CHAPTER TWO

The path to the attic is far superior to the path to my room. It's hygienic and energizing. When my father was occupying the library, I used to come here a lot. He disliked it when I read out loud in the library with him; he couldn't concentrate. I don't always realize I'm doing it, especially if I'm engrossed in the novel; it's difficult to maintain track of your surroundings when reading. It will destroy the moment when you are checking everything around you on a regular basis.

The servant who received my family's portrait stated she stored it in the attic. I'm fortunate she has her kingdom loyalty; else, she'd definitely toss it away.

When I get to the attic, I discover that everything is the same as it was before. Isn't it generally the case that no one comes here?

Anastasia and Drizella aren't particularly fond of such things. I cant hardly even tell if they can read.

I see the portrait dropping over the enormous bookshelves right away. I take it and place it on the long table, cleaning away the dust that has accumulated on it. I discover a minor cut on my mother's face that I didn't notice before, but because I'm cleaning it up close, I notice the hole it reveals every time I press the portrait. I assumed there was only one, but upon closer inspection, I am taken aback.

My mother's face had cuts all over it, little and long, as if someone had stabbed it repeatedly.

I'm don’t understand. The servant never mentioned it to me. Had something like this slipped their minds? It's a disaster! Who would do such a thing to a painting? And, in particular, the portrait of Canmore?

I looked in the portrait and saw that I was smiling while sitting on my father's lap. This painting was created when I was five years old.

There are no cuts to be found.

How did only my mother's face get so many cuts? I didn't have any, and neither did my father. My mother's face is covered with cuts.

When I realize Levana can go as far as this, I stop thinking about it. It's another of her ruses. But, still, she has the audacity to do so.

I'm preoccupied with the mess in front of me, which I can't seem to tidy adequately. On the big table, there are books strewn about as if someone was hunting for something. Some are partially open, while others have damaged pages.

I take a break from the portrait to pick up one of the scattered books.

The History of Witches and Warlocks

When I read the title, I almost dropped it. How did a book like this end up in the castle? Is this something you got from the library? These books are strictly prohibited!

Was my father aware of this?

I take a look at a few of the books and read the titles.

The History of Witches.

The book of Spells and Witchcraft

Witches and Courts: The Battle

Battle of Magic

Witches and their Origin

Certainly not! Where are these books come from? Are these from the library? What are they doing here? Who tore the pages out of the books, and why? Who was the first to arrive here?

***

My parents used to say that the Four Courts used to be tranquil. They were vibrant and welcoming, and there were no borders between them. There were no cold conflicts, and no one disliked anyone from another court. Everything was fine. But that didn't work out. They got enamored with power, dominance, and something they believed they deserved instead of another. Then there was a cold war between the leaders of the courts, which went on for a long time until the people were engaged. They are no longer able to achieve peace.

One of my mother's bedtime stories comes to mind. It was about a battle between witches and the people of Four Courts. I don't recall many details, but I remember it being a good story. I'm not sure if it's true or not; I wasn't curious enough to inquire.

But now I'm not sure if that was the case. Was there any magic in the Four Courts before? Is this the reason why the Witches are so envious of this realm that they want to launch a war?

I'm curious as to who won. Mother seemed to have forgotten about it, or I had forgotten about it myself.

That's a pity. Four Courts was formerly said to be a bustling realm. I don't even notice it anymore. Is it possible that my mother's story is true? That the magic of the Four Courts, including that of witches, was taken from them?

But how? What happened to their magic?

  “Solstice!”

That’s certainly my stepmother.

I run from the garden after putting the sprinkler down. I see her, dressed in her customary black gown, descending the castle's massive stairwell. She has a strong affinity for the color black. When I first walked into their room, everything was in dark color. I'm not sure if Father ever mentioned it.

“Here,” she says, handing me a small vintage envelope with our kingdom's seal emblazoned on the front.

“What is this for?”

“This is a letter addressed to Charlemagnes.”

My brow furrows. “Charlemagne? Is this the Winter Court?”

She narrows her eyes and waves her hand in front of me. “Just deliver it to the downtown, Solstice.”

“But, why? Mother, we're not supposed to talk to them.”

“It has nothing to do with you. Follow me at once!”

I hesitate but remain silent. I crumpled the envelope half-way out the door. I'm eager to read the letter, but I can't risk enraging Tremaine just now.

I'm curious about her connection to Winter Court. The families in that court aren't particularly welcoming to father. Maybe it's because of our diametrically opposed personalities that we can't stand each other. When I was younger, my father used to take my mother and me to every Court he visited, and Winter Court was the only one that looked unpleasant when we arrived. Their reactions are vivid in my mind. I stopped going with him from that day forward. It was a horrific experience. And their surroundings are covered with snow and frost. It's extremely chilly..

I get my hood and sling bag ready. I don't need to hide my face because no one knows who I am. No one even knows I'm alive.

Solstice, Ashwell's daughter, is still alive. They assumed I died in the fire with my mum. Except for the people in the palace, no one knew I had survived. Father kept my identity hidden well because he feared someone was threatening our life, therefore he needed to keep me safe by telling his followers I died. As a result, our assailant would cease his pursuit of us.

“Can you tell me where you're going?” Drizella inquires as she examines her nails.

“I'm going to the city. Are you joining me?” I inquire, attempting to tease her, which I gladly did when I noticed her frowning in displeasure. She despises going downtown because there are so many poor people, as she refers to those who have gotten only a small bit of assistance from the kingdom.

Personally, I enjoy going there, and the children adore me—not as their princess, but as someone who understands them. Abandoned, neglected and alone. There, I'm Sol, not Princess Solstice.

I make a snort. As if anyone is aware that I am Princess Solstice.

I go about my business in silence. The gate opens in front of me, and servants covertly bend their heads as I approach. They must respect me quietly because Tremaine and her girls will be offended. At the very least, I know that the servants prefer me over them.

I'm not concerned that someone will notice me entering and exiting the castle. No one will guess I'm a member of the royal family, let alone a Canmore, based on my attire and demeanor. They'll mistake me for one of the servants.

I am greeted by the burning heat of the sun. That's why I adore Summer Court; it breathes new life into everything. Maybe it was because I hadn't ventured beyond Summer Court. I have no recollection of our previous visits to every court with Father. The weather was the only thing I remembered about the other courts. We have a variety of weather, each with its own characteristics.

I don't feel alive on the trip to downtown. The kingdom is still in mourning over the death of their king. I'm suddenly embarrassed to be smiling here. I just... I forget how much the folks of Summer Court adore my father. He's established himself as a wonderful ruler.

I can sense the atmosphere becoming more heaving as I approach the crowded downtown area. I'm not sure if it's due of my father's death or for some other reason.

Is it because they assumed Tremaine would take the throne next to them? Nothing pleases me more than hearing people say they don't like Tremaine for the throne, and nothing pleases me more than that. Because they are unaware of my existence, they are likely to believe Tremaine will soon become their queen.

“Sol! Sol!”

A child squeezes his way through the mob, striving to get to where I am standing. As I get to know his features, I smile. He's one of my downtown buddies, and he's the sneakiest of them all.

  “How come you're in such a hurry, buddy?” I give him a pat on the head. I blame our kingdom's incompetence for his diminutive stature and thinness. We overlook their locations and circumstances. Our assistance falls short of resolving the catch-22.

“You promised to bring me bread!” he exclaims, clearly overjoyed at the prospect. “I did n't steal any food because you said you'd give it to me. Where is it now?”

I take a deep breath and blink. Yes, I absolutely did. I recall my first meeting with him. He stole my bread, and I followed him since it was mine and I was too hungry to let him eat it. He said he was hungry, that he was given no choice and that people were giving no care that he was dying of starvation. I suddenly felt horrible and offered him the bread instead. That's when I discovered how much my father had overlooked this location. Anton, the youngster's name, isn't the only one stealing to feed their stomachs. Almost everyone in downtown is a homeless person. They require more assistance than nobles who have amassed and profited from the kingdom's wealth.

I did make him promise that he would not steal again. And he asked me how he would survive if he didn't steal because he couldn't find job and both of his parents had died. So I promised him that every time I came here, I'd bring him bread so he wouldn't do those things anymore.

I take the paperbag of bread out of my bag and open it. I hand it over to him. His grin never falters; in fact, it widens even further.

We take a seat beneath the tree, looking out at the people bustling through Kingdom Ruby's buzzing town.

   “What made you so long coming back here? Is it because of what happened?” Anton asks that makes me look at him.

  “What happened?” I asks although I realize what he is talking about.

   “Are you serious? The king is dead, Sol.”

I act like I am surprise. “When? How?”

He shrugs his shoulder and begin eating, again. “I don’t know. He died weeks ago. And how such news never reached you, Sol? It’s all over the kingdom.”

I snorts. “I have no ears like yours, buddy,” I said, chuckles. “How are you getting by now that the king is dead?”

   “Getting by? We are hardly getting by, Sol. It’s not as if there will be difference. If anything, it’d be harder.”

    “What do you mean?”

He looks at me as if he’s doubting my inquisition. “Are you kidding me? Lady Tremaine is even worse!”

   “Are you afraid she will become the queen?”

He snorts. “Of course. And you will be afraid, too. Lady Tremaine is cruel, don’t you see her face? Her face is already a bad news. And I really hate black.”

    “So, you’re expecting her to be the queen?”

    “Of course, Sol. Who else?”

I sit straight and looks at nowhere. “I believe King Ashwell has a daughter, right?”

    His eyes widen. “His daughter? I thought she died with Queen Mirabelle before. Is she alive?” hope flickers on his eyes.

     “I don’t know,” I whispers and looks at him. “But if she is, do you think she can be the queen?”

      “I think so…” his voice faltered. “I think it’s okay. There’s no one worse than Lady Tremaine herself. If she’s alive and becomes a queen, I hope she will help us.”

It makes me even more depressed. I'm curious what he'll say if I confess that I'm Princess Solstice. He'll most likely question why I haven't done anything, why I let my father abandon them in the gutter, and why I let Tremaine rule. There will be a lot of questions, and answering them will be difficult.

My own castle employs me as a servant. Tremaine and my stepsisters are sleeping like royals, while I struggle my way down the basement. I should have the luxury and the throne to rule the entire kingdom, but instead I find myself here... obeying orders from someone beneath me.

They are in control. I don't have anything. It's naive of me to believe I can stop Tremaine's plans for the kingdom. How can I help them if I can't even help myself?

   “Royal family of Charlemagne from Winter Court is coming here! Royal Family of Charlemagne from Winter is coming here!”

What?

I hear it as I walk away from the mailbox. I turn around and look for the source of the voice. The newsmonger is carrying a stack of newspapers with one hand, while the other is shouting and waving one newspaper in the air.

I take a step closer to him.

“May I look?” I inquire.

With a shake of his head, he expresses his dissatisfaction “Unless you have bucks on you, I could reconsider.”

“Nevermind.”

But did I hear him correctly? It could just be a ruse. People, as you may know, enjoy gossiping. And rumor has it that one of the Winter Court families is paying a visit here.

I should ask Tremaine about it.

I wonder if her letter to the Winter Court is connected to the rumor of Charlemagnes coming here? For what?

Despite the fact that my mind is preoccupied with connecting the dots and imagining what Tremaine is plotting, my eyes catch something that I can't ignore.

I watched as the man crept up behind the elderly woman and reached out to snare the purse from her old tote bag.

His hands are so rapid that the poor old lady has no concept what she is losing. My eyes narrow and track the man who committed that heinous act.

“Hang on a minute!” I struggle through the crowd, not wanting my eyes to leave the man with a nasty hands.

He unexpectedly comes to a halt and turns around. I stare at his empty hand right away.

What? Why is it so empty? What happened to the purse? I'm convinced he's the thief. I'm never far away from him.

 “Excuse me, lady. Do I have a business with you?” As if he hadn't done anything, he inquires.

“I saw you. You took something from the elderly lady. What happened to the purse? Please hand it on to me.”

His head cocks to the side and he grins a little. “Are you sure I'm the right one?”

“Of course,” I say. "I followed you." His hair is also extremely remarkable. Brown with a slight length. He wears a wrangler's outfit.

“I'll tell you, lady. I am not the stealer.”

“How could I possibly be wrong? I was right behind you the whole time. Please hand over the purse right away. That isn't yours.”

“Excellent. Lady, look it up for me.” He raises both hands in the air and says, "I'm yours to check."

My eyes constrict. For a little minute, I question my own credibility. However, I am confident that I followed the correct individual. Where, on the other hand, is the purse?

I approach him and search him for the purse. But I don't see any. I have him turn around and do the same, but I come up empty-handed. I sigh as I face him. “Can you tell me where you put it?”

“As I already stated, I did not take it.”

“You're not telling the truth. I saw you.”

“Perhaps that was just a trick of the mind. It usually occurs to me.”

“Look, you can always work. You might be able to find work or something. However, do not steal. This area doesn't get much aid from the kingdom, so people are relying on their own resources. That poor old lady, like you, is probably hungry. How can your conscience carry that all the way?”

His gaze is fixed on me. This is the first time a man has given me this look. I don't mean to offend him with what I've said. I'm just thinking... It is preferable to live a life free of conscience than to live a life full of sins.

“Your hair recalls that of the late King.”

My eyes widen, and I immediately avoid his gaze, fearful that he would see through my mask. My hood isn't doing a good job of concealing my hair.

"I colored it." I clear my throat and continue, “So, where is the purse?”

“Lady, it's in your bag. Thank you, again, for the bread.”

My bag? The bread? What does he mean?

I take a look inside my bag and notice that it is indeed there. The purse! It is inside my bag all this time? But how did he do it? It wasn’t me who stole it! He did!

And, oh, my… my bread! I brought two loaves of bread. I gave the first to Anton, and the other should be in my bag. What happened to it?

I take a glance at him. He gives a warm smile. My gaze falls on his hand, which is holding a paper bag of bread.

How?

“Since you’re so eager to have the purse back. Instead, I’ll go grab your bread. I’m hungry.”

I’m not sure how he got it from me without my knowledge. Is he so adept at stealing that I don’t even notice when he does it?

“What is your name, by the way?”

My brows are tangled up. “What does it matter?”

    “Nothing. Maybe, I just want to speak with you again if ever I think of stealing.”

     “Sol,” I say.

    “Sol, nice name,” he smiles. “I am Flynn, by the way.”

Flynn. I can’t believe I casually talked to a thief.