mouth. My tongue felt heavy. “Two years, and not a word. Would you care to tell me why?”

  “Why . . .” I trailed off. “What do you want me to say?” I repeated the words Hansen had spoken to me earlier.

  Lorelle’s eyes were furious.

  “I needed you,” Lorelle said under her breath. “You left the day of my coronation. Selfish,” she shook her head. “I expected so much more from you.” She spoke as a queen, and her words stung more than the throbbing wound in my stomach.

  “I had no choice,” I said numbly. “You can’t turn this on me.”

  “I very well can!” Her voice was getting higher. “You disappeared without a word, and when I finally run into you I find out that you’re helping another queen-to-be? How dare you!”

  I scowled. “I couldn’t stay. There was nothing left for me—”

  “What about Lance? He looked for you, high and low. He took the guards and the horses and searched until he’d looked in every corner, every house, under every pebble. You were never found,” she fumed. “You could have left a note. Anything would’ve helped. We would’ve known where to find you. Lance was destroyed,” she shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive you—”

  “Xavier died!” I bellowed, unable to keep it in any longer. “I didn’t want you to find me. I needed to start over,” I shouted, letting everything pour out. “I held him in my arms in that very castle as he died. How could you ever think there was a reason for me to stay?” I was angry at her. I was angry at fate, and at myself. Mostly at myself. I expected her to cool down, take a step back after my outburst and realize it hadn’t been my choice, but she just let out a cold laugh.

  “I thought you were stronger than that. He was one person, and I know how much he meant to you. But we were alive, Adalia,” she pointed at herself. “We were alive.” She shook her head at me, her eyes disappointed. “I think your princess is waiting for you.” Her tone was mocking as she turned on her heel, walking away with anger in her face but poise in her stride. I let my hands fall to my sides. First Hansen, and now Lorelle. How many more people of the past was I going to casually bump into?

  “So you do know her,” a voice came. I turned to the princess, who had been listening in on our conversation from a distance.

  There was a part of me that knew I shouldn’t have taken the job at the castle. I could’ve avoided meeting Lorelle easily.

  “Once. Before she was a queen.” Two years ago. Her eyes were sad.

  “Things change. That’s not your fault.” She walked towards me, setting a hand on my shoulder. “Your choices should be respected. This is not the era to get attached. People come and go like storms—sometimes they bring dark clouds and sadness, and sometimes they shower a little bit of relief while the sun is out. The worst part is,” she leaned close, as if telling me a secret, “all the good storms move on the fastest.” She gently patted my arm, and her guards followed her to her chambers.

  All the good storms move on the fastest.

  Xavier. My good storm.

  Isabel made it very far. She was a talented fighter, and she moved too quickly for her opponents. Unfortunately, as I returned home that night, I was informed that Cadeyrn, the Battle Lord, had defeated her. I was to face him tomorrow. The final two standing.

  “He was amazing,” Isabel gushed. “I know he defeated me and I should be upset about it . . . but he was so handsome.�
�

  Jax rolled his eyes at his sister. “He literally crushed you

  in the first eight minutes.”

  “He’s wonderful,” she clapped her hands. Her eyes fixed on me and she smirked. “My money is on him.”

  “Isabel!” Jax scolded. He shook his head at me. “Don’t worry. I have your back. I placed my bet already.” He shot his sister a look. She scowled back.

  I took a seat on my chair, watching as they argued, sitting with their legs crossed on my bed. I lifted the edge of my shirt to assess the wound.

  “Do you think you can fight tomorrow?” Isabel asked, flipping her white blond hair over her shoulder. “I’m not saying this to get under your skin. I’ve seen you fight, and I’ve fought against him. You’re matched equally.”

  “I can do it,” I said abruptly. “Don’t worry about me.”

  We sat in silence, when Jax finally said, “I know you said not to worry, but I would love to know where you run off to every day. And the nights you don’t come home. Is there something we should know about?”

  “No.” I leaned back in the chair, crossing my legs over each other.

  “Aella—I mean, Adalia—”

  “Just pick a damn name,” I snapped. “My name isn’t Aella-Adalia.”

  “Fine. Adalia,” he said with a scowl. “Why are you being such a b—”

  “What Jax, my lovely brother, is trying to say,” Isabel interrupted, “is that we, as your friends, are worried about you and would like you to be more open with us. Isn’t that right?” She elbowed her brother.

  “Whatever,” he said gruffly.

  “I told you, don’t worry about me.” I patted my stomach as I got to my feet. “I can handle anything.” I gave them a look before saying, “I’m going out. Do we need anything?”

  “Milk,” Jax said under his breath.

  I smirked, leaning towards him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. What do we need?”

  “Milk.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “One more time?” I leaned closer.

  “I said we need milk, but now I don’t think we need it anymore.” He said loudly, his eyes fixed on the wall.

  “Did you say . . . bread?” I asked in mock confusion. Isabel burst into laughter and Jax rolled his eyes as I laughed, shutting the door behind me with my heel. Milk. We needed more milk.

  I knew I should’ve taken the road with more people. Lonely walks were always dangerous, especially when you were a wanted ex-assassin. When I was approached by the two men, I grabbed for my sword, a ripple of pain running through my stomach. They lunged, aiming for my hands.

  “Alive!” the one with the missing tooth shouted. “We need her alive!”

  It was cold outside, and I found myself frozen in place. Perhaps if I had moved quicker, maybe I wouldn’t have had to kill them. Maybe. But I waited until they were yanking my arms behind my back, wrapping them as if I was an animal ready to be butchered. And then I killed both of them.

  The knife was in my hand and I tore through them. I stared down at the one with the missing tooth and shook my head at him.

  I broke a promise to myself. Tossing the knife to the side, I crouched beside them. I could’ve gotten information. Who were they? Why did they want me?

  Was I just a trophy? The mighty assassin, waiting to be caught?

  I looked down at my blood-stained hands.

  “I’m no trophy. I’m worth nothing.”

  As I walked back, I realized I’d forgotten the milk.

  The Ring Battles were exciting. Exhilarating. The fight, the power—the arena was mine. I waited as the round began. I was here earlier than anyone, sitting on an old chair in the corner of an empty arena. As people started piling in, I watched the balcony above. There she stood, looking down at me with a smile.

  You can do this, Zinovia’s eyes said to me. She took a seat and I focused back on the arena.

  My arms throbbed, and I rubbed them, wrists bruised from my fight with the bounty hunters.

  Isabel and Jax walked through the doors, smiles on their faces.

  “We love you no matter what happens,” Isabel winked.

  We love you.

  No matter what.

  The irony. I rubbed the bruises on my wrists again, waiting to be called. Looking around the ring, I saw the Battle Lord sitting across the arena, his head bent and covered by his dark cloak. I clasped my hands together.

  I heard my name, signaling that the final Battle was starting. I got to my feet, rolling my shoulders and stepping down. This’ll be easy. It’s just like walking down the street and buying some milk.

  Hah. Even buying some milk wasn’t easy if you were me.

  Why was my chest fluttering? I was nervous, the feeling foreign. Was Isabel finally getting to me?

  I had to get her out of my head.

  I breathed in and out slowly as I descended down the steps towards the center of the arena. Cheers erupted. Bets started. It doesn’t matter if you lose.

  It did. I made it this far, and I had something to prove to these people—all who were rooting for me.

  I stood in the center of the Rings.

  I stared at my opponent with as much fierceness as possible. I needed to scare him before we started the battle. Intimidation was the only way to go as of now, since my wound could slow me down.

  He waited.

  It was different. I felt different. There was something off about him, something strange. He stood there as if he was taunting me.

  He wanted me to attack first.

  I set my jaw, gripping the hilt of my sword tighter. I watched as his shadowed eyes traveled over my body, watching. Waiting. I swallowed, continuing to stare back. I wasn't going to let him win this, but he held his ground. It seemed as if he'd been watching me the whole time. As if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  I moved first.

  I swung my sword at his chest as he sidestepped my attack. He waited until I sliced again, blocking with the edge of his sword. Metal screeched as the blades scratched each other's edges. I pushed and he pushed back until we both flew apart, our chests rising and falling.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed, but I didn't get a reply. He wasn't fighting me; he was defending himself.

  He moved as if he were floating on air, turning and slicing, parrying my attacks as if it were just so easy. My chest heaved and my legs were lead, but I wasn't stopping. I ran, slamming my sword against his. His technique was . . .

  Beautiful.

  I tackled him to the ground, frustrated. Our swords lay forgotten, far from our reach. I punched at his face, barely missing his cheekbone covered by a soft mask. I pulled out my hidden knife, the one in my belt in its sheath and pressed it to his neck. I had won. It was just too easy to be real. I frowned, looking down at him. What the hell . . .

  He laughed.

  I froze. It felt as if someone had spilled ice cold water down my spine, and I couldn't move. My breath was stuck in my chest and I couldn't force it out. Every part of me was jammed.

  I looked down at him, my hands planted firmly above his shoulders onto the ground, my knees on either side of his hips, digging into the dirt floor. Dark hair hung loose over my shoulders. I tried to breathe. Time seemed to freeze completely as I urged myself to look into his eyes; to actually look into his eyes this time. I looked around the to see the people silent, watching, judging as if I were an animal ready to tear into its prey.

  And I looked down.

  “No,” I whispered, my eyes wide. I could feel my heartbeat pulsating in my ears. “No! Who did this? Is this some sort of a sick joke?” I shouted.

  The entire arena was silent. There were snickers as if they thought I was crazy. I wiped my eyes with my hands, sitting up.

  “You're crushing my waist, love.”

  My eyes burned. I had to believe it was just a coincidence.

  “Are you going to cry?”

  My hands trembled as I looked at them.

  The ma
sk.

  It was the only way to prove my fears wrong.

  I reached towards his mask. I felt him tense under me, as if my touch would burn him.

  I saw his throat tighten as he swallowed.

  And then I ripped off the mask.

  “No.” I stumbled back, crawling away from him. “No. No!” I grabbed my sword, staggering to my feet. “You’re . . . you imposter.” Imposter.

  That was the only explanation. He was just like Aiden, trying to mess with my mind.

  The weapon was steady in my hands even though the rest of me was shaking in anger. His eyes were fixed on me as he picked up his weapon, a cold smile on his face.

  Those golden eyes.

  It was impossible. There was pain in my chest and in my stomach and my head. I had seen him die with my own eyes. I had visited his grave. I had held him in my arms as the light left his shining irises.

  It was completely impossible.

  He couldn't be here.

  I opened my mouth to say his name, but the word wouldn't form. And then, when I was finally able to say it, I said it with so much pain I almost forfeited the match right there.

  “Xavier?”

  He smirked. The young man that stood in front of me smirked with such cold unfamiliarity I thought I was wrong for a moment.

  This wasn't my Xavier, the one I'd lost two years ago. He looked different.

  His dark hair was slightly curled from the humidity, falling into his golden eyes. He looked taller; his body thinner and leaner—I could see the muscular look from beneath his shirt.

  His jaw was more curved and his cheekbones looked as if they'd been carved out, all the extra baby fat stripped away. This wasn't Xavier. He was different, too mean-looking.

  But somehow, I knew it was him.

  Xavier had come back from the dead.

  I stared at my best friend, the one I'd left my home to move on from, the one that used to tease me about my angry face or the way I danced. Xavier would fight for me when I only needed someone to listen.

  He was the one that knew me inside and out. The one that caused so many of my sleepless nights as I lay there, wondering if it was my fault he'd died. If I hadn't grown attached. If I hadn't pulled him into the escape plan.