by Lynette Noni
Delucia had figured as much, since Jeera had graduated last year and was returning as an apprentice, meaning her schedule wouldn’t line up with regular student timetables. Her hours would instead be all over the place as she studied directly under the Stealth and Subterfuge teacher, as well as both the Combat and Archery instructors, all three having decided she was worthy of furthering her education with them. It was an incredible honour, and one that would leave her in a prime position to enter the Warden service straight after completing her apprenticeships, just as she’d always planned.
“You do realise we might have some potential-based classes together, right?” Declan said, his head cocked to the side.
“If we do, then all the more reason for you to not know me,” Delucia said. “I want to be just like any other fresh-faced first year.”
“Are you absolutely sure that’s how you want to play it, Princess? Because heads up, if you end up in the same Combat class as Kaid and me, we won’t hold back.” Declan grinned wolfishly. “If we’re acting like we don’t know you, that means no pulling our punches. Fair warning.”
Delucia released a quiet laugh. “You have my permission to attack me, if that’s what you’re asking. No holds barred.”
Declan cracked his knuckles, his grin widening. “This is gonna be fun.”
Jeera rolled her eyes before looking back to Delucia and saying, “Sorry to keep this short, but if that’s all, we need to get going. Aunt Nisha likes to have a family dinner with us as well as this brute”—she pointed to Declan—“on the last night before we return to school. It’s tradition.”
Delucia stood as she said, “Please, go. I’ve said all I wanted to say.”
“In that case,” Jeera said, standing as well, with the boys doing the same beside her, “good luck tomorrow, Your Highness, and every other day afterwards.” She then stepped forward and lowered her voice just for Delucia’s ears as she finished, “Whether you’re Delucia or D.C.—the princess is in you and always will be. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” Delucia promised quietly.
Jeera held her gaze and then nodded once before walking away. Declan followed after giving Delucia another grin and a merry wave.
“A word of advice, Your Highness?” Kaiden offered, having remained behind.
“Will this be another moment of candour? Because if so, I’m not sure I can handle one of your pep talks today,” Delucia said, only half joking.
He smiled but said, “No pep talk, I promise. Just some advice.”
“Then go ahead,” she replied, knowing she could use all the help she could get.
“D.C. is a good name,” he said, “but when the time comes, might I suggest you go with something more personal? A nickname… perhaps Dix?”
Dix. Delucia liked that. Very much. But even so, she raised an eyebrow and repeated, “‘When the time comes’?”
With a one-shouldered shrug and another smile, this one secretive, Kaiden said, “I’m sure you’ll know when to use it. And with whom.”
Saying nothing further, he gave a short, respectful bow and followed after his sister and friend, leaving Delucia to feel oddly grateful that she hadn’t spent more time with the three of them over the years, given how odd her encounters with each of them had been that week.
Seven
The rest of Delucia’s Saturday was spent packing, unpacking, then repacking again, paranoid as she was about having everything she might need. It was ridiculous, she knew, since the academy supplied all required materials and texts, but she still had to organise her personal belongings. The headmaster had given her a standard checklist, and Mistress Alma had provided a second list—much of which Delucia was choosing to ignore, since it contained things like allergy medication for allergies she didn’t have. It was a thoughtful list—‘Just in case’, as Alma had written—but ultimately redundant, since the headmaster’s offering covered all the essentials.
Nevertheless, it was late by the time Delucia was finally ready for bed, her nerves making it hard for her to settle enough to sleep.
Just as she was beginning to drift off, a quiet knock at her door pulled her back to full consciousness, and she sat up quickly when her mother entered. Osmada was dressed for sleep, the collar of her nightgown peeking out from underneath her silky robe—her attire showing that, like Delucia, she had either just been in bed or was soon to venture there.
“Is everything all right?” Delucia asked. “Is Father—”
“All is well,” Osmada assured her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I know it’s late, but I can’t let you go tomorrow without showing you something.” She reached for Delucia’s robe and held it out for her. “Will you come with me?”
Surprised and more than a little curious, Delucia pushed back her covers and stood, shucking her robe over her shoulders as she followed her mother from her room.
Osmada was silent as they set out from the eastern tower, the queen leading them on a winding path down the staircases and then along the inner hallways. Together they skirted the throne room, the banquet hall, the ballroom, the art gallery and the music chamber, before finally cutting through the butterfly garden to reach the base of the western tower. Only then did they begin their ascent up another set of spiralling golden stairs.
Just as Delucia began to wonder if her mother was leading her to the observatory located at the top of the tower, Osmada led her off the staircase at the second highest floor.
Brow furrowing, Delucia couldn’t help breaking the silence between them to ask, “The Royal Treasury? This is what you wanted to show me?”
Delucia had visited the treasury before—many times. The crown jewels contained within were an impressive sight, but she still couldn’t fathom a logical reason for her mother’s late-night desire to see them.
“Come, Delucia,” was all Osmada said, as she strode purposefully through the arched golden doorway, heading straight for the TCD panel beside the entrance to the vault.
Only someone from the Cavelle lineage could open the vault, the security panel requiring not just a handprint and retinal scan, but also a drop of blood to prove royal ancestry. It was completely unhackable and should anyone try to break in, they would find the golden arches sealing them inside and the air being sucked from the room until they lost consciousness. They’d later awaken in a cell, ready for interrogation.
Fortunately, Delucia and her mother didn’t have to worry about any of that, and it only took seconds for Osmada to pass the security protocols, causing the Myrox-lined vault door—a gift from the ancient Meyarins before they disappeared—to vanish like mist. No matter how many times Delucia watched it happen, it never grew old, since after fourteen years, she still had no idea where the door went, nor how it reappeared upon their leaving.
Stepping through after her mother, Delucia took in the floor-to-ceiling displays revealing the riches of the royal family laid out on presentation stands and strung up against the walls. Soft overhead lighting struck the jewels, creating a reflective effect, making the room seem even more impressive than it already was. From necklaces, rings, broaches and bracelets, to daggers, arrows, swords and shields, the space was all but bursting with precious metals and priceless gems. It was beautifully ostentatious—or ostentatiously beautiful. Delucia had never quite figured out which. All she knew was that she always felt humbled by the wealth contained within the vault, and the history it told.
A brush against Delucia’s fingers caused her to jump, but it was only her mother reaching out to take her hand again. Silently, Osmada led Delucia deeper into the vault, right towards the back.
They came to a stop in front of a table covered in black, shimmery material. Three cushions were displayed, a crown resting on each—one for the king, one for the queen and one for the princess.
Delucia’s eyes were riveted on her mother’s hands as Osmada reached for the smallest crown. It was daintier than those belonging to the king and queen, with diamonds arranged in spirals
and whorls as well as a few set apart in single strands, like fireworks bursting outwards from the centre.
Delucia had always loved the design of her crown. While both her parents had heavy, bejewelled masterpieces, hers was much more demure. And yet, it was no less stunning.
The crown of a Royal Princess, that was what her mother held. And, turning Delucia so that she faced the gilded mirror on the wall beside the display, Osmada stood behind her and slowly lowered the crown until it rested on Delucia’s head.
“The other day, your father said that this crown is a heavy burden,” Osmada said quietly, her eyes locked on Delucia’s through the mirror. “We both know he wasn’t lying. The duties and responsibilities, the lack of privacy and independence—our crowns can be as much of a curse as they are a blessing.”
Delucia’s breathing shallowed, a reaction to hearing her own thoughts uttered by her mother’s mouth. The curse of her crown—the life she had been born into; the destiny that, for better or worse, she had no choice but to live.
“But, my darling daughter, there is something I wish to share with you tonight,” Osmada continued. “Something I want you to take with you to Akarnae tomorrow, to hold dear to your heart in the days to come.”
The queen brushed her fingers against Delucia’s hair, right where the base of the crown rested. “This is who you were born to be, my sweet girl. But it is not all that you are. This crown is a part of you, but it does not define you, nor should you allow it to.”
Osmada dropped her fingers and slowly turned Delucia until they faced each other again. Her eyes were soft as she said, “Don’t let the curse of being a Cavelle keep you from living the life you’ve always dreamed. Because this crown… it is something you will carry with you forever. But that doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own happiness in order to wear it.”
She cupped Delucia’s cheek and lowered her voice to finish, “You are a princess, but you are also just a girl. Remember that when you go to Akarnae tomorrow, and do not deny yourself the gift of being both—because doing so would be to deny that gift to the world.”
Delucia felt tears lining her eyes, her mother’s words wrapping around her very heart. In a trembling voice, she asked, “What if I don’t know how to be both?” A tear trickled down her cheek as she added, almost inaudibly, “Or what if… the princess—people have to like her, but what if… what if they don’t like the girl?”
Osmada reached out to wipe away her tear, the queen’s face tender as she whispered, “Then they don’t deserve her.”
Another tear fell, and Osmada wiped that, too, as she said, “You are much too special to live a life defined by the opinions of others. Crown or no, your value lies here.” She touched a finger to Delucia’s chest, right over her heart. “And if they can’t see that, then you—the princess and the girl—are better off without them.”
Through watery eyes, Delucia saw that her mother was expecting a response, but her throat was so tight that she could only nod, more tears falling as she did so.
Too long had Delucia allowed the opinions of others—and especially of Maxton—to rule her life. Too long had she embraced her isolation, certain that anyone she allowed close would only see the princess, not the heart driving her. Too long had she been alone, determined to remain that way for fear of learning that it wasn’t her choice to be without friends… but because no one wanted her.
Too long—but no longer.
Tomorrow at Akarnae, she would be the girl with the heart of a princess—and the princess with the heart of a girl. Because she was both. And as scared as she was, as vulnerable as it would make her, the hope she felt was so strong—hope that she might get to live the life of her dreams, just like her mother had said.
She wouldn’t allow her crown to define her.
She wouldn’t allow the thoughts of others to defeat her.
Most of all, she wouldn’t allow the curse to steal her life away.
As determination settled deep within her, Delucia looked at her mother, her nod this time much more confident. Osmada smiled a gentle, proud smile in response, before reaching up to remove the crown, the weight of which—both physical and metaphorical—left Delucia as the queen returned it to the table.
Opening her arms for her daughter, Osmada wrapped Delucia in a tight embrace as she whispered, “I’m going to miss you, sweetheart. So very much. But if you can let down some of those walls you’ve built around your heart, there’s no end to the beauty that is ahead for you. Promise me you’ll try.”
“I p-promise,” Delucia said, knowing it would be hard, but meaning it with everything within her.
Osmada leaned back, wiping more tears from Delucia’s cheeks as she finished, “Your father and I—we’re so proud of you. In all the days ahead, whether you’re alone or surrounded by people, never forget that.”
That was all Delucia could take before a hiccup-sob left her, prompting her mother to pull her into another comforting embrace.
They held each other close for long minutes—long enough for Delucia’s tears to dry and her eyes to become heavy with fatigue. Only then did Osmada guide her out of the vault and back to her bedroom, tucking her into bed and whispering in her ear, “I love you, my little princess. Always.”
And that was the last Delucia heard before she drifted off to sleep, her final thoughts being that she was ready for whatever the next day would bring—and ready to keep the promise she’d made her mother.
Her walls—from tomorrow, they would be gone.
Eight
When Delucia awoke the next morning, she knew straight away that something was wrong. Her body was soaked in sweat, her teeth chattering with cold and her stomach churning so violently that she had to stumble dizzily to her bathroom, barely making it in time to expel the contents within.
She was still retching when Mistress Alma let herself into the room, likely having come to see why Delucia wasn’t up yet.
“Goodness, child, what a state you’re in,” Alma said, rushing forward to offer a towel. “Nerves got the better of you, I take it?”
But as she said the words, Delucia knew Alma must have realised that wasn’t what was wrong. Yes, she was anxious about her departure to the academy, but not to the extent that she had made herself sick. This was something else entirely.
“You’re burning up, Princess,” Alma said after touching Delucia’s forehead. “Come, let’s get you back to bed and I’ll call for the palace physician.”
“I-I-I’m o-o-kay,” Delucia tried to force out, her whole body shaking enough to make speech difficult. “I ha-have to g-g-get ready a-and go.”
“You’re not going anywhere like this,” Alma said, sternly. “Not until Doctor Sela has looked at you.” She wrapped an arm around Delucia, grunting as she heaved the princess to her feet. “Lean on me, dear. We’ll have you feeling better soon enough. Then you can get ready and go.”
But Mistress Alma was wrong. Because when Doctor Sela arrived, she took one look at Delucia and sighed, saying that the princess was the third person that morning who had come down with a stomach virus. The treatment was simple—three doses of medication, six hours apart, and then she would be back to perfect health. But the catch was, the medication would also knock her out, forcing her body to sleep those hours away as it drove off the sickness.
“I ca-ca-can’t sleep all d-d-day!” Delucia cried—or she tried to, but her voice was too weak to offer much volume. “Not t-t-today!”
Her mother and father, having arrived with the doctor, looked on with sympathy as Sela forced a vial of liquid between Delucia’s chattering lips.
“We’ll notify Darrius, sweetheart,” Aurileous said, brushing hair from her sweaty forehead. “You can still make it there by tonight, with plenty of time to settle in before your classes start tomorrow. You won’t miss anything.”
“B-B-But first years—” Delucia suddenly had trouble finishing her sentence, her eyelids feeling as heavy as bricks as the medication took effec
t.
What she had wanted to say was that, while second years and up were only required to be at the academy in time for dinner, first years were meant to arrive in the morning for an introduction day. That was when they would be given a tour of the grounds and shown where their classes were located, all while getting to know each other.
Delucia didn’t want to miss out on any of that. It was all a part of the normal experience she was supposed to enjoy.
But as her eyes sealed shut without her permission, she realised that some things were beyond her control.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” Aurileous said quietly. “Akarnae will still be waiting for you when you awaken.”
And without any other choice, Delucia listened to her father, the medication pulling her into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
Aside from the brief moments when she was roused to take her medicine, Delucia slept all day. But just as Doctor Sela had promised, she eventually awoke feeling completely better.
Or… physically, at least.
Mentally, however, she was a wreck as she rushed through her final preparations. All her personal items had been sent ahead of her arrival, but she still double-checked what felt like every room in the palace until she was satisfied she hadn’t forgotten anything.
When she finally stood in the receiving room with the Bubbledoor already activated and open behind her, she turned to look at her parents one last time.
Earlier, she’d said goodbye to Master Ying and Mistress Alma; the former having told her to embrace her studies and the latter having reminded her to watch her posture. Neither had offered emotional farewells—nor had Delucia expected them to, despite the tutors being the closest companions she’d ever had at the palace.
Her parents, however…
Delucia swallowed as she saw the tears in her father’s eyes. Her mother was slightly more composed, but the king—he was barely holding himself together. If he broke down, Delucia knew she wouldn’t stand a chance of leaving without descending into tears herself, which would then mean she’d arrive at the academy with red eyes and puffy cheeks. That was something she definitely didn’t want to have happen, but if her father didn’t stop looking at her like that…
