by Lynette Noni
“Fourteen today—where has my little girl gone?”
Delucia just grinned and, when he released her, she moved into her mother’s open arms, the scent of her familiar cherry blossom and peach perfume wafting gently around them, feeling like a hug in and of itself.
Stepping back again, Delucia eyed the cake and said, somewhat shyly, “I wasn’t sure if we’d be doing this again this year.”
Osmada’s eyes widened comically and she placed a dramatic hand to her chest. “Goodness, you’re not too old for birthdays now, are you? Because if so…” She picked up the cake and, barely hiding her smile, acted as if she was about to walk away with it.
Delucia laughed and reached out to halt her mother. “I’ll never be too old for birthdays. I just didn’t know if you’d be too busy to celebrate, especially with Lady Nerita and the rest of the Harovell delegation still here.”
Aurileous’s blue-green eyes, so similar to Delucia’s own, were tender as he said, “August sixth is the most important day of the year. Every year.” He ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “Busy or not, we’ll always make time for your birthday, sweetheart.”
“And cake,” Osmada said, with a flash of her white smile. “We’ll always make time for cake.”
Delucia laughed, but her mother was right—the cake was a highlight every year. The baker, Mrs. Gribble, used to work as the palace pastry chef until she left to open her own patisserie—Mrs. Gribbles Cupcakes and Nibbles—and her creations were beyond compare. The royal family had standing orders for each of their birthdays, with the king favouring a coconut cream cake, the queen’s preference being champagne cake topped with fresh fruit, and Delucia always requesting the white chocolate cake with dillyberry filling—a purple- and cream-coloured delight that never failed to make her moan. Even now, just looking at the masterpiece her mother held had Delucia licking her lips with anticipation.
“I’ve already told Lady Nerita that we won’t be joining her for breakfast,” Aurileous said, sitting back down on the bed and patting the space beside him. “We have a tradition to uphold, after all.”
He winked at Delucia as he reached into his coat, withdrawing three dessert forks and handing them out.
Delucia couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Not only did she get to eat cake for breakfast, she didn’t have to do so anywhere near Maxton. It was already a perfect day, and it had barely started.
Seated on the bed next to her parents, together the three of them ignored all rules of propriety and dug into the cake with relish. It was almost a shame considering how much care had gone into the decorating, but Delucia knew Mrs. Gribble wouldn’t be upset—indeed, she’d be delighted by their enthusiasm and clear lack of restraint.
“Every year, without fail,” Aurileous eventually said, rubbing his stomach with his eyes closed. “Not once has Mrs. Gribble delivered anything but her very best.”
Unable to eat another bite, Delucia could only lean against her mother, moaning her agreement.
“I think this will set us all up until my birthday in a few months, don’t you both agree?” Osmada said, her fingers trailing soothingly through Delucia’s hair.
“Please don’t talk about more cake right now,” Delucia begged, moaning again but for a different reason.
Her parents chuckled lightly, but then, as if a switch had been flicked, they sobered.
“There’s something we want to talk to you about, sweetheart,” Aurileous said. “Something important.”
Straightening, Delucia felt the cake sink like a stone in her stomach. Part of her had been waiting for what she presumed this conversation would be about, having expected it ever since she’d offered such a frosty reception towards their Harovell guests. “If this is about how I’ve been behaving around Maxton—”
“No, it’s not that,” Osmada interrupted, her hand moving to rest against Delucia’s back in an offer of comfort, of support. The reason for the gesture became clear when she quietly added, “That said, we do wish you would have come to us and shared about his treatment of you, rather than us having to hear it from Stablemaster Corbin yesterday.”
Delucia shrank in on herself, unable to hold her mother’s eyes. Apparently Kaiden and Declan weren’t the only ones who had eavesdropped on her conversation with Maxton.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wondering how much her parents had been told and unsure if she was upset or relieved now that the truth was out. “I—”
“Don’t you dare apologise,” Aurileous said, his eyes flashing and his voice hard—the voice of a king, but also the voice of a father. “Corbin had to put the pieces together himself, but what he came back to us with is enough that, had we known, we never would have allowed Nerita to bring her son with her this visit. And regardless of how well Corbin says you handled yourself yesterday, Maxton won’t be welcome back to the palace after he returns home to Harovell this weekend—not as long as I wear a crown.”
Tears pricked at Delucia’s vision and she blinked quickly, trying to hold them back. She wasn’t entirely successful, since one slipped free.
Aurileous reached forward to wipe it away, his voice thick when he said, “He’s not worth your tears, my sweet girl.”
Hoarsely, she replied, “They’re not for him.” And they weren’t—they were because of her father’s words and the evidence of just how deeply he and her mother had been affected by what they’d learned.
Aurileous’s face softened with understanding. Equally hoarse, he said, “You should have come to us. We never would have—”
“I know,” she interrupted, wiping her face. “And that’s why I didn’t. Because I think, deep down, I knew it was a battle I needed to fight on my own.” She sniffed once and said, “He’s not the only bully I’m going to encounter in my life. I needed to learn that I could stand up for myself, so that next time it happens, I’m already prepared.” Mustering a smile, she finished, “And besides, I can’t always expect my parents to jump in and save me, can I?”
“That’s what parents are for,” Osmada told her quietly, stroking her back. “But make no mistake, beautiful, we couldn’t be prouder of how you handled yourself.”
The king leaned forward and cupped Delucia’s cheek, his voice brimming with emotion as he said, “Just as long as you remember that there will never come a time that we won’t do everything within our power to protect and support you, should you need us.”
Another tear escaped, and again, her father wiped it away.
On a shuddering breath, Delucia said, “Stop making me cry on my birthday.” She was only half joking, since her tears were cathartic more than anything. The best present she could have asked for was that very moment in time as she basked in the unfiltered love of her parents.
The moment broke but didn’t disappear entirely when the king let out a quiet laugh, releasing her cheek and sitting back again. “Only because you asked so nicely, darling daughter.”
His wry tone wasn’t lost on Delucia, and she grinned at him, wiping her face again until it was dry.
Inhaling a shaky breath and exhaling it again to centre herself, she said, “If you didn’t want to talk about Maxton, then what—”
She was interrupted when a knock sounded at the door, followed by Mistress Alma entering the room. The tutor didn’t bat an eyelash at the three royals sitting together on the bed, nor the demolished remains of the cake between them. Instead, she just said, “He’s here.”
Delucia looked between her parents, noting their faces had turned serious once more.
“Who’s here?”
Neither of them answered her question, though her mother did ask Alma, “Where is he?”
“Waiting in the library with Master Ying, Your Majesty.”
Osmada nodded then rose from the bed, holding a hand out for Delucia.
Tentatively standing beside her mother, with her father rising on her other side, Delucia felt a prickle of alarm, uncertain what was happening—or who was waiting in the library.
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br /> “We’d best not leave our guest waiting,” Aurileous said, pressing a hand to Delucia’s back and guiding her forward as Alma led the way from the room. “He’s rather busy, especially at this time of the year.”
“Father, who—”
“We were hoping to have the chance to speak to you about this before he arrived,” Osmada interrupted, if gently. “But it seems we were distracted by that marvellous cake.”
“Perhaps it’s better this way,” Aurileous said as they hurried down the stairs and along the hallways.
“Perhaps what’s better?” Delucia asked, trying not to sound as frustrated as she felt. “Who are we going to see?”
Osmada reached for Delucia’s hand again and said, “Whatever happens in the next few minutes, the decision is up to you. Make the choice you want to make. We’ll support you no matter what.”
What decision? What choice? Why were her parents acting so strange?
With the library situated only a few floors down from Delucia’s bedroom in the eastern tower, they arrived before she could ask more questions—or demand a straight answer.
Mistress Alma reached forward to open the gilded doors before stepping off to the side, showing that she didn’t intend to go any further. Delucia looked at her parents, uncertain and confused, but they only ushered her into the room while offering tight smiles that she presumed were supposed to be encouraging.
It was quiet in the royal library, with only a handful of people perusing the shelves or seated at the wooden tables, poring over texts both ancient and modern.
Delucia’s parents hurried her along the aisles, nodding at those who bowed as they passed but not pausing for conversation. Deeper and deeper they travelled, heading towards the back where Delucia’s favourite reading spot was located. Soon enough, the armchair came into sight, the large windows behind it revealing a perfect summer’s day outside. But while normally such a sight would have had Delucia longing to be out and enjoying the sunshine—preferably on horseback—instead she focused on the cluster of chairs that had been pulled up alongside hers, and the two men who stood upon their arrival.
“Your Majesties,” Advisor Jaxon greeted with a bow.
Master Ying bowed too, though he said nothing, at least not to Delucia’s mind.
She looked from them both to her parents and said, “We’re here to see Advisor Jaxon and Master Ying? Why not just tell me that?”
Her parents weren’t known for being dramatic. She wondered what had prompted such behaviour, especially if they were only here to speak with her tutor and the cantankerous royal advisor.
Before they could answer, however, a new voice reached her as a man hurried out from in between a stack of shelves.
“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to wander off. I couldn’t seem to help myself—I do love a good library.” He winked at Delucia, his grey eyes like laughing moons.
This man—she knew him. He’d visited the palace before.
He’d visited her before.
“Darrius, it’s been too long,” the king said, moving forward to embrace the other man. Not a king to his subject, but a man to his friend.
Darrius.
Darrius Marselle.
Delucia knew exactly who he was.
She’d been six years old when she’d first seen him. As Headmaster of Akarnae Academy, Professor Marselle toured Medora every five years to evaluate children across the continent, discerning who would one day be offered a position at his exclusive school for the gifted.
Her evaluation that year had been brief—a short conversation and a hand on her forehead and that was it. He’d moved on to the next person.
Kaiden, Declan and Jeera had been amongst those tested during the same visit, with the three of them learning that once they reached fourteen, they would be welcome at Akarnae. Delucia, however, had heard nothing after her evaluation, and when the headmaster had returned five years later, she’d not been amongst those tested again.
“I remember you.”
The words slipped out, and Delucia winced, wishing she could take them back.
Darrius, however, looked pleasantly surprised. “You were very young when we first met, Your Highness.”
Unable to help herself, she said, “You’re rather memorable, Headmaster. Or at least, the reason for your visit.”
He chuckled, bowing his silvery head in acknowledgement. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Why don’t we all have a seat,” Osmada said, gesturing towards the chairs. “We might as well be comfortable for this.”
Her words implied that whatever was coming needed a level of comfort, and Delucia found herself again wondering about their strange behaviour.
Seated in her favourite armchair, almost as if the others had known it was her favourite and left it free for her, Delucia looked around their small group. Her parents were on either side of her, with Jaxon to the right of the king. Professor Marselle was opposite Delucia, his chair turned to face hers directly, with Master Ying on his left.
No one spoke, the silence enough that Delucia could hear the faint rustling of pages from library patrons perusing distant bookshelves.
Uncomfortable, she shuffled in her seat.
The headmaster caught the movement and offered her a kind smile. “I hear birthday greetings are in order, Princess.”
Of all the things he could have said, that was not what she was expecting.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Fourteen. A marvellous year.” His smile widened. “Big changes ahead, no doubt.”
Delucia’s brow furrowed. Confused and impatient for answers, she said, “I’m sorry, but why exactly are you here?” She looked around at the odd group. “Why are we all here?”
Darrius turned to her parents. “Would you like to tell her, or shall I do the honours?”
Delucia’s heart began picking up speed as his words prompted a feeling of trepidation to flutter in her chest.
“Tell me what?” she said, though quieter than she’d intended.
The king cleared his throat. “Sweetheart, Master Ying came to us last night and told us about the conversation you had with him a few days ago. He said—He said you were asking him about your dreams.”
Delucia shot a betrayed look at her tutor, upset that he’d shared what she’d told him in confidence.
But, then again, she hadn’t told him anything—not really. So what, exactly, had he said to her parents?
“Oo-kay,” she said, drawing the word out. “So I asked Master Ying about dream interpretations. That doesn’t explain why we’re here.”
“No, sweetheart,” Osmada said, reaching for Delucia’s hand. “You asked him more than that. Even if you didn’t really ask.”
Delucia blinked at her mother, confused.
‘Dreams that aren’t really dreams, Princess,’ came Ying’s voice in her mind. ‘You asked me about prophetic visions. And I believe we both know why.’
Delucia stilled, her eyes shooting to Ying’s and then around the room, the faces of the others showing his words had been projected to all of them at once.
“I don’t—” Delucia’s voice crackled, panic setting in as she began to fear they would think her crazy. “It’s not what you think.”
“No, Princess,” said Jaxon, his voice gruff—the sound somehow calming her, if only because he was the only one not looking at her like she was made of glass that was about to shatter. “It’s not what you think.”
“You have a gift, Your Highness,” Darrius said. “The ability to dream true dreams. To see visions of the future in your sleep.”
Delucia’s heart skipped a beat. She shook her head. Then shook it again. “No—that’s not—I’m not gifted. You evaluated me yourself.”
“I did,” Darrius confirmed with a nod. “And I knew when you were six years old that one day you would have a place as a student at Akarnae, should you wish to attend.”
Her breathing was loud to her ears as she repeated his words in her head. �
�No—that’s not what happened,” she said, her voice sounding strangled.
“It is,” Jaxon said, his impatient tone once again grounding her. “But given your age and the threats that were beginning to come in regarding you, the royal council decreed that the results of your evaluation were to be kept quiet. With no one else in your lineage having a gift, your enrolment at Akarnae wouldn’t be expected. Rather than paint a target on your back for the world to see, we kept it secret. From you—even from your parents. At least until last night, when we finally told them the truth.”
Delucia looked at her mother and father, noting the displeased expressions they were trying their best to hide. Apparently, they hadn’t appreciated being left in the dark—so that made three of them. But knowing her parents hadn’t kept such a monumental revelation from her eased something in her chest, her panic beginning to subside, if only a fraction.
‘With the new school year coming up, those of us on the council with knowledge of your gift knew the time was coming when you would need to learn the truth,’ Ying said, again so that everyone could hear. ‘That became a certainty when you asked me about your dreams, since Headmaster Marselle shared eight years ago how your ability would begin to manifest itself. The questions you asked me were enough to make me realise that the time has indeed come for you to learn about your gift—and to make a choice regarding your future.’
Delucia had never paid much attention to Ying’s role at the palace beyond him being her tutor. She’d always known he was one of a small number who had earned a seat on the royal council, but she’d never considered that he—or any of the others—might be keeping secrets from her, let alone from her parents.
“Perhaps we should have done things differently,” Jaxon said, albeit grudgingly. “But we had your best interests at heart, Princess. You were so young—too young to guard your own mind if someone had sought to steal the answers directly from your thoughts. And we needed to make sure you would be safe; we needed to be sure no one would know if you one day decided to attend Akarnae, since while the academy is warded, there’s no personal security on site. No Wardens. No surveillance. Only the teachers and the other students.”
