She's Getting By

Chapter One

Keeley could feel it again – the chilling fear that was knotting in her stomach. Her father's faith in her was deteriorating fast, like water slipping through the gaps between her fingers. She watched the king of the Mystics who perched regally upon his throne, staring down at her with disappointment and regret, like the stern gaze of an owner regarding a misbehaving pet.

"I would not have chosen you for this task, had I thought you incapable," her father urged. Upon her silence he muttered, "It seems I was wrong."

"But my King, how can you expect me to venture into the home of the beast? How can you ask your daughter to risk her life in such a way?" Even the thought of what lay beyond the Blue Mountains caused Keeley to tremble in her kneeling stance. As a princess, Keeley had never gone a moment without being closely protected. How could all of that effort be disregarded, thrown away like a rotting apple?

The king banged on the armrest of the throne, his gaze honing in on Keeley in a mixture of fury and disgust, his brown eyes erupting into a fiery gold. This was the icy glare that the king saved for his only daughter. Despite her supernatural abilities and hidden talents, despite her individuality and undebatable value, she would always be the lesser child.

"You asked me why I chose Arran to inherit the crown," he spat with disgust. "This is why. My son would never shy away from a task that could save his people, even if it meant risking his life."

Keeley took deep breaths, attempting to arrange her facial features in the demure expression her mother had taught her. Failing horribly, she now matched the king's unrestrained fury.

"You would never ask Arran to do this. God forbid, you'd ever do anything to endanger your precious heir. What a double standard you've set. You cannot compare me to Arran when you have not given us both a fair chance." Keeley rose to her full height, brushing back her mahogany locks, narrowing her eyes at her father. Her once regal expression now contorted in rage, as she fisted her hands tightly, fingernails digging at her palms.

Waves of envy and bitterness burned like acid in her stomach, and her eyes blazed with a stoked fire, sparking dangerously at the king. She could feel her father's demanding fury, and fed off of it, further feeding the flame inside.

She expected her father to scream at her, lock her away, or even disown her at her blatant demonstration of insubordination. But instead, he fixed her with a pitying look. She watched in dread, as slowly, painfully, the flaming determination was bleached from his face, leaving him sick and sallow, an older shell of the man he was just moments before.

He sighed, watching his daughter reproachfully, in regret. His features softened.

"I apologize my meela, my daughter. It appears I have misjudged you. Perhaps, I have treated you unfairly."

"Father," Keeley began, a feeling of guilt beginning to build inside her stomach.

"Please, I want to be left alone right now. Go, have fun. I will find another way to deal with the situation." Now the guilt came, full-fledged. Keeley knew she should walk away, like her father asked. She knew she should leave before she did anything stupid. But the guilt ate away at her stomach, a parasite that would continue to thrive until she apologized and gained her father's approval.

"Fine, I'll do it," she muttered begrudgingly.

"Meela, you do not have to do this for me. Go."

"No, please, I want to do it. You are right, this is my duty to my kind," she urged, now desperate to redeem herself. Perhaps this was the way to her father's admiration, approval and respect. Perhaps her partaking on this quest would pave the road to her sought after vindication, salvation, and redemption.

The king studied his daughter, scrutinizing her crumpled, torn, green dress, her tangled hair, and her pleading, green eyes. Finally, he nodded, a hint of satisfaction and pride blooming beneath the curtain of his chocolate brown irises.

Keeley beamed, guilt subsiding, bowing before her king, who wasted no time in briefing Keeley on the dangerous task at hand.

"As you know, you must cross the Blue Mountains, and visit Erradore." He began. Crossing the Blue Mountains was an easy task. Keeley had done so many times in her childhood, as part of her training as princess of the Mystics, and as a magician. But at the word "Erradore," she was quaking violently.

The Kingdom of Erradore was known for its scenic hills, and quaint villages. It was known for its colorful cuisine, and its inhabitants: the charming, eccentric Dorians. But what the kingdom was most famous for, was its ruler. The tyrannical, insane king, who took pleasure in capturing naïve Mystics, and holding them for ransom.

"Why?" Keeley whispered. "What is so important that I must risk entering Erradore?"

"Your abilities are needed, my dear Keeley." The king smiled down upon his daughter, satisfied with her compliance to travel to Erradore. He had known Keeley would be hesitant at first but was sure that some persuasion would sway her to perform her duty to her country. "There was a girl born there three nights ago, a Dorian. She too, has unique abilities. But far more dangerous than yours. I fear that, if in the wrong hands, she could wreak havoc on all lands, even the strongest of kingdoms."

"And her name, father?" The king's eyes glimmered with hesitation as he gave the name.

"Elena Dorian," the king murmured, so quietly that she had to ask again. She rose from her low position, standing tall and making eye contact with the king, forgetting the basic rules she was taught as a child.

"Elena Dorian? But, is she not-"

"The king's newborn sister? Yes, my meela, I'm afraid so."