Spin Me Sweet Tales

Chapter Ten

"Neither of you answered my question about the breakfast menu," I whisper in a joking tone, but they ignore me.

They steer their bodies toward the gilded staircase, but their lips are sewn shut. Even Khaivya. I wonder, as I dutifully descend the staircase, how my sister Nola would respond if she was abducted instead of me. Deeba, or one of the other handmaidens, would have a fist-sized bruise on their cheek if my older sister was in my place.

The king might've tried to kill her on the first night because she wouldn't have surrendered, or he'd be the one dead while she forced Lahesia to free her. If Nola was in the castle and I was back at home, then she would've skinned King Shaharuddin and worn his splattered blood on her skin like a trophy. The witches would've tried to paralyze her with their gold or emerald powers, but she would've been stronger than me.

I have little doubt that Nola would've found the portal back home already. She is the strength that I've always had beside me, a sword and shield in the battle of my life. While I am succumbing to the fear and power, I'm certain that my sister would've defeated this world and emerged from the portal with the king's decapitated head dangling in her hand like a new, grisly purse.

But she's not here.

I am.

And I'm petrified.

I've always seen my sister as a natural hero, a modernized Perseus and every real-life issue was taken on like it was a gorgon that she must slay. When she would have an argument with somebody, the duel would begin, and she would always emerge victorious. She wouldn't ignore her problems, or flee like I do, but she faces everything head on as if it were a battle and she is the imminent victor.

For the first time in my life, Nova is not next to me. She isn't here to be the warrior to my cowardice. I'm alone. Achingly, suffocatingly ostracized.

Deeba and Khaivya peel open two elephantine doors, the knobs the size of my head, and they do not turn around to see if I have run in search of escape. They have known me for only twenty-four hours, but they understand the frightened mess they are ordered to assist.

They peel open the doors that lead to the dining hall, and the room bleeds in opulence. Three chandeliers hang directly above the twenty-foot table, the diamonds and rubies dance across the luxurious accessory with regality. The candles dimly spotlight the food beneath it, which splashes with vibrant colors. Apples of the ripest reds, grapes of the purest purple, and a plump pink pig sits in the center. Tusks and all.

Deeba walks into the room, but Khaivya turns to where I stand. She appears to float rather than walk, her etherealness envious. Every light in the castle angles itself to hit her slim face, the flames as awestruck by her. She's close enough that I can see the splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her raised cheekbones. The highly detailed aspects of her appearance that makes her stand out in a crowd.

"The king is not a patient man," she murmurs. Khaivya's emerald studded hair sways as she motions her head towards the opened doors of the dining room. "You should go inside now."

"I don't belong here, Khaivya."

"There are many wrongdoings in this castle, your highness, but your presence is not one of them." Her emerald accented hand reaches for mine, and she clasps my hand to provide comfort. "When it's just the two of us, any question you ask, I will answer. Rules be damned. But for now," her eyes flutter towards the open doors of the dining hall before she looks back at me. "Play the role."

"Thank you," I whisper to the only friend I have in this castle.

She lets go of my hand, but she stays by my side as we walk together towards King Shaharuddin Ochir. A few steps into the dining hall, I see my husband in another black deel. An empty plate has been assembled in front of him, and he twirls a fork with mild boredom. He glances upwards, the fork still spinning, and his obsidian eyes find me. Suddenly, any trace of indifference is absent.