The Usurper's Queen | COMPLETED

prologue | her father's daughter

       THAT DAY, it had rained softly, and the sun barely peeked through the dark clouds. I remember sitting cross-legged in my mother's sitting room, staring hopelessly at the embroidery loop in my hands. I had intended to embroider a red rose surrounded by vines, but I ended up with a red mess that resembled splatters of blood instead.

     My beautiful sister Lisbeth was sitting gracefully on an armchair, watching in amusement as our maids bustled in, their hands carrying chests full of furs and brocades, all soon to be cut up to make her wedding dress. Along with the fabrics, there were also chests chock-full of dresses and jewels, and I feel my heart surge with envy as I eyed the ever-growing mountain of gifts piled up in my mother's sitting room.

    "The Earl of Springledge's son isn't only romantic, but incredibly generous too, don't you think so Lisbeth?" my mother commented, barely taking her grey eyes off of her precious embroidery.

Lisbeth smiled proudly as she lifted up one of the dresses that had been nestled inside the chest. The fabric was incredibly soft, and it draped down my sister's arm like a gentle stream, and simply from that, I knew that the Earl of Springledge had forked out quite a fortune to prepare for my sister's wedding gifts.

The dress was made of soft periwinkle silk with intricate lace details, teardrop-shaped crystals and pearls sewn on, along with delicate gold thread embroidery. It was made in the most recent fashion, with a long, narrow silhouette and large, billowing sleeves.

       "Look, Anne. Isn't it very lovely?" Lisbeth said, and I nodded my head passively in return.

       "It is exquisitely beautiful, Lissy," I remarked, making her beam even more with joy.

       "It is unfortunate though, Anne, since I doubt anyone would want to marry you, let alone give you such nice things," she giggled sarcastically.

  I was not what someone would envision when they think about beauty, but I was not exactly ugly either. My Lady Mother was famously beautiful, with her dark hazelnut hair, light brown skin and cool grey eyes, all of which my sister Lisbeth had luckily inherited.

I, however, resembled my father, and I was tall as willow tree, as thin as a stick, and possessed a face that is usually described as arrogant and condescending.

My brows were awfully thick, and whenever I saw Lisbeth's beautifully shaped arches, my heart would ache with jealousy. I did like my eyes however, a clear, luminous light periwinkle, like the dress Lisbeth was holding. My father's eyes, and his father before him.

     "Father will find a match for me," I retorted hotly. "If he can find you an Earl, then he will get me a duke! I am his favourite, not you."

Lisbeth's grey eyes narrowed into slits as she angrily threw the dress on the floor, and said, "I am the eldest, and you will always be less than me! It is how things are, and how things will always be!"

     "Well, when I become queen, you will see that your words are not true!" I shot back, unwilling to lose. Despite our differences in terms of looks, what Lisbeth and I both shared in common was our pride, and most definitely, the need and desire to stand taller than the other.

Lisbeth scoffed, and broke into laughter. "You, queen? Don't jest, Anne. How are you going to do that? Who's going to marry plain little Annie?"

     "I will, and when that day comes, I will never let you insult me again!"
Lisbeth opened her mouth to protest, but she suddenly froze, and soon her lips curved into sickly sweet smile. I heard the creaking sound as my mother finally rose from her armchair, and I felt her cold, bony fingers pressing tightly around my shoulders.

     "Come with me to the kitchens, Anne," my mother spoke, her voice calm and unfeeling.

Although I was growing anxious deep inside, I did not let the fear show on my face . I begrudgingly nodded, and wordlessly followed her to the kitchens, my legs feeling heavier and heavier with each step that I took. On the way there, I saw my twin brother, Gilbert. His expression turned to that of concern when he saw me being dragged by my mother, and he knew exactly what was going on.

       "I will tell father," he whispered quickly as he sprinted off, and luckily, my mother did not care. To tell the truth, she never really did care about my brother Gilbert. All she cared about was Lisbeth, and the rest of us? Not even the slightest.

She made me stand in front of the kitchen window and lifted up my skirts until my knees were showing. I could hear her retrieving the wooden whip, and then she rested it against my calves gently. She then removed it, and in a heartbeat, the whip returned, smacking hard against my flesh.

A couple few whips would result in soreness and red markings, but my mother liked to go beyond that. She would continue until the flesh had broke, until blood pooled at the soles of my feet.

I feared that I would spend a week full of pain again, hobbling and staggering just to get around, but thankfully, Gilbert was fast, and my father was soon alerted.

      "That is enough, Belle!" I heard my father's voice shout, and my mother's whipping paused for a moment.

      "This stupid girl has outlandish notions in her head! This ought to chase it out!" my mother retorted.

      "Then I must know what these notions are, and if they are indeed bad, I will talk to her, not maim her!" yelled my father, the Earl of Rhyland.

She huffed indignantly and tossed the whip onto the ground, visibly displeased. How terrible it must feel, to be deprived of whipping your own child to death.

As my mother retreated to nurse her hurt feelings, my father sent for our family's physician, Mister Henley. He came over with some ointment, which I applied onto my sore calves with shaky hands.

      "Anne, you must tell me what had occurred earlier," my father urged.

      "I suppose I had spoken out of turn. I said that I wanted to become queen. Lisbeth laughed at me earlier, she said that I will always be lesser than her. I was mad, so unbearably mad, and the words just came out. Please do not laugh at me, Father."

       "I'm not laughing, Anne. It is not impossible. If an opportunity arises, then I can make you queen, my child," my father spoke. "Phoenicia's first ever Queen Anne."

       "Then I must marry a king. But the king is already married, and he has no son," I said in confusion. "Will you marry me off to the prince of Terrawyn?"

       "If there is no king for you to marry, then I shall create one! My daughter shall become queen, then, and only then, Lisbeth can never look down on you again."

He grasped my hand and mocked a bow, saying, "Your Majesty."
As a young girl, I thought that being queen was the peak of power and greatness, and I would do anything to become one.

As I grew older though, I soon began to wish that I never left the compounds of Winterbourne Castle, where I could play freely with my twin brother, and sheltered by my father, ever so kind and gentle.

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