Aurae's POV
I'm tired of fighting.
I'm tired of pretending.
I'm tired of this. All of this.
I'm tired of fighting everything...my family, my power. I'm tired of pretending to be the king's perfect daughter, the dutiful sister to the four older brothers her mother raised before her tragic death. I'm tired of my life...of how I must live, day after day after day.
I want to give up, to let go. I want to live like all of the other eighteen year old girls in the kingdom. Go to school, meet a boy, fall in love, raise children, live happily ever after. But instead, I'm thrust into a life of pain and darkness.
No one knows what it's like, and it's best that way; nobody should have to suffer like this. My father doesn't even seem to care that his only daughter is crumbling before his eyes. He's perfectly alright with watching his sons use her, to their own benefits.
My eyes flutter open to meet the soft yellow of the morning sun peeking through my curtains. I let out a sigh, stretching my legs before flinging my covers off. My toes hit the cold, hard ground first, the feeling moving on the rest of my feet as I stand up wearily.
Another day in the castle, what a joy.
I shuffle across the hardwood floor, my eyes adjusting to the light quickly. I had hardly gotten any sleep last night due to my constant nightmares. After waking up in a puddle of sweat for the fourth time, I gave up on sleeping and resorted to reading a book for the next few hours until it was time to get up.
My bedroom is flooded with light, thanks to the beautiful sunlight streaming in through the few windows. It's a soft glow that pairs up nicely with my pale, creamy pink walls. I have always requested that they be sky blue, but my father insists we keep it the horrid pink shade. Although the room is big, like most in the castle, it's nearly empty and bare. My four poster bed sits in the middle of the room, pushed against the right wall. A shaggy white rug sits on my floors as well. A small nightstand sits on either side and my dresser and huge mirror on the left wall. Two medium sized windows are on the front wall, but white, silky curtains are draped across to keep it dark. Not that it matters, I hardly get sleep anyways. A white wooden door sits on the left wall to the right, leading to my spacious bathroom. I head there, pushing it open to reveal my glimmering bathroom.
The white tiles are cold against my bare feet as I step inside, leaving the oak flooring behind. On the sides of my bathroom are granite counters with a sink on each. Toiletries and belongings are scattered haphazardly across the white. My mother always did love white, but I myself prefer black. My shower is on the left, the bathtub on the left and around the corner is the powder room. No windows, for privacy matters.
After using the toilet, I wash my hands and face before heading back out into my bedroom. There, on my bed, sits my massive snow leopard, Everest. Weighing at 80 pounds, he is massive and lean, yet full of thrumming muscles. Stretched out across the white covers, his bushy tails flicks in the air slowly as his striking blue eyes watch me. He has long, thick fur, the base color smoky gray with white underparts. Black and dark gray open rosettes are scattered all over his agile body. A black nose and pointy cat ears make his face quite distinguishable. With teeth long and sharp, he makes quite the predator. Massive furry paws contain long, sharp claws as well. He moves across snow swiftly and silently, thanks to the pads on the bottoms of his paws.
"Good morning Everest," I mumble groggily, scratching the back of my head. My wavy light brown hair falls to my elbows, all matted and tangled thanks to me rolling and tossing in bed all night.
"Good morning Aurae," Everest replies, his voice deep and rumbling. His mouth doesn't move, no, he speaks to me, but not in the way anyone would expect.
You see, I'm a shapeshifter. The only known one on the entire planet. Powers are rare on this planet, only every 1 in a million people have them. That's an estimate of course, seeing as how anybody with a power and common sense would keep their abilities a secret. People without powers see us as a threat; they want to eliminate us from existence or take advantage of us. Powers range from all sorts of things, from wall crawling to pyrokinesis.
Being a shapeshifter, I can take the body of any animal I please. No plants or humans, but any animal. My power comes with another in that sense, that I can communicate with animals. I can read their body language as if they're speaking English and we can also speak with one another, like Everest just did. The words don't come out of their mouths, but instead just hang in the air, and I simply hear the words. No one else can however and they probably think I'm crazy, constantly talking to animals. But I have many friends in the wilderness this way, and I get along with just about any specie, interacting with them as if we're old friends.
Everest slept with me in bed, as he does every night. We're inseparable, the two of us. Almost as if he's my dæmon, but in a different sense. Snow leopards are, and always will be, my spirit animal. Out of all creatures, I get along best with them. Everest and I work as a team, moving like we're reading each other's minds. And in a way, we are.
Everest was a gift from my mother. On my thirteenth birthday, she presented me with a large box. I opened it up and was both shocked and thrilled to see a snow leopard cub staring up at me. I named him Everest, and the two of us practically grew up with each other from then out. He spent every minute of the day with me. Some of my fondest memories in life are of the two of us playing chase or hide and go seek in the woods surrounding my father's castle, Chastershire, named by my mother. I would shift into a leopard myself, or other arctic animals in order to stay warm while we romped and played. Everest grew up fast, gaining muscle with ease and now makes it his life goal to protect me as best as he can.
I open various drawers in my dresser, picking out my outfit for the day. I decide on black jeans and a white sweater with good snow shoes, the colors complimenting my golden skin. My family doesn't even notice my existence, much less care what I wear. After brushing my teeth and hair, I say goodbye to Everest and leave my room, walking down the castle hallways to one of the multiple dining rooms.
I enter the room and take in the familiar surroundings. Paintings and pictures speckle the creamy white walls and a glistening chandelier hangs from the ceiling. A huge oak table sits in the center of the room, six places already set with dishes and silverware.
My father, Vulen Morwenys, sits at the head of the table. His coffee brown hair is cropped short on his head to 'minimize distraction', as he says. I remember when my mother was alive, his chocolatey brown eyes were always warm and kind, but now, they gleam with hatred and evil. Standing proud at 6'4", my father is very intimating. Add the tremendous muscles and wide chest, and he makes a monster, perfect for his personality, a cruel, greedy, corrupt man. My father doesn't look up from his food as I close the heavy door behind me and begin walking towards the table.
My four older brothers and I have assigned seats in the dining room, as if we're in a classroom. My father sits at the head of the table with his eldest son, Dorane, on his right. Dorane is 28 years old, ten whole years older than I am. He has inherited my father's coffee brown hair, which is styled atop his head like the rest of my brothers' hair. He too has brown eyes and stands at 6'4". Nearly an exact replica of our father, he is also cunning, devious and strategic, but much more talkative than Vulen.
Sitting at my father's left is 25 year old Nesterin. Although my mother had light brown hair and hazel eyes, I am the only one in the family other than Lyklor who received both those genes. This is proved by Nesterin's brown hair and eyes. He is 6'2" and by far the best one for the throne, which is rightfully Dorane's. Serious, stoic and quiet, Nesterin holds great intelligence inside of him, but rarely lets anyone even catch a glimpse of his potential.
Beside Dorane is Oacenth, who is 22. He has light brown hair and light brown eyes. He is also lean and agile, framing him to look like I do. When our mother was still alive, Oacenth was the one who would play with me the most. He used to be so funny and kind, but now he uses his sarcasm to taunt me. Like the rest of my family, I included, our mother's death changed him.
Sitting beside Nesterin is my last brother, Lyklor. He's only two years older than me, but it feels like a eternity more. Lyklor has light brown hair and hazel eyes as I do. However, I'm 5'5" and he 6'1". Lyklor loves to fight. He used to wrestle with me all the time, but now he only spars with my brothers and gets into bar fights whenever he ventures into town, which is often. He used to be as funny and kind as Oacenth, but now is always sad and depressed. When he's not sulking, Lyklor is angry and feeling the need to punch something...or someone. It doesn't help that he has such a short temper.
I take my rightful seat beside Lyklor, who glances at me, his eyes scanning my outfit. I had left my wavy hair down, as I usually do. Lyklor snorts and I know he doesn't approve, but I hardly care. The wooden chair is stiff and uncomfortable as I fidget in my seat, wanting to scarf down my oatmeal and flee to my room.
"Morning children," Vulen greets. His voice is scratchy and deep, filled with scars from many battles across the world. As the ruler of Graeweth, he sees it as his responsibility to try and conquer all the kingdoms on this continent.
My brothers murmur their greetings, but I know better than to speak. My family has made it clear they don't want to hear my voice unless I'm spoken to. The nasty scar running across my stomach diagonally speaks for that.
As my family discusses the business of the castle and Graeweth, I eat the steaming oatmeal in front of me. Not what my mother nor I would have chosen, but I eat it every morning because Dorane insists it's good for building strength. That is, for my brothers to build strength. I tune out everyone else, not caring what they have to say. It's only when I hear my name that I look up from my plate.
"Aurae, listen up," Dorane growls. I wipe my hands on the white napkin on my lap and turn attentively to look at my brother.
"A new group of soldiers are coming in from the training grounds tomorrow. They are here to serve and protect us, nothing more. No one here is allowed to ask anything of them unless related to their duties," Vulen tells us with a frown on his face as he looks at each one of the boys. He never even glances at me.
"Aurae, I expect that you won't talk to them. A simple hello or wave when passing by is all that's needed," Vulen looks directly at me as he speaks. My heart thunders in my chest when I notice that his eyes always darken a shade when he looks at me or says my name. I think I remind him too much of mother.
My father would have killed me by now if it wasn't for the fact that he needs my power. He and my brothers love to take advantage of me, asking me to spy or assassinate people. My mother told me never to use my power like that, but when I used to resist and refuse to do anything for them, my brothers would always drag Everest out from my room and threaten me with him. Everest is the only thing left of my mother and he's also my bestest friend in the entire world; I'd never let anything happen to him for as long as I live.
"Of course," I answer him, not once looking away from his intense glare. With a slight snarl, he turns back to look at my brothers and I let out a shaky breath, longing to clutch Everest's soft fur in my hands and bury my head into his neck. Instead, I sit here in this suffocating room as I listen to Vulen list off the happenings of tomorrow. We will have to go in front of the kingdom and watch the soldiers march inside the castle, meaning I am required to stand at my family's side and plaster the world's fakest smile on my face as I wave to the adoring people of Graeweth. It's not an uncommon concept for me however, I've had to do so many times before and am quite used to it by now.
Finally, Vulen wraps up his speech and dismisses us. I bolt out of the room as fast as I can, dodging the maids coming in to clean up after us, but shooting them a smile as I sprint past. The servants in Chastershire have always been kind to me. When I was younger, my mother would introduce me to every single one of them. I knew them all by name and was acquainted with them. Since I didn't go to school, but was tutored in the castle, the only friends I had were the servants, mainly the children. We would run about the castle and steal treats from the kitchen.
When my mother died when I was 13, the servants were there for me. Vulen grieved on his own, mostly by turning his sorrow into hatred of the world, for taking his wife away from him. She was everything to him and then she was gone. My brothers each had their own methods of grieving as well; Dorane put all his time into his work, following in Vulen's footsteps, Nesterin diving into his studies, Oacenth spending all his time getting drunk and into brawls and Lyklor training and exercising. I was left to fend for myself, but the servants stood by me, raising me as if I was their own.
The servants say hello as I pass and then I race to my room, eager to see Everest again. A few hours pass after the meal. I spent a while in my room, talking with Everest and bathing. Then, I went down to the kitchen, which was always both chaotic and peaceful. The castle cook, Alwin, has always been one of my favorites to visit, mostly because he's such a good cook and I have such a deep love for food. He made me a delicious lunch while I chatted with many of the servants by the hearth in the kitchen. One of my friends, Faylen, braided my hair for me as well. Afterwards, I headed to the stables out back. Pastures of bright green grass, which is currently covered in sheets of soft snow, and white picket fences surrounded the stable as I walked down the wide path. The stable sat before me, its wood old, yet the building still magnificent, snow piled on the roof. Graeweth is known for its massive, never ending forests that coat the lands, but it is also nearly always covered in snow. I'm not surprised to find inches layering the ground as I walk, the snow crunching under my heavy boots. I'm now very glad I threw on a winter coat over my sweater before leaving the castle.
"Not a good day for riding, but I suppose I can always groom Fleetfire," I mutter to myself as I swing the heavy barn door open. Stalls lined the walls on either side of the stable and hay scattered the hard ground. A couple barn cats leapt around on the rafters above and the whole area smelled strongly of horses, a smell I adore. There's another stable for the cavalry horses, it's by the barracks. Actually there's more than one, all full of brave and fast thoroughbreds for the soldiers. This one is for the royal family's horses, the ones that pull the carriages we travel in and the ones we ride for fun and on hunting trips.
Fleetfire is my favorite horse in the stable. He is a muscular Canadian horse, weighing over 1,000 pounds. His coat is a shimmering, sleek black and long, thick fur to withstand the snow and cold of Denleth, the city in Graeweth where Chastershire resides. His mane and tail are also jet black and long. I have learned to braid them when going out for a long ride, so that they don't get tangled and matted. Fleetfire is incredibly fast and strong; he can run at top speed or pull a loaded cart for miles and miles without tiring. Although we use Clydesdales and Shires for pulling carriages and wagons. Fleetfire also has the ability to jump over huge obstacles. We have bonded well over the years, he and I. I talk with him often while I groom his beautiful coat or when I simply just want to lounge around in the stable.
I find my way to Fleetfire's stall, which is on the right side. His tall, massive body is cooped up in the space and I feel a twang of pity for not visiting sooner.
"Hello my boy," I whisper, reaching my bare, cold hand up to stroke his muzzle. As always, his fur is soft and silky against my skin as I pet him.
"Aurae!" He whinnies happily. With a laugh, I pull open the stall door. I know he won't go anywhere or try to run away, he never has. Fleetfire's hooves stamp against the ground as he walks into the aisle, tossing his head, causing his mane to flop around. I swivel on my heels and am about to head into the tack room to grab a couple of brushes when I spot Oacenth and Lyklor heading down the path. They see me as well and Lyklor lets out a sharp cry.
"Aurae, don't move!" He shouts. I immediately tense up and I hear Fleetfire scrape his hooves against the ground behind me. My brothers enter the barn, their breath showing up as a fog in the cold air. They too are wrapped in heavy coats to fight the cold.
"You must come with us, we have a job for you," Oacenth commands, reaching out to grab my arm. I pull away, taking a step back. My body slams into a rock solid wall and I look over my shoulder to see that Fleetfire moved forward, so that my body is pressed into his chest. His huge head looms over me, his neck craning over my head. I know that his black eyes are trained on my brothers, daring them to try to touch me.