[ELENA]
The realization of my father putting children in harm's way didn't sit well with me. I felt sick to my stomach. And as I rush through the castle's hall, I kept my hand over my mouth, hoping to keep myself calm.
But I couldn't. Tears burned in my eyes the dream I had replayed in my head; the memories long forgotten. Kieron had pleaded with my father as if he were a mad man. And in a way, he was willingly sacrificing children to save my mother. Were the costs worth it?
I understood the need to do all you could for a person you loved, but nothing came from it; she died. We lost her. Years ago.
Pushing through the next batch of frantic servants, I followed the silence. I knew wherever my father was, he wasn't alone. And if someone was with him, it would be Kieron. If the two were continuing to plot this mayhem, I had to stop them. If there was anything Homestead needed to survive this, to outlive the possible onslaught from the Attributions, they needed calm. They needed peace. Putting fear in their hearts did nothing for them.
Or me.
I can't be afraid anymore.
As I turned towards my mother's garden, I slowed. The silence that fell over the farthest hall was replaced by my father's voice. Stepping under the open archway, I saw him standing beside the tree that he said always gave him hope; the one tree my mother never let him remove. His hands were pushed up into his hair, frustration on every inch of his face. The moon hit his eyes and, in their glow, I saw their fury. One Kieron saw head-on.
The old man pleaded with him, shaking his head as my father growled. "My lord, listen to me," he said, following my father as he paced around the tree, "you are right to prepare for war. It is best to be ready and prepare our defenses. But we cannot prepare to attack. Don't you understand the Attributions will know when movements are made and—"
My father sharply turned. His large hand pushed against the delicate tree and I watched as it bent under pressure. Shaking my head, I frowned, wanting to intervene. But a part of me told me to listen.
"We need to!" my father shouted. "What was the purpose of teaching our guards and soldiers the technique—"
"It is their technique!" Kieron shouted in return.
I froze. Their technique? Is that how Damien knew to fight like us?
"It was the Attributions who taught us it! Did you forget what your father taught you? Those moves are how they move!"
I took a step forward. The sound of my shoe echoing against the stone step was drowned out by the hard, night wind. Neither of the older men in the garden turned to look at me. Their focus was on each other; anger bouncing off one another.
"We can use it against them, Kieron," my father hissed. "With the strength of our men and women, we can win. With our skill—"
"Our skill, Rodrigo—" The way Kieron said my father's name, with such disbelief, such anger and rage, I believe the shock on his face when he stepped back. Kieron had never spoken to my father in such a way; not even in my dream.
Kieron placed his hand on my father's chest. "Our skill, you must realize, is for show! A façade, all of it, and you know it. We are nothing compared to the Attributions. It was written in the treaty that way, taught down to every King-to-be, except you."
He pushed my father against the tree. "You are the only King to forget his place. Our place."
How many lies were told to keep me in this perfect bubble my father called life? My entire upbringing was fake—a show, as Kieron said. And according to the argument unfolding in front of me, humans were nothing more than tools for the Attributions. We did not fight, we bore no skill. We pretended to be great while sacrificing our own to the machines we were taught to hate.
I couldn't listen anymore.
Pushing off of the steps, I rushed towards my father and Kieron, my hands in fists. They both noticed me and watched. I knew they could see my anger in my stomping steps. I knew it was on my face because I was hot, boiling from head to toe with rage. And when I reached the two men, I ignored Kieron to give my father my full attention. "You," I spat, "your sins know no bounds, papa."
My father looked at me with disbelief. "What? Elena," sighing, he placed his hand on his forehead, "you need to go back to your room, rest, forget the day."
"Forget it?" I scoffed. "How can I forget it when it is all over the castle! Every servant is running around on your orders. You are causing mayhem."
"Elena, you don't understand—"
"No." I shook my head and glared at my father. "I've learned more about you today than I have my entire life."
"No." My father straightened in front of the tree. Red burned his cheeks, clear under the hair of his beard. He returned the glare, lip curling in anger. He gently shook as if he wanted to say more. His fists tightened as though he would strike me.
But he didn't. He lowered his head and pointed towards the garden's exit back into the castle. "You are my daughter, Elena," he lifted his head, gaze digging into mine, "but I am your King. You are to respect me as your father and the law. I am ordering you to return to your room!"
The sound of his increasing tone cut through the air. The wing blew again, but it wasn't loud enough nor strong enough to block out the noise. We were angry, furious. A low growl crawled up my throat and slipped past my lips. My lip curled, just like his, and I bared my teeth. My hands hurt, nails digging in my palms.
I wanted to yell just like he'd done. I wanted him to feel more of my rage. He lied to me, my entire life. So many questions sat on the tip of my tongue, ready to take the plunge into the pit of lies he created and dig up the truth. I needed to know what would happen when I placed the crown on my head. Would I become a monster like him? Would I create more lies?
No. I will do the right thing. I will follow my mother's steps, not my father's. I—
"I think the Princess should stay." Kieron folded his hands in front of him as he cleared his throat. "Let her stay."
My father turned his angry stare at his trusted councilman. "What?"
Kieron looked at me. There was a difference in his eyes, an acceptance, something I'd never seen in him before. As I uncurled my fingers, he nodded. "Elena is to be Queen. Which means, she has a right to know what this is," he looked back at my father, "just like you did when you were her age."
"The days before I accepted the crown were different," my father hissed. "There wasn't a war brewing, there wasn't—"
"Who says there's a war?" Kieron's brows knitted together. "I said you were right to prepare, but until the Attributions cross the Gate and enter our forests, there is no war."
My father pointed towards the direction of Homestead. "There was an Attribution! He destroyed our trees! He was on our land!"
"Rodrigo," Kieron shook his head, "I think you forget what Homestead means by definition." With a sigh, he turned to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "The sins of our fathers' are eternal, Elena. To think, until now, I believed you were your father's child." He smiled. "But I see now in your rage that you are not. You are your mother's daughter, and I am sorry I ever misjudged you."
"Kieron..." As the older man walked past me, exiting the garden, I turned and watched him until I couldn't. I'd never received praise from the man. Never in my life. But tonight, his words held weight and I believed him. And his apology.
My father stepped forward into the garden, angrily pointing at the archway leading into the castle's halls. "It is he who does not know our place! I am King! I do what's right for my people!"
I watched my father's rage change, shifting the blame to someone else other than himself. Doesn't he hear himself?
"I do what's right for them!" he shouted.
"And mama," I said, calmer than him.
My father turned and looked at me with wide eyes. "What?"
Thinking of my dream, I felt the tears burn in my eyes. I knew he loved my mother, but did he love our people, too? Could he not see what his actions would bring?
I folded my hands in front of me. "Sacrificing Damien's life was for Homestead." I stepped towards him as he dropped his hand. "But who did you sacrifice for mama?"
"I..." My father rubbed his face. He sighed. His tone dropped to one of apology, sincerity. But could I believe him? "Elena, I don't know what you're talking about."
"You don't?" I blinked.
"No," he said. "I cared for your mother, loved her with every fiber of my being. I would have done everything to keep her with us."
"Including sacrificing Theo's life?" I'd said it. What I come to believe slipped past my lips. Theo expressed his truths as he knew them, but I was able to see deeper into them. He couldn't remember his parents and lived in our castle for so long. My father apologized to him daily, and expressed regret. What for?
It only made sense to me...
"...What are you saying, Elena?"
There was no going back now...
"You took him from his family, didn't you? You were ready to give up his life, just as you'd done with Damien."
"What—"
"You would give them all the children they desired to save her—"
His eyes widened. All color drained from his face.
"Isn't that what you said, papa? And Kieron didn't understand you, didn't he?"
My father stepped away from me. His legs shook as if he'd fall, but he didn't. He leaned against a tree instead as he sucked in deep, panicked breaths. "How do..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "How do you remember this? You weren't supposed to be there, Elena. You shouldn't have heard me that night. You—"
"I want the truth," I hissed, tightening my hands back into fists.
He turned to me, pleading. "Elena, you have to listen to me—"
"No!" Angrily, I pointed at him. "You tell me why! Why didn't you go through with it? Why is Theo still here? Why didn't you go through with it as you did with Damien?"
"Elena—"
I stepped toward him and pressed my finger against his chest without any respect for his status in the castle or the fact that he was my father. The man in front of me was a lying monster. "Why didn't you? Did it hurt you? Did you suddenly feel guilt, realizing it is wrong?"
"No..." My father lowered his head. His shoulders trembled as he breathed.
And I dropped my hand. "What..."
When my father lifted his gaze, I saw his red eyes filled with sudden tears. Streams of wet emotions slid down his cheeks, into his beard, and onto the garden floor. I had to step back as he shook his head. "I didn't feel guilt," he whispered.
When he approached me, attempting to hold me, I stepped away. I wouldn't let him use love against me. I needed him to say it. "Papa... then why?"
My father dropped his hands to his side. Defeated. As if he couldn't look at me anymore, he walked toward one of the garden's benches. Rather than sit, he slid his hand over the stone. And as the wind blew, I heard him. Clear. As if he said it directly in my ear.
"They just wouldn't take Theo..."
*
[Thank you for reading! <3]