The Cold Prince

2

Word Count: 1463

~Avila

My throat is tight as I stare down at the pictures Crimson holds in front of me.

"This was you when you were only a little girl," she breathes, pointing to the centre of the photo. "You were so vivacious, so energetic. Your Kingdom became enamoured by you immediately, predicting that you would be a fair, but responsible Queen one day."

The photo is of me, a young girl wearing a fluffy red dress, standing in a grand courtyard. Pink petals rain down around me.

A cold feeling shudders through me at the absence of any recognition.

"My Kingdom?" I whisper.

Crimson, my mother, rests her hand on my arm. "It is to be yours one day, of course."

The thought is so daunting my vision becomes fuzzy for a moment. How can I rule over a Kingdom I know nothing about?

"Perhaps keep the bigger information for later. We need to be gradual about introducing her to her old life," Roel says. He sits on the other side of the bed, watching on thoughtfully.

I could kiss this strange old man.

"Of course," Crimson says quickly, smoothing her hair back with a shaky hand before she switches to another picture. "This is you only three years ago. You adore swimming, finding refuge in our many pools almost every morning at dawn."

I blink. Swimming? I vaguely remember the feeling, although it doesn't sound enticing.

"Okay."

Prior to bringing out the photos, I was able to look into a mirror in hopes it would help me scrape together some memories.

It didn't work.

I don't look how I imagined I would. My hair is stark white and long, slightly messy from being in a casket. My skin is sallow and void of healthy colour and plumpness. Frankly, I look like death.

Crimson looks at me thoughtfully. "Do you have any questions?"

"Do I have a brother...Or a sister?" I ask.

"No, you are an only child," she exclaims with a warm smile. "Which is wonderful, of course. I always wanted a daughter to take my place."

I blink, staring down at the photo of me swimming. This all feels like a nasty trick. I can't be a Princess...

And what has happened to my memory?

"And I was trained for this, was I?" I ask numbly. "For being Queen?"

Crimson beams at me. "Absolutely."

"And now I know nothing." I look up at Roel, who appears grim. "How could I be a good Queen?"

I don't want to be Queen. I may not remember my own name, nor what my life is meant to amount to, but I am certain of one thing: I don't want to be Queen.

"It's in your blood. All those teachings were just a formality, but you never needed them," Crimson assures me.

She seems a little frantic, like the idea of me not living up to taking on this predetermined position is unfathomable.

"How did I die?" I whisper.

Roel and Crimson share a tense glance. So much is passed silently between them in a matter of seconds that is based on history I don't remember. Roel is probably debating whether I can handle it.

"You were gravely ill. It was all very sudden," Crimson imparts tightly.

"But I had such an intricate tomb..." If my death was so sudden, why did it look like everything was so well prepared for it?

"The moment you were born your tomb was worked on by worldly artists," she says quickly, squeezing my sweating hand.