by E. Latimer
I looked away, fighting the urge to fly out of the chair and down the hall. To get away from all of this. This entire thing was insane. What did Mary think of me? The human girl who had stepped in and taken over for her dead friend.
"Close your eyes." Mary's voice was gentle.
When I shut my eyes, I could feel her light touch on my face. The tickle of a brush across my eyelid.
"Now, when you go up there, they're going to stare. But don't let it get to you. Hold your head up high and smile like you don't give a damn."
The tickle switched over to my left eye. My heart lifted a little. Maybe Mary didn't think of me the way Leif did. She didn't sound like she hated me.
"I always used to tell Amora that." Her voice was warm and a little sad. "You do remind me of her, you know. You're scared on the outside and brave on the inside."
That startled me so much that I let my eyes flicker open, and she made a small tsking sound.
I shut them firmly. "Brave on the inside—I wish."
"You are. It's just very deep inside." Mary chuckled. "You have to dig for it."
Dig for my bravery. The idea of me digging with a shovel and pick, trying desperately to find my bravery, made me smile.
Mary laughed again. "Almost done. The final touch."
Something dabbed over my lips and then drew away.
"Open your eyes."
I did, and the woman in the mirror startled me. A pale, powdered face, flawless and smooth. Wide, blue eyes ringed with black liner and dusted with glittering shadow. A delicate band of jewels set the hair style off, glittering under the light, cunningly woven into my hair to look like a tiara. And the most startling of all: blood-red lips. It was unsettling how little of me was left.
"I look like her."
Charlotte came over to stand behind me. "Like who?"
"The queen." My pulse picked up. How was I supposed to pull this off? The queen was practically carved out of marble. Powerful and sure of herself. I was a coward. The woman in the mirror was a lie.
"No," Mary said. "You look like Amora. And you look brave."
Chapter Twenty-Six
The dress they’d picked for me was off-white with glittering crystals stitched into the fabric at the bottom in snowflake patterns. It made me feel like some kind of snow goddess in spite of my doubts. After it was all done, I stood in front of the full-length mirror beside the bed and just stared. Mary guided Charlotte over to the vanity and started on her makeup, and the girls kept a constant string of chatter up. It was good, because I was too shell-shocked.
I’d been given a dead girl's name and her clothing, and now, they were dressing me like her. Would I become her so completely that nobody would remember who I used to be?
The idea was chilling.
A sharp rap on the door made me jump. This was it—Erik was here to escort me to the great hall, where I would stand up in front of hundreds of people. Mary moved to answer the door, but I beat her to it, eager to move, to get this over with.
I jerked the door open, and Erik froze, his hand raised to knock again. He was dressed in a ceremonial guard uniform, white with red trim, buttons down both sides of the double breast. He looked good, I couldn't help noticing. Very good.
He stared at me, his eyes wide. Like he couldn't look away. "Amora."
He said the name so reverently that I was sure he had taken a page out of the queen's book. He really had forgotten I wasn't Amora. He wasn't seeing me, but a dead girl walking.
I shifted, uncomfortable, suddenly desperate to break the silence. "I guess we should go."
That seemed to shake him out of it. He blinked and had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, you just... You remind me so much of her right now."
I glanced back at Mary, who gave me a wide smile and a thumbs-up. Charlotte didn't even notice my exit. She was already picking out the shade of blush she wanted, exclaiming over the palette of colors. I let her enjoy it even though I wanted her with me. I wanted someone who saw me as me, not a dead girl. But Charlotte deserved some time away from all the drama.
~ * ~
Erik and I made our way down the twisting passages and hallways linked arm in arm. It was less that he was escorting me there and more that I was leaning heavily on him, so nervous that my knees felt like water. I didn't trust them to hold me up properly. He told me what to do in a firm, calm voice, and I clung to his instructions, desperately trying to commit them to memory.
Walk slowly up the aisle like you see people do in weddings. Acknowledge the queen with a low nod—not a bow, a nod. We don't want you tripping over your dress trying to bow.
The thought was horrifying. It was exactly the type of thing I imagined myself doing.
Then slowly walk up the steps. I'll help you up there. Turn and smile at the crowd. And that's it.
That's it. No vomiting, no fainting, no babbling like a lunatic. Hopefully.
The doors to the great hall swept open, and the guards by the doors stood to attention. All four of them were wearing the red-and-white ceremonial uniform. The colors reminded me of my dreams. Of blood on the snow.
I swallowed repeatedly and tried to concentrate on not throwing up.
That was a good thing to concentrate on, right?
As soon as Erik led me into the great hall, my stomach dropped into my shoes and my grip on his arm tightened. The tables had been moved out, leaving a huge, echoing space.
The great hall was packed wall to wall with jotun, who were all dressed in their finest clothing. There was an orchestra playing up at the front, just beside the raised dais, where the queen waited.
But the crowd must have been waiting for me, because no one was looking at the queen or her musicians. My throat closed up, my chest tight and painful. I nearly faltered.
Erik squeezed my elbow gently, reminding me to keep walking.
I'd read books about brides walking down the aisle, fixing their gaze on the groom, something to distract them from the staring crowd. So I fixed my eyes on Queen Eira.
I wish I hadn't.
She stood up from the throne, and her dress pooled out around her, blood-red silk gathered at the hip and pinned with a cluster of white diamonds. On her head was a crown of spikes, like upside-down icicles. The base of the crown sparkled under the chandelier light. Just the sight of her turned my blood to ice water.
Queen Eira smiled, those dark-red lips curving at the corners, her eyes glittering.
I practically heard her thought from across the room. Here comes Amora.
We were blurring the lines between fiction and reality so completely with this bizarre ceremony, giving me Amora's maid, dressing me up in her clothing, painting my face to match hers. Something cold and hard lodged in my chest, making my breath come in short, sharp gasps. Erik tightened his grip on my arm, probably concerned I would start hyperventilating. I took a deep breath and smiled instead.
I arrived at the dais without tripping over my dress, puking, or any of the other potentially embarrassing things that could have happened. But I still felt like passing out. To my surprise, the queen reached for my hand, helping me up the last step.
Her grip was incredibly cold, and hard. I wished she'd let go.
"Welcome, my people." Queen Eria's voice rang out over the crowd, echoing through the room. The music died out slowly, and the crowd fell silent. "I come before you today as your queen. I come before you today to make you a presentation."
No one coughed. No one whispered. No one even breathed.
"I present to the court my daughter Amora, and I do command that you take her as one of your own. A part of your people."
Now, a murmur could be heard spreading through the crowd. Surprise.
My face was burning. What did it mean that she’d called me Amora and her daughter in a formal ceremony? It had to mean something or the jotun wouldn't be reacting this way.
The queen's voice rang out again. "You will take her as your own. You will afford her every right my kin i
s given. Any challenger to this...need but come forward now and speak your piece." Her voice had gone sharp and cold on those last few words.
I repressed a shiver. She was still holding my hand, and it felt like something was radiating from her—a cold, terrible fury. Queen Eira swept her gaze around the room, and I found myself doing the same.
It was noisier now. The silence had been broken. The jotun were murmuring to one another, looking around at their companions or staring at me with surprise and—in some cases—with disgust. Trying to remember what Erik had said was hard in that moment. Smile, smile around at the crowd.
The crowd hates me.
Better to remember what Mary said. “Smile like you don't give a damn.”
I could do that. I tried a reckless smile, a devil-may-care smile, and it might even have worked. Until my gaze strayed to the corner of the room where Leif and his wolves had gathered.
Leif was the picture of pure fury, his arms rigid at his sides, his hands balled into fists. His jaw muscles were twitching and jumping as he ground his teeth. He looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around my throat.
He stared with such white-hot hatred that my smile faded, fake confidence turning to alarm. The queen continued, her voice strong and sure. No one had actually said anything to challenge her, and she seemed confident that no one would. But I was still fixated on Leif. I couldn't look away as he stormed toward the exit, pushing people aside as he moved through the crowd.
The rest of his little pack stayed behind, all of them watching me with narrow, shining eyes. Like wild animals tracking a particularly interesting bit of prey.
~ * ~
When the ceremony was over, the music started up again and Erik escorted me back down the aisle. We went a little faster this time, though it was still a fairly casual pace. Once we got out into the hall, he walked more quickly, his expression grim.
“What’s the hurry?” My heart rate was just starting to go down again. I could finally relax a little because most of the jotun were still listening to other announcements in the great hall. A little time to breath was nice.
“I’ll explain. Let’s just get back to the room first.”
~ * ~
When we got there, Charlotte was still out. I retreated to the vanity table while Erik paced back and forth over the ice floor.
"What is it?" My hands shook as I wiped at my mouth, almost desperate to get the lipstick off. To be myself again. "You're seriously freaking me out. Is it because she called me Amora?"
"Not just that…" Erik drew in a deep breath. He sat down on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his short hair. "Well, it is that, but it's what it means that worries me. She acknowledged you as her daughter. I mean, officially."
I chewed my lip. "So everyone knows now."
"Right. And you're to be treated just like Amora was, like you're royalty." He rocked back on the bed, rubbing his forehead. "Amora was in line for the throne, and that's the first thing people are going to ask themselves."
I groaned. Queen Eira had basically told everyone with that ceremony.
"It's not confirmed for everyone," he said. "But a lot of people are going to assume that. And they won't be happy."
And what did Erik think? Part of me wanted to ask him, but I was a coward. I couldn’t handle it if he disapproved too.
"Leif," I said. "He stormed out."
"I saw that."
"I have a lesson with him tomorrow." I leaned my elbows on the desk with a groan. "Now, he's probably going to try to chop my head off."
"He won't." Erik frowned. "The lesson will be in the middle of the training room. It's completely crowded. And Leif is a coward anyway. Just be prepared. He won't be pleasant is all I'm saying."
"Is he ever?"
"Fair point. He'll just be more unpleasant than usual. Just let me know what happens, okay? If he threatens you or something, I want to hear it."
Erik stood up as the door creaked open. That was followed by a flood of laughter as Charlotte, Becca and Margaret practically fell into the room.
When Margaret spotted me, she shrieked. "Megan, you looked so amazing up there! Your dress!"
The girls crowded around me, and I waved at Erik as he retreated, laughing and shaking his head. Apparently, he thought facing a crowd at a formal ceremony was easy, but three teenage girls was what did him in.
I tried to go along with the other girls—since none of them seemed to realize what the announcement might have actually meant—and laugh and joke with them, but it was hard. Hard not thinking about the lesson tomorrow.
Leif would probably be "more unpleasant than usual." God help me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The harsh buzz of the alarm clock jerked me awake. Someone's arm was in front of my face. Startled, I leaned away and the arm dropped. My arm. Apparently, I'd been flailing in my sleep.
My vision started to clear up a little, and I squinted at the clock—eight a.m.
The first day of training with Leif. Dread bloomed in my stomach as I glanced over at Charlotte. She was still completely dead to the world in spite of the alarm. Lucky.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and forced myself to shuffle to the bathroom and get ready. My stomach gurgled. Not with hunger, but with nausea. Breakfast was out. There was no way I’d be able to keep food down. It had been years since I'd barfed out of pure terror, but I still remembered the feeling of hot and cold. The shaky hands, the rolling stomach. Not that far off from what I was feeling now.
I will not puke in front of Leif. Unless it's directly on his shoes.
In the shower, I washed up as quickly as I could before stepping over the edge of the tub, rubbing the mist off the mirror with the corner of my towel. What did Prince Leif see when he looked at me? I saw hair that had gone too white for my liking, bright-blue eyes full of worry. And he saw what? A threat? A usurper?
I snorted and turned away from my reflection. What the hell kind of word was that anyway? It sounded like...like someone who tested soups for a living.
Right, think enough weird thoughts and you'll distract yourself from what's about to happen. Good job, Megan. Or did I think of myself as Amora now? It seemed everyone else did.
My head began to hurt, so I dismissed the thought and went to pick an outfit. Combing through the wardrobe, I mostly found dresses and skirts. There was no way I was going to show up wearing a skirt though. Leif would probably laugh his stupid head off. Finally, I found a drawer full of training outfits and picked a tank top and a pair of black, wide-legged pants made of light cotton. I tied my hair up, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the hall, trying to remember where the training room was.
The corridor was nearly empty this early in the morning, and the sneakers I'd found in the wardrobe made little tapping sounds on the ice floors. It sounded loud in the stillness.
I hesitated when the passage in front of me split. Even though I was petrified at the thought of seeing Leif again, I was almost relieved when I rounded the corner and the hallway ended with the big double doors of the training room. The girls had told me how to get there before they'd left last night, but I didn't trust my sense of direction.
The sound of battle washed over me as the doors creaked open. There were three people in a ring at the center. A huge blond boy with an overabundance of freckles was fighting two smaller jotun.
An archery range lined the back wall, red bullseyes painted on white targets. The recruits were there, and I picked out Elliot's muscular frame right next to a woman with dirty-blond hair. When she turned and lined her bow along her cheek, it revealed a jagged scar. Karina.
She released the arrow smoothly and it hit dead center on the target. Karina whirled around and punched Elliot on the arm, a rare smile lighting her face.
Not sure I wanted them seeing me, I turned away.
Most of the racket came from a sword lesson taking place in the far corner. The instructor, a woman with straw-colored hair and a seve
re jawline, shouted commands, holding her sword up a different way each time. There were only about ten students, each of them copying her movements in unison.
These jotun were much smaller. Shorter than any of the others and very slight. Their features were different too. More rounded, slightly darker.
Jotun children, I guessed. I stared at them, fascinated.
