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The Kingdom of the Moon pack is well fortified. From the moment we enter the gates of the capital, the pack's dominance becomes clear. As we entered through the city checkpoint, city guard provided a locking bracelet to mark myself, the footmen, and coachman as property of the House of Osiris. These bracelets would prevent my exit from the city without an authorized person from the house giving permission. This was the only way to enter the city, as only my mother has the paperwork to enter as a noble. There are guardsmen everywhere, armed and ready to enforce the law with violence if needed. I imagine there are twice as many as I actually see, some blended into the crowd, listening and waiting for someone to be careless enough to utter a traitorous word. There is an equal abundance of priestesses. Floating around in their robes like water lilies on the pond. Their robes swishing and swirling around them as they make their way around the soldiers. The capital itself is surr
From the window of the suite, the castle is massive. A gleaming mountain, eclipsing the sun from this window like clockwork, the city a giant sundial with the castle at the center of it all. At this home, the sun is blocked at tea time, which starts promptly at 4pm. My mother has always demanded the ritual of tea time. Her tea selections always intentional and often crafted under her eye. I assumed it was just an eccentricity of hers, as most nobles have eccentricities, but perhaps it’s more spiritual. It explains the sacred space she holds for it, regardless of other demands. Her quiet dedication to the ritual of tea. The way she studies her cup. The demand that no tea cup is to be removed by staff until she approves it. The clock strikes four with four melodic cuckoos from the large clock in the entryway. The country scene is carved into wood expertly. Fair maidens shifting into wolves and a strong alpha seeking to conquer them all. The poor cuckoo bird bleating its ca
“The Celestial Waters alpha, Alpha Varuna, was defiant. He had ten children lost. He could not; however, forget sweet Cordelia, the omega maiden mated to Alpha Malakai.” My father said in a serious tone. “All the children of the Celestial Waters are my sons and daughters. Each like the precious pearls we pluck from the sea. You have my children and my heart breaks, but I cannot stand for your tyranny just to mend my own heart. You have already been careless with one of my precious rare pearls, throwing it away like the goddess means nothing.” My father nobly recited Alpha Varuna’s speech. “Faster than a lightning strike Alpha Varuna’s head was separated from his body. The glint of Malakai’s steel blade flashing as the life in Varuna’s eyes died.” “Very well. Let this be a lesson. You can choose to stand against me, but it will cost you dearly. Guard, bring the children of Celestial Waters to the Kingdom of the Moon market. They shall be sold to the highest bidder.” He said in Mala
I walk along the old familiar trail to my garden carefully observing the figure in front of me. The red robe swallows her petite figure. She seems to float across the landscape, gracefully moving, her walk like a choreographed dance. As we approach my garden gate she slows her pace and turns to face me. “My child, how you have grown these years.” I hear the voice but the woman’s mouth does not move. She sweetly smiles as she projects her voice into my thoughts. Her face is similar to my mother. Her eyes are a deep cerulean blue, two endless pools I find myself getting lost in. Her smile seems sweet but makes me uneasy in its portrayal of innocence. She calls me a child and yet she looks barely old than me. Her skin glows against the deep red of the robe. A wisp of golden curls peak out of the darkness created by the robe’s hood. “I have waited so long to speak to you. Your ascension finally opened the portal so that we can communicate.” “Portal?” I wonder aloud. “You mustn’t spea
“Witch.” Theia growls. I am silent. The accusation is true I suppose, though I know nothing of what it means to be true. It isn’t the whole truth. “Am I not also wolf?” I question. “Does being one erase the other?” Theia growls in response. “Well if you hadn’t so rudely interrupted, perhaps we could’ve figured out how the connection across our plane in the spiritual plane works.” I grumble as I cross my arms across my chest. “Tell me what you know of witches.” “Where would I begin?” Theia muses. “At the beginning?” I offer. Theia scoffs. “We don’t have endless amounts of time.” She reasons. “No, I suppose we do not. I’m tired of being left in the dark.” I say. “When you don’t know, how do you know what you need to know?” Theia exhales deeply. The air from her lungs makes a snorting sound as it passes through her snout. “In ancient times, the three faced goddess represented Selene, Hecate, and Artemis. Artemis the maiden, Selene the mother, and Hecate the crone. All th
The market is a strange mixture of smells. Everything about it, in conflict with one another. I diligently follow my mother through the market towards the center, in order to obtain her new kitchen servant. It feels like a death march towards to the center, a place where other wolves are bought and sold. The entire idea of a wolf selling another wolf like property is disgusting. A shameful act to be carried on in view of the royal family. The proximity of such privilege with such poverty and despair is disgraceful. It is upon the backs of those sold that the royal family is able to maintain their positions. They profit off of their own people’s bodies. Having to take any part of this process is horrifying. Poor Maristela, a young child, sold like a horse in an open market to anyone who was willing to pay the most for her. Stalls line the thoroughfare selling a variety of items. We weave through the crowd and I take in the sights and scents. The smell of sweet fried doughs in hone
“I will never be like you.” I whisper, more as a promise to myself than a declaration. “Time is the greatest truth teller.” She murmurs. We stand in silence as body after body is bought and sold. Field hands, butlers, maids, cooks, child brides, stable boys— every person it takes to run the household is sold like saddles and mops. I see the faces of my friends who work the Alpha’s estate in each one of these people, each drop of the sales gavel shatters another part of my heart. The pain is a consequence of my observation of this ongoing tragedy without having the courage to intervene. Intervention meant death though. Maybe even a fate worse than that. I feel a tingling on my skin almost like I am being touched by a spirit. Their fingers ghosting along my arms and shoulders to get my attention. A young woman is being led to the platform. Her eyes snap to mine as the feeling intensifies. She looks plain. The type of woman you must have seen a million times before. Nothing notabl
His eyes linger on me. His gaze lights my skin ablaze, I feel flushed from his attention on me. My mind thinking of other things my hot mouth could wrap around. His gaze fixed on me as I perform. “Enjoying the cone?” He asks shamelessly. “Immensely.” I say much more breathy than intended. “You would be surprised how many delicious things there are to sample here in the Kingdom of the Moon.” He says with an edge of flirtation. I should be disgusted by his advances. He represents everything that is wrong. His flirtation with the help so openly in the market is scandalous, even if I am of noble birth. I should be offended as a proper lady that he would even feel so emboldened. “Any good meat dishes you would recommend, your highness?” I say coquettishly, the look of innocence on my face hiding my double meaning. My tongue tracing the peak of my ice cream before retreating to my mouth. A soft growl rumbles in his chest. It might be my undoing. I would let him take me right here
“We hear your call, now hear our words.” A voice whispers from beyond the circle. I stand rigidly. The voice creeps up my spine, my hair standing on end. My eyes scan the circle’s edges, seeking the body associated with the voice. Their faces are all blurred, their features too hard to make out. Clearly different from one another but also oddly the same. I feel myself drawn, like a moth to the flame, closer to the edge thinking that I may see them more clearly. I edge closer to the boundary, hoping to steal a look. “Do not break this circle!” Asteria seems to scream, the words halting my body midstride, frozen in her warning. I look toward her over my shoulder, and see the panic in her eyes, her stoic expression a mask for my comfort. Theia sits stoically in the dead center of the circle, alert but still as a grotesque perched high on a stone building, a quiet observer. “Take my hand!” Asteria orders, her hand outstretched toward me. I look to my feet and gasp at their prox
I don’t think I will ever get over how magic works in this world. It’s a strange feeling to go most of your life believing that magic, real magic, was nothing more than a story to tell around the fire. That actual magic was found only in the first breaths of babies being born, not actual conjuring and manipulation of the universe. That walking through doorways into different dimensions were the fantasies of mad men and stories meant to scare children into minding their mothers. In these moments, when I witness the actual power of magic, I am both awestruck and terrified. How many moments of my life have been manipulated by magic? How do I know what is real and what is a magical mirage?“There are many things happening before you but hidden from view.” Asteria says quietly. “Magic is a blessing from our Goddess. It should be revered not feared.”“This is the biggest day of our lives. The day we seal our marriage to our mate. Let us rejoice. There are many other days ahead to worry.” T
This is the picturesque final scene of the fairytale. The beautiful maiden, who has managed to overcome hardship, is now a perfectly coiffed stylish bride. At least, that’s the image I am attempting to curate. I am who I create. I think back to all the elegant ladies I observed while serving in the Alpha house. Their rigid posture. Their chins perpendicular to the floor, elongating their necks, like delicate swans. Their meticulously styled appearance. Every decision carefully made. My style has more in common with a tornado than a curated art museum. Getting ready is a mad whirl around the room, every second spent is a robbery of my sleep, my appearance only needing to be neat and clean. Not anymore. Sleep is heaped in ample servings here. My only chore is getting ready. “I pray the Goddess guides me on my intended path.” I whisper quietly, my eyes shut tightly. I glance toward the clock. I am sure that someone will arrive to escort me to the temple in the next half hour. My wedd
I understand the appeal of a fairytale. The maiden in the story always has some terribly tragic circumstance befall her; but, when it is most important her stunning beauty allows her to rise the ranks to become a princess. Her face card is her entrance to the club most have to be born into. Her beauty is too great to be mired in obscurity. Her time in the bowels of the beast only add to her appeal; later, her “humble” beginnings are trotted out to prove she is one of the people, too beautiful not to be elevated to her supreme status, but also still ordinary and “just like us”. In truth, most of the women married within this world come from it. Those tales too predictable and bland to be worthy of a fairytale, or perhaps, the truth doesn’t hit the same for the masses. They must believe that if they are also beautiful enough, they too can escape. Those escapes are few and far between, but here I am, one of them. I suppose my beauty and power are enough to elevate me from my place in the
“This.” I say as my fingers trace along the filigree. “This is magnificent.” I am in awe of the beauty of it. Diamonds all perfectly matched set in gold. Small crescent moons hide in the filigree, only clear with the moonstones set inside them. The crests of each pack of the realm are hidden and set with diamonds. I would have missed the detail had I not immediately recognized the crest on my own homeland. Perhaps that is the test of the Queen. Do I pick one of the pieces that more heavily represent Harvest Moon? Or perhaps my statement is gaudy wealth, I am sure many will expect that. When you claw yourselves out of the bowels, you tend to display your material achievements like a soldier’s medals. This one though, it tastefully pays homage to each pack of the realm. I am to be Princess of Fives, it is only right to represent all of them. “Take off the gown so that I can attach the sleeve, m’lady.” Monica orders, her attention focused on the work. I dutifully comply, standing
I look at the sparkling treasure before me. The amount of wealth is astonishing. Just one emerald and some diamond pins cost my mother bushels of food. I trace my finger along the delicate chain at my wrist. This bracelet as well. These jewels laid out before me like a pirate’s treasure, they make my mother’s jewels seem modest and trivial. The weight of the gold and platinum alone is an astonishing show of wealth. The lands of the realm are rich in resources, all part of the royal horde. “We can get you a different bracelet.” Monica offers, noticing my finger running along the golden thread. “No.” I say instantly, refraining from blurting out any explanation. “Very well, m’lady. Are you drawn to anything in particular?” I look into the mirror at my reflection. I am not sure I recognize myself. A witch. A wolf. An Alpha’s daughter. The girl from the kitchens. The slave of Harvest Moon. A bride. This is my metamorphosis. I am being reborn into the Kingdom of the Moon. Princess of
The dress. “It is an homage to your homeland!” Monica says dramatically, her hands stretched outward to sell me on the gown. “Homage?” I say studying my reflection in the mirror. “Yes, it’s when you show honor or reverence—”“I’m aware of the definition.” I interrupt. We stand in silence. I stare at the reflection before me. I feel like a ball of silk and ribbon. My small frame is completely swallowed in expensive fabric. I’m not sure if I am wearing the gown or if it’s wearing me. “Are there any other options, perhaps something less…” I struggle to find a kind word. “Less?”“Of course.” She frowns at my rejection. “This is beautiful.” I say. “It is just too overwhelming for me.”Monica cracks a soft smile. “Of course. We have a whole tour to build your unique style. I will push, you will reign me in.”“Deal.”“I do have a lovely column gown.” She mutters as she shuffles through her rack of gowns, some finished, some still a work in progress. The silk looks as if it was poured
“I hope you are right, Theia. I can’t help but feel uneasy when the majority of dreams I have are directly related to the violence of the monarchy.” Asteria sighs softly. “Violence I endured. Even worse, the violence I witnessed.”“That does not have to be our life. Not every Prince is evil.” Theia offers. “He did not choose his birth.” I offer, considering myself as well. “Witch and werewolf, that match is not accepted. I didn’t choose my birth either, so I struggle to damn someone on that fact alone.”“Ceres, do not lie to yourself. Even you know that the very foundation of the monarchy is dependent upon the suffering of people. Slavery. War. Famine. All necessary for the monarchy to survive.” Asteria declares like a professor from the lectern. “And somehow I am the savior of the world? I’m going to eliminate slavery and suffering? Get a grip, Asteria!”“No, no I am not delusional.”“You sound a bit delusional.” Theia quips. “We will not lead the masses away from systematic abuse
Some oaths cannot be broken. The thought tumbles in my mind. “It is true. The consequences can be dire when breaking a promise. An oath is sworn with your life.” Theia warns. “A witch is nothing without her word. Our whole existence is built upon the truth that words are powerful and have meaning. A covenant is an agreement, but an oath is a solemn promise. Breaking an oath is not a simple undertaking. The consequences of such actions can be catastrophic and change who you are entirely. To break an oath is a choice of darkness. Embracing the worst that this world has to give.” Asteria chimes in. “Last night, for me, was filled with dreams and nightmares. They don’t even all make sense to me at this point. A mix of my memories, and what I assume the two of you were seeing.” I say. I made an oath to the King, but I would break it in a heartbeat if I thought I could do it and continue to keep my head. Are oaths really oaths if you are under duress? Or is that simply fealty, a forced