They'd placed locks and chains on Estilda's door. Zora knew Marx had warned that her mother was being kept in lockdown. She stood outside the doors, tracing one finger down the smooth, ebony wood. Mixed emotions swirled through her.

     Did she still love her mother? A part of her still longed to be hugged and kissed. But another part -a darker personality that should never be found in little girls- felt twisted anger and hatred.

     Her wounds pounded in response.

     There was a surprised exclamation from behind her. "Oh, Princess Zora, you are awake!"

     Zora turned to see a maidservant with a laundry basket. When the woman saw the left side of the child's face, her face turned alabaster paled, and she dropped the basket, sending linen clothes everywhere.

     "Oh stars," she whispered. Then she realized her mistake, and her cheeks flamed. "My apologies, Princess." She stooped low and stuffed all the clothes back. "You shouldn't be here," she chastised. "The First Queen is...resting." She dipped into a curtsy and scurried off, leaving Zora alone once more.

     Zora felt her face heat up as well, but with fury. Suddenly, the urge to see her mother disappeared. Her jaw tightened, and she stood taller, squaring her thin shoulders.

     She marched away without giving the doors another glance.

     Somehow, Zora wandered into the palace gardens. Everywhere she looked were roses, delphiniums, jasmine, lilies, and much more. The scent was unbearably sweet to the point of sickening. Still, she stayed, shying away from stray bees lazily drifting through the air.

     The garden was one of the only places a young princess could roam without repercussions. Women were forbidden to enter the throne room without permission. The entirety of the east wing was barred from them since it was where the royal males resided.

     Zora bent down to a briar of roses. Their unfurled petals were soft like silk, but their aroma was suffocating. Out of curiosity, she pressed a finger against a thorn. A sharp pain went through her hand, and she flinched, quickly withdrawing her finger.

     Her ears perked up when she caught the snippets of soft conversation. Zora followed the feminine whispers down the stone path until she reached a small gazebo. White roses snaked around the pillars, complimenting the snowy wood.

     The disappointment was immediate when Zora realized that it was only a few of her sisters. There were fifteen of them crammed into the gazebo, cooling themselves with elaborate fans of silk and ivory. Their heavy graceful skirts billowed out as they moved around.

     Zora tugged nervously at the hem of her nightgown. She back away, trying to keep herself hidden, only to trip over her own two feet. A shriek and a fall later, she was lying on her back inside a nest of roses. The thorns dug into her skin, and she felt a bit of blood trickle down her forearms.

     The gossiping ceased.

     Surprised murmurs arose as Zora gingerly picked herself up, wincing as she plucked out thorns from her flesh. Keeping her eye cast down, she tried to escape. A hand grabbed her upper arm, nails digging into her fresh cuts. Gritting her teeth, Zora turned to face Ekaterlina.

     The eldest princess presently, Ekaterlina was an elegant woman of nineteen, with golden locks flowing down her back in a shimmery waterfall. She was tall and willowy, dressed in a blue gown matching her equally icy irises. Her thin, pale lips were pressed together in a sneer.

     "What do we have here? Oh, it's our dearest little sestra. My, my, the rumors weren't false. The First Queen really did maul you. Your face is uglier than ever." She chortled. "You'll never snag a handsome prince looking like that."

     Normally, Zora would just nod along, waiting for an opportunity to run away and cry. There was an unspoken hierarchy amongst the princesses. The older you were, the more power. Being the thirty-second princess, Zora had little say in most matters.

     Perhaps it was the wrath residing within her, slowly eating at her walls of fear. For whatever reason, Zora found the nerve to stare her half-sister head on. "I have no need for a prince who will cast me aside to become nothing more than a dainty decoration. Must you be so foolish as to constantly wish for a male presence in your life?"

     Anger flashed in Ekaterlina's eyes, and her grip on Zora's arm tightened. "Watch your mouth, girl. You have no right to talk back to your sister like that."

     The young girl snorted; she couldn't stop the words tumbling from her lips. "You are no sister of mine. We do not share the same mother. Our sires may carry the same name, but I refuse to acknowledge him as my father –"

     Someone grasped a fistful of Zora's hair and yanked. Hard. Strands of hair were uprooted from her scalp. She gasped, free hand flying to her head. "Treat His Majesty with respect, sestra," snarled Anzhelika, the third eldest princess. "You could be executed for treason just for those words."

     "Albeit, that outcome wouldn't be so terrible," mused Zhoya, a smirk gracing her flawless face.

     Zora had gone too far. She knew it, and her sisters knew it too. Her face flushed crimson as the full realization hit her. As much as she hated to admit it, Anzhelika was correct. Etharia held no mercy for sharp words. If the King were to hear of this, she would be hanged without question.

     But there were no laws saying her sisters could push her around.

     "All fifteen of you are foolish," she declared, wrenching her arm away from Ekaterlina.

     Appalled, her eldest sister took a step forward. "Excuse me?" she scoffed. "Says the porcelain doll missing a button eye." Snickers filled the scented air.

     All of Zora's mature bravado vanished, and she was once again a little girl who had been clawed at by her mother. She wanted to curl up, but there was nowhere to go.

     "You dare insult us? Need we remind you that you are the youngest royal? Get over here." Before Zora could protest, Zhoya seized the collar of her nightgown and forcefully dragged her through the dirt. Zora began screaming, trying to slip away. But what good was a four-year-old against a girl four times her age?

     Zhoya deposited her onto the middle of the gazebo's floor. "Throw tea on her," she commanded with a wicked grin. The younger girls looked around anxiously. "But Princess Zhoya," piped up Galina, who'd only bled for the first time last month. "Wouldn't we be punished for hurting her? The tea could burn her skin."

     Anzhelika rolled her gray eyes. "Silly sister. It's only Zora. His Majesty won't give a damn about any of his daughters. Don't be such a coward and pour your tea on her." She laughed as she tossed her teacup at Zora. The tea sloshed out and landed scalding hot onto the little girl's skin.

     Zora cried at the stinging burn, and more tears followed as her entire nightgown was soaked by fourteen other cups of tea. Water droplets dribbled down her body, and already her skin was reddening. Her sisters' high-pitched giggling rang in her ears, and her puckered scars throbbed.

     She laid there, trembling in a growing pool of brown liquid.

     Then the laughter transformed into gasps of disbelief.

     A familiar voice said, "what the hell is going on here?" Zora lifted her head up to see the girls fall to the floor and touch their foreheads reverently to the wood. "Your Highness! We didn't see you. What are you doing –"

     "Who hurt her? Answer me." Silence. At that moment, Ekaterlina timidly spoke up.

     "It was the Third Princess, Zhoya, who did it, sir."

     Zhoya looked flabbergasted. "I – I didn't mean to! It was an accident, I swear –"

     "Leave your excuses," the voice cut in. "If you don't shut up, I'll kill you myself." Heavy footsteps thudded, and Zora found herself staring at a pair of polished shoes. Warm arms scooped her up, cradling her against a chest. Zora buried her face into the shirt, letting her tears soak the fabric.

     "Brother Pyter? Thank you..."

     The Crown Prince of Etharia squeezed her gently. "I'm here now. You have nothing to fear, dearest sestra."

Well. I totally did not expect that when writing this XD. So if you already can't tell, this world is full of a bunch of haters. Surprised that there are thirty-two princesses? Remember that back Kings could have multiple Queens.
Also, if you're wondering why Zora sounds like she's much older, please keep in mind that she is only alive because of her political potential (being married off). From a young age, she's needed to learn how to speak formerly.
Discussion Questions:
How do you think Zora will cope with future ridicule?
What is her relationship from Prince Pyter?
If you liked this chapter, please don't forget to give it a vote!