Chapter 12: Chapter Ten

After I was led into the office, with Klick and Klack following behind me, I saw a painting of my mother hanging on the wall over his desk. Her dark golden hair draped around the purple velvet chair she sat on and pooled upon the blue floor in wavy rivulets. She looked serene and perfect, with a tiny Mona Lisa smile on her face. She was wearing a high-waisted, empire-style gown in lavender that had tight, long sleeves.

My mouth twisted into a sneer because it was the most inaccurate painting I'd ever seen. Mother was a presence that was too large for such a sedate pose. She had raised me alone and fiercely guarded me against all comers. She'd taught me a history of wild beings that could never be content to sit in a chair, and she was born of those same beings.

More ridiculous was the yellow-haired cherub peeking over my mother's left shoulder that I assumed was me. Painted on each of my shoulders were big, flashy, white wings! I also had the same overly long hair, which mixed with my mother's glorious golden strands. What was even more laughable was the sweet, big-eyed expression on my face -- like I thought whoever was painting us was a deity!

The artist even painted me with dimples. I wished I had dimples but no such luck. It would have been fantastic for getting away with stuff. Still, I drank in that picture of my mother and felt wistful. I'd hoped I would finally see her in the alley.

In the room, two women sat in front of a wide oak desk. The younger woman had gleaming dark hair that, under the overhead light, had the hue of a black sapphire. I imagined it would be striking under the sun, though it was muted indoors. She had it pulled up into a tight topknot and, inserted into the knot, was a jeweled comb winged with two golden, horn-like projections. Attached to the comb was a gray, fluttery veil that partially obscured her face. I could tell that she was lovely in a vague sort of way. She stood up, and I saw she was about 5'8" tall and had a regal bearing. She was wearing a dove-gray robe with a broad, vertical strip of heavy embroidery down the front. Acorns, Celtic knots, and vines made up the embroidery.

The second woman... she was the one that made me freeze. She looked almost exactly like my mother. Bronze hair, a narrower face, but the resemblance was undeniable. My hand flew to my mouth as tears threatened to spill over. She stood quickly, her shock mirroring mine.

"Is that..." Her voice trembled slightly as she took a step toward me, her hands lifting as if she might embrace me. But the younger woman beside her, with her obscured, veiled face, placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her short. The older woman's hands fell back to her sides, her regal expression hardening as the moment passed. My mother's doppelgänger lifted her chin with an air of distant nobility, and the raw emotion from just seconds ago was gone.

I stood frozen in place until Luke touched my shoulder, gently steering me toward a chair near them. Klack hissed and pecked at his hand, and Luke snatched it back with a grimace. I pulled away from him, my eyes darting between the two women, unsettled.

"I'll stand, thanks."

Luke's tone remained firm but measured as he spoke. "Very well. This is your aunt, Lady Athalia, and your cousin, Elect Regina."

Athalia gave me a stiff nod, though her eyes still looked stricken, as if seeing a ghost. Regina, on the other hand, gave me nothing but a cold, assessing stare from beneath her veil.

"Nice to meet you," I muttered, though the words felt as natural as swallowing shards of glass.

Luke wiped the hand Klack had pecked with a handkerchief, his expression showing faint disdain for my pets. I watched as he tossed the cloth into the trash with a sharp flick, my disgust growing deeper. Being there, among those people who seemed to know me far better than I knew myself, felt like I was walking into a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

The tension in the room built as silence stretched. Luke finally broke it, his gaze never leaving mine. "It took time to find you. We believed you were dead," he said, his voice flat but his eyes unwavering. "When I saw a photo of you at an Italian restaurant some months ago, I recognized you. Although I had only seen you once as a child, I knew those eyes. You weren't wearing any disguise."

That picture again. Anger surged within me—not at Luke, but at myself for letting my guard down. "How do you know Mike? And I don't remember ever meeting you."

"Mike was once a friend of both our families," Luke explained. "As for me, you wouldn't remember. I only saw you briefly, through a communication mirror, when I was a boy. You were with your mother."

I frowned. The memory was lost to me, but it made sense. I was probably too young to remember. But the thought that a single photo could lead them to me—that shook me.

"Were you the one who made Mike frame me?" I asked, my voice sharp with accusation.

Luke's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening. "No. I do not operate in such ways. My plan was to meet you civilly. I apologize again for how you were treated."

"You call that civil?"

His jaw clenched, but he had no rebuttal for me.

It was Regina's cold, brittle voice that answered next. "We have a theory about Michael. He is... complicated. A devout Duirite, devoted to purity, although he's never lived up to the standard."

I scoffed, disbelief creeping into my voice. "Mike? Pure? The guy gambles, smokes, drinks—he's about as far from 'pure' as you can get."

Regina gave a dismissive nod. "Nevertheless, he was a follower of Duir. It's possible he owed your grandfather a favor. Your existence, as an impure half-breed, is an insult to our family and the Brigid's legacy. To him, you should never have been allowed to exist."

Her words stung deeply, but before I could respond, Luke's voice sliced through the tension with cold authority. "Careful how you address her, Lady Athalia. She is the Brigid's daughter and deserves respect."

Athalia's lips thinned, but she nodded, though I could feel her reluctance. It was like a slap to the face, but one she didn't care enough to hide.

Luke continued, his gaze steady on me. "Your grandfather likely wants you dead. To him, you represent everything that should have been erased."

I felt the world tilt beneath me, my vision swimming. "But why? Why does he care? I was fine where I was. Why not just leave me alone?"

"He is a Consul of Duir," Regina said, her voice colder than the winter outside. "You are a stain on his belief in purity."

I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much—my mother's mirror image staring at me, this web of lies and betrayal closing in. "This is insane!" I shouted, my chair scraping the floor as I stood. "He doesn't even know me!"

Athalia spoke softly, but her words were like knives. "Perhaps. But ever since your accident, our land has been trapped in eternal winter. The oracle predicted that your return would either restore balance or plunge us into ruin."

I stared at her, stunned. "What...?"

Luke stepped forward, his voice steady. "This is Aleria, Madeline. You've returned to your mother's world. You must become the Principi."

I could barely comprehend it. Aleria, the world my mother had told me stories about, now seemed so distant and unfamiliar. This was the place I'd been dragged back to?

Before Luke could answer, I felt a sharp gaze on me.  "You think she is worthy of that?" Regina's voice was cool, with a trace of indignation laced beneath her politeness. "She's lived on Earth her entire life. She's not one of us, and she certainly isn't ready for the trials. I have been prepared for this role my entire life."

I blinked, caught off guard by her venom. "I never asked for this."

"That much is clear."

Athalia nodded in agreement, her gaze shifting to Luke. "Regina is right. Madeline doesn't belong here. She has no understanding of our culture or traditions, and you expect her to compete as an equal? This isn't some whimsical fairy tale where blood alone grants the right to rule."

Luke's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond to Athalia's disapproval directly. Instead, he turned his attention back to me, his tone remaining calm but firm. "You will not refuse, Madeline. The prophecy has spoken. You are the one who must compete."

Regina shot to her feet, anger flashing in her eyes. "You place too much faith in that prophecy! She isn't ready! I've spent my whole life—my entire life—preparing to be the Principi. I am the one who should be queen, not some half-blood who barely knows our world!"

Luke finally turned to her, his expression hardening. "You will watch your tongue, Elect Regina. This is not up for debate."

Athalia stood as well, her posture regal and unyielding. "And yet, you defer to a prophecy while dismissing the very traditions of our world. You place this girl, who hasn't lived a day as one of us, above your own people?"

Luke's face softened slightly, though his voice remained resolute. "I honor the traditions of Aleria, Athalia, but I am bound by the prophecy. The trials will decide who is truly worthy. I am simply ensuring Madeline takes her rightful place in them."

Athalia's gaze turned icy. "Is that what you tell yourself? That this is about duty? Or is it about Brigid?"

At her words, the room grew tense. Luke's expression flickered—just for a moment—but then his composure returned. "Brigid's memory is why I fight to preserve this world. And her daughter is the key to restoring balance."

Regina's lip curled into a sneer. "So it's not about the trials or Aleria's future at all. It's about your infatuation with the past."

"I don't want rule. I want my life back."

Luke's gaze softened briefly before it steeled again. "You must rule."

I bit back a retort, knowing it would fall on deaf ears.  "But what if I lose?"

"You must not lose," Luke said, his voice firm, though there was an edge of desperation to it. "Your victory is tied to the survival of our world."

"Of course it is," I muttered. "And if I win?"

"If you win," Luke continued, more slowly now, "Together, we will restore balance."

"Together?" The words came out before I could stop them, my disbelief clear. "After everything you've put me through?"

"I do not jest," he said, his expression unflinching.

Regina laughed, a harsh sound that made the tension in the room rise even higher. "You cannot be serious. Are you actually proposing to belong to her court?" She turned to her mother, disgust written across her face. "He wants to marry her? This... this outsider?"

Athalia's lips thinned in clear disapproval, but she remained silent, her sharp gaze locked on Luke.

Wait. Marry me?

"I do not ask for your approval, Ladies," Luke replied coldly, directing his words at Regina.

I shook my head, stepping back as the weight of it all pressed down on me. "Marriage? You and me?  After being kidnapped, dragged into a world I don't know, and told I have to save it?"

"We must," Luke said, his voice dark with certainty. "Because it is what must be done. For you. For Aleria... and for your mother."

I flinched at the mention of my mother, and something twisted in my chest. It felt like an unfair blow, like Luke was pulling the rug out from under me by using her name.

"And my friends?" I asked, forcing the words through the lump in my throat.

Luke's gaze didn't waver. "Your friends are part of this now.  I will try to avoid involving them, but if I cannot find suitable partners, they are the next best thing. As the Principi, you will need consorts—seven to be exact. They will be your protectors, your partners, and your strength."

The room fell silent. My heart thudded in my chest. Seven husbands? He was going to arrange marriages for me?

Maybe with my friends, if it came down to it??

"You... you can't be serious." My voice was barely above a whisper.

But the look in Luke's eyes told me everything. He was serious.

"Please. For your mother's memory."

"You keep saying that. Why?" I didn't want to know why. I'd seen the small pot of mint on his desk. The one that had been in my home in the Oregon forests.

I already knew why.

"The Brigid is dead." Luke said, affirming my worst fear.

His words cut through the air, sharp and unyielding, and the impact on me was immediate. I couldn't breathe. My chest tightened painfully as if a giant hand had wrapped around my lungs. The room seemed to tilt as my mind refused to accept what I had just heard.

"No," I whispered, my voice breaking. My fingers trembled as I  walked over to the plant and touched the edge of the pot. "How... how do you have this?"

"Our searchers found it with her." Luke's voice was steady, but there was a tightness around his eyes. "It was in a satchel by her side when the assassins struck. They pierced her with arrows."

I could hear him, but the words didn't feel real. The grief came so fast, so violently, that it shattered something inside of me. The pot slipped from my hands and fell onto the floor.

"No!" The scream tore from my throat, ripping through the room. My knees buckled, and I collapsed. I didn't care about anything anymore. Not this world. Not the trials. Nothing. My mother was gone. My mother, who had protected me, raised me alone—gone.

I barely registered Luke stepping forward, catching me before I hit the ground. His arms wrapped around me, lifting me up, but I hung limp in his grasp, sobbing uncontrollably. The loss was too much to bear. The weight of it crushed me, leaving no room for thought or reason.

One moment, I was in the office, and the next, I was being laid onto a soft bed. Luke stayed by my side, one hand resting lightly on my shoulder as though he wanted to offer some sort of comfort but didn't know how. His presence was steady, strong, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't.

"I thought you had known," Luke said quietly, his tone betraying a deep regret. "I am sorry you had to learn it this way."

There was something almost broken in the way he said it. I felt the weight of his hand on my shoulder before it lifted, leaving a coldness in its place. I curled into myself, clutching my knees to my chest. My sobs wracked my body, my mind spiraling into memories of my mother—the last time I saw her, the anger in her eyes, the life we were supposed to have that would never come to pass.

After what felt like hours, Luke finally left, the door closing softly behind him. I buried my face into the pillow, my sobs finally quieting, but the ache in my chest didn't go away. There would be no comfort in sleep, no comfort in anything.

My mother was gone.