Chapter 2

I have been up for a few hours now. I left the infirmary without waiting to be released by any of our nurses. I believe I understand my own heart's condition better than they do, therefore I won't need their assistance unless they can somehow mend the emotional harm it sustained today.

It's almost midnight now, and I'm by myself in my room. As alone as I can be with Sarah, my maid, that is. I should have at least one maid to take care of me because I am a noble. I dislike the system, but that's just the way it operates. I find it offensive that I should feel dependent on someone to take care of me when I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I had informed Sarah of this the instant she was tasked with helping me, and even though I had rebuffed her attempts to help me dress and take a shower, her insistence had eventually tired me out. She soon developed a schedule of doing my hair in the morning, before supper, and before bed after I consented to allow her to make minor cosmetic adjustments as needed.

So now, while Sarah braids my hair, I sit in front of my vanity mirror and look at myself blankly. My hair is the same tint as newly fallen snow, much like my complexion. But it appears a little golden in my room, lit by flickering candles.

Sarah hums a gentle melody. She seems to enjoy taking care of me, but I'm never sure why. How someone could ever find delight in serving others is beyond me.

"Quiet tonight, Madame." 

Sarah looks at me in the mirror. She has a lot more color on her face than I do, with pink cheeks and vivid blue eyes. The Nirnsich house ruled the isles of Triule, where Sarah was born. Though Agnarys don't generally associate with the Nirnsich, I've always wanted to visit Triule because of its beaches. Perhaps it's because our ideals are too dissimilar from one another. Agnarys are known for their enhanced strength and resilience, whilst Nirnsich are more graceful and swift. Furthermore, Nirnsich symbolizes water, and as everyone knows, water and fire do not mix.

"Arrhythmias," I utter. 

She scowls. "Once more? This time, how did it happen?" 

"A pursuit. I worked hard at it. I nearly caught the hare ahead of my siblings, however..." I can feel that scene playing over and over in my chest. "...but I lost anyway."

Sarah gives a tongue-click. "Madam, you cannot hold yourself accountable for it. Your heart isn't doing well. The mere fact that you were near is a noteworthy accomplishment."

"Only because I took a shortcut." "Sometimes brains outweigh brawn."

"I am aware. All I want is to not always rely on my intellect to give me an advantage."

"We cannot all get what we want, madame." Sarah looks into the mirror and meets my eyes. "For instance, if I could have anything, it would be your eyes."

"My eyes?" I blink at her, then bite back a laugh. "So you'll have to give up your blonde hair and tan.

The whole bundle is albinism." Sarah moves away from me. I turn to face her, twisting on my hips. She says, "Madame, I'm not kidding." "Your coloring is unlike anything else I've ever seen, especially with your eyes. In that sense, I believe albinism to be lovely."

I laugh. Being an albino bothers me. Every time I walk outside in the sun, I appear so pale and sickly that half of my senses get dulled. Excessive light causes my vision to get distorted and my hearing to become less precise. I don't object, though, as she gently turns my head to look in the mirror. "Just look."

I sigh, but my eyes find them quickly. Since they're the only color on my face, it's almost hard to ignore them. My irises have a distinct shade of pale magenta due to an even mixture of pale red and purple. My eyes seem a little redder than normal in the candlelight. I can tell because they seem more purple when I look in the mirror during the day. 

In any case, Sarah is correct—you don't see this color very often, but that doesn't always mean it's a good thing. Being different is not what I want. I want my body to be normal and my heart to function normally, just like everyone else's. I want to be able to run without feeling tired for extended periods of time. Like the rest of my siblings, I want to be free to play and fight without fear of self-harm. Rather than being a girl with a glass body, I want to be powerful and resilient, just like a werewolf should be. 

Sarah doesn't know what I would give to have her eyes, even though she may want mine.

I'm going to reply when there's a sharp knock on my door. A few heartbeats later, Mother is looking inside. I tensely meet her black stare. She and I have never had the conventional mother-daughter connection, but that's simply the how it is as a noble. Instead of treating their children like babies, noble parents see their children as heirs, and they express their love by giving them honor and recognition rather than cuddles and kisses. Even yet, it's not something I encounter frequently. My relationship with my parents feels lifeless and icy. 

Sarah tenses up next to me, clearly taken aback by my mother's unexpected appearance, but she quickly gathers her thoughts and bows her head. "Lady Agnarys," she addresses the group. Mother motions toward her, signaling to the maids to go out of the room. But just as Sarah passes her, Mother extends a gentle hand. 

"No, Mrs. Greenward, kindly stay still. After I... go, you might be able to provide Naomi some guidance."

After blinking at her, Sarah looks at me, but I'm equally confused. By that, what does she mean? Even though my heart rate is rising, I'm determined not to let my anxiety show.

Sarah turns to the side and bends her head, remembering herself. "Of course, Lady Agnarys."

With my eyes closed, Mother enters the room. She wraps her fingers around in a complicated sweeping motion before laying down across the room beside my four-poster bed.

We look at each other for a few more moments and the stillness lingers on. My mother has a peculiar expression in her eyes that, if I didn't know any better, I would have mistaken for hesitation. Mother, though, never thinks twice. She never needs to because she is constantly aware of what is best.

After what seems like a lifetime, she finally says something. "Naomi... what do you know about the Queenstrials?" 

I flinch. What sort of inquiry is that? "What do you mean, Mother?"

Her brows furrow. "Please explain it to me, kid. The Queenstrials: Who Are They?" Though I'm not sure why, I'm not going to defy my mother."The crown prince competes in it once he reaches legal age. Each of the five daughters who qualify in the Noble bloodlines will face off for his affection in a predetermined set of challenges intended to whittle the field down to the most formidable competitors." 

Mom gives a smile. She rarely grins at me, so I must be doing something well. "That's right, young one. The purpose of the competition is to whittle down the competitors based on attributes like strength, speed, durability, etc., so the prince may make the ultimate choice. Even then, only the strongest will prevail since, regardless of sentiment, Gahndor royals consistently give preference to the strongest females. Weak werewolves have no chance at all."

I disagree with the direction she's taking things. "What are you trying to tell me, Mother?"

Her smile vanishes, and she now looks at me as if I'm incompetent. It almost makes me wish I hadn't spoken. What I'm trying to say, kid, is that in order to have a shot, competitors must be physically and mentally strong. Because you are neither, that's why. She stops, and I feel my whole body tensing up. I'm certain that she's about to say something hurtful, something that may break me, but all I can do is wait. "That's why your father and I chose to remove you from the Queenstrials," she said.

It is as though she just struck my head with two tons of steel. "Wh... what?"

She sighs impatiently, almost as if she has much better things to do with her time than to put up with this little nuisance. "You will not be competing in the Queenstrials, child."

I'm at a loss for words. I can't even think of the right word to question, but why. Mother continues, "You just do not meet the requirements for a legitimate competitor, let alone a potential future queen of Raelia," as if she can see the inquiry on my face. A Raelian queen needs to be the strongest, fastest, and most beautiful person in her own league—above everyone else. You don't meet any of the requirements for a king's ideal offspring, child, and she needs to be able to sire them. With all of your... health issues, you are just not fit to be a father." She hesitates, as if thinking. Furthermore, you are eighteen years old and have not yet experienced your first bleeding. It seems reasonable to presume that you are sterile. I think I'm going to start crying again. What I'm hearing, though, is so unbelievable: "But... but that's not your decision to make—"

"Do not insult me, child, this decision is well within my rights," mom snaps. "My house and my bloodline will not be represented by an invalid like you. You do not and will never possess the characteristics of an Agnarys. I refuse to bring the Agnarys' reputation into disrepute by permitting my invalid to compete in a division reserved for women of superior stature."

Not valid. She referred to me as her invalid. That hurts.

My mother interprets the tears that start to fall down my cheeks as an expression of acceptance rather than defiance. With a more subdued tone, she sits back against the poster on my bed and says, "Normally, we would wed you off to a smaller house of nobility, but we decided you were not even fit for that." As if she hadn't just destroyed my sense of self-worth. If you are incapable of becoming pregnant, let alone having a healthy child, then we are unable to marry you off."

She hesitates. I'm not sure how to put it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that anything she announces next will be worse than what she just said. I get ready.

We searched for the next best thing and were able to secure you a job in the royal residence. There, you shall work as a maid for King Gahndor." 

She seems to have slapped me. I am momentarily unable to think. Not that I think. But it's enough, however, to get me to say something. "This isn't fair." Mom glares down at me as she rises to her full height. Though facts don't give a damn about sentiments, life isn't always fair, kid. You can either accept this or we'll banish you from Agnarys, where you'll spend the remainder of your days as a bandit. I wouldn't hesitate to carry out the latter." 

I'm fixed to the spot by her black eyes. She is looking for any indications of opposition, but I won't put up any resistance in her silent struggle for supremacy. Rather, I just stand there, my head spinning, crying silently. A misfit. I can't act erratically. More terrifying than heart problems or infertility, exile is the worst nightmare of any werewolf. Even worse than receiving a life sentence in servitude.

I don't waste the one remaining power I have in this situation—my gaze. I glare at my mother for the first time in my life, and it says a thousand words about how I feel. I then bowed my head in surrender.

Since, in all honesty, I am powerless over Mother. I never will. 

Contented, she continues, "You will leave for the palace the day after tomorrow, a little earlier than your sisters are to leave." Her nose wrinkles at the little pile of garments on the black carpet as she surveys my chamber. "I advise you to prepare all of your belongings for your stay at the royal palace tomorrow. That morning at six, a carriage will be waiting outside. Don't be late.

That being said, she turns on her heel and charges the door, closing it with a loud crash.

A stillness descends onto the space. I can feel hot tears slicing down my cheeks and my ears ringing. In that very moment. My entire set of plans is ruined in an instant. My one and only opportunity to show myself has been snatched from me, torn up, and dumped in fragments on the ground.

"Madame?" 

For a moment, I nearly forgot Sarah was there. She heard everything, and I know I should be embarrassed, but I just can't bring myself to. Simply put, I'm numb. 

"May I have some space, please, Sarah?" I ask, using what little power I still have.

Stillness. I can practically see Sarah bending her head, then quietly opening the door and closing it behind her. It snaps shut, and I fall to my knees. My chest heaves, my breathing becomes labored, and before I realize it, I'm crying. I sob deeply, letting my sorrows pour over the carpet under me. It's a desire, a fantasy, and I've never wanted to be normal more than I do right now. I will always be myself. 

Naomi, the weakest member of her group and an invalid, lost the opportunity to live a lifetime. What a fantastic narrative that would be.