Kastali Dun

Marrian stared at herself in the mirror, touching her new face, studying her foreign features. She expelled a loud breath. In years' past, she'd never considered herself bad-looking, per se. But to wear the face of the queen? Gods, she looked positively divine.

Heat flushed her cheeks. She shouldn't think like that. It made her seem pathetic. There was nothing wrong with the way she normally looked, with her nearly midnight black hair and blue eyes. Her generous curves, wide hips, and gentle smile. She wasn't used to being skinny and toned. It felt...different. Not good or bad. Just different.

It was the turquoise markings though. That was the strangest bit of all this. They scrolled across her skin—

A loud knock sounded before her bedroom door opened. "Forgive us, Your Majesty. But we must get started."

"Merrian," she corrected. "Or Mer, if you'd prefer."

"Your Majesty," the spriten woman returned, sounding only mildly exasperated. "Ayas Drollaya. We were told by our princess that we must use your titles and your disguise-name at all times."

At all times?! Her heart skipped a beat. "Even...even when we're alone like this?"

"Even so," the sprite woman said.

And so it began.

Would she even remember herself when this was all over? What she looked like? Who she was?

"I am Selphie Norin," the sprite woman said, pulling her from her dark thoughts. "This is Miera Balleth. We are Queen Claire's—your—handmaidens. Our common tongue is...improving. But, if you find the accent or understanding us difficult, please ask to repeat."

"I think your accent and your common tongue usage is fine. I understand you well."

"Good." Selphie nodded.

Gods, they were both so...ethereal. So otherworldly. To think, they'd be serving her. She'd never, in all her life, had someone to wait on her hand and foot. Sure, she'd been more privileged than most after discovering her magic.

"Where are you from?" Miera asked, striding forward to lay a gown across the bed.

"Oh. I... The north, initially. I trained there, mastered my magic with the mages at Northedge. I eventually made my way south. I've been living in Kastali Dun for...ten years now?"

Miera nodded. Arranging the fabric to her liking before glancing around.

"Come, we must prepare you for the evening meal." Selphie made to remove her robe. "It will be your debut back into society."

"Wait! Tonight?!" she all but barked, holding tight to the fabric that hid her nakedness. "Shouldn't I...practice first?"

"No need for practice," Selphie said. "Come, we are no stranger to nudity. We must dress you."

Nerves overtook Mer's entire body. No need for practice? Shouldn't she at least...get trained on the queen's mannerisms? Even the king—Lord Reyr—had said she was a sorry excuse for Claire. It had hurt, more than she wanted to admit. Of course she'd never be so lucky to be that amazing. To be a real queen, even if the woman had started off an outsider.

Mer sighed, lifting her chin. This was her first test. She might as well act like a queen if she was going to be one for the foreseeable future. "Very well then, get me dressed."

"Good!" Selphie clapped her hands together.

Admittedly, she was rather eager to try on the gown they'd brought. It looked positively divine—nicer than anything she'd ever put on her body. Would she feel like a queen in it?

While there were many mages like her living in the city, selling their magical abilities to make a living, she'd never been wealthy. She could have taken up a better paying job. Bottled brews to sell at high mark-ups. Charged obscene amounts as a healer, peddling her services to the wealthy, but she'd taken a different calling. One far less glamorous.

And...here she was, by the most strange turn of fate.

Her handmaidens set about preparing her for the evening meal. She sighed in delight as the silken chemise and gown slid down over her bare skin. Gooseflesh pebbled everywhere it touched. She gasped as it tightened around her waist, sucking in a breath. This gown was of the new fashion, the one Dragonwall's queen had set about making popular. It had translucent arms and showed more skin than she was used to. But, it was breathtaking—literally and figuratively.

They worked on her hair next. She luxuriated in the feel of another's hands on her scalp. The feel of being pampered as her cheeks were brushed with rouge, her eyes lined with kohl. Priceless jewels were strung about her neck. It wasn't until a gold crown was placed atop her head that the room began to spin.

She was doing this—really doing this.

***

"Pick up your gaze," Lord Reyr admonished, his voice low. "You keep staring at the floor like that, and you will ruin this for all of us."

She snapped her eyes upward, ignoring the flush coating her skin. Being scolded was never pleasant. Being scolded by a king's shield? By Lord Reyr disguised as King Talon? It made her insides squirm with frustration and hurt.

She wanted to snap back at him—to tell him that she was trying, that she was doing them all a favor, that she desperately needed the compensation Princess Taylynn had promised. Instead, she did what the world believed a good queen would do. She honored her husband's—her fake mate's—order.

They strode arm in arm into the grand dining hall. It was currently only half full. Benches scraped as occupants stood. Reyr didn't falter. He continued his clipped pace down the central aisle, forcing her to rush just to keep pace with him. Rather than complain, she merely clenched her teeth.

"It wouldn't hurt to nod and smile at your people," he said. "Claire never eyed them like she was ready to do murder."

She huffed under her breath. The only person she was inclined to murder was him, if he didn't stop being so rude. Was she going to say that? No. Because she didn't have the courage to. But at least she could think it. And that was satisfying. So, she did the best she could. She offered a few nods and shaky smiles.

"This is such a bad idea," he muttered as they reached the dais. Taylynn hadn't seemed to think so. She almost reminded him of this. But...what good would that do? He was determined to be against her from the start.

He led her around the table, pulling out a chair and motioning for her to sit. As he scooted her in, he leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. A shiver raced down her arms, straight to her fingertips. He spoke the way a lover might. Anyone watching would have thought it. Except, his words weren't that of a lover's as he said, "All you need to do tonight is be silent and seen. I need not remind you what is at stake should you fail. You might think playing dress up is fun, but our lives aren't a game. Ruling a kingdom isn't a game."

Her body flushed hot. "I never said—"

But he was already taking his own seat.

This was a mistake—a huge, colossal mistake. Was it too late to change her mind? Had Princess Taylynn already left? She glanced around but say now sign of the sprite.

Her heart began to race, palms growing sweaty with panic.

"Hello there, Your Majesty," came a voice. The empty seat beside her was taken up by the newest shield in the kings retinue. Lord Dallin. The head table's other chairs quickly filled with Queen Claire's spriten guard.

"Oh, hello," she managed, trying to steady her voice as she looked at the young drengr.

"I don't believe we've officially met," he said, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "I'm Dallin, and you're Merrian, but I'm not supposed to use your real name."

"Most of my friends call me Mer," she whispered back.

"Well then, Mer, it's nice to meet you. We can keep this our little secret, yes?"

A smile bloomed on her lips, a genuine one this time. "I don't mind if you use Mer if ever we're out of earshot of others. It might help me remember who I am."

"Then that's exactly what we'll do."

"I like you already," she decided.

"What's not to like?" he teased. His eyes flicked towards the corner of the room and she followed his gaze, spotting a couple of men taking their seats.

"Friends of yours?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Something like that." His tone was unreadable.

"Wait. Is that a...a goblin?!"

"Aye. A new emissary recently appointed by the king. His name's Unka. And that's Mikkin, there, and Jamie with him."

As if he sensed them, Jamie lifted his gaze and locked eyes with Dallin. Whatever simmered between them was broken almost as quickly as Dallin looked away. She almost asked him about it, but decided that it was not her business.

Food was brought forth and they began eating. She glanced shyly at Reyr several times, trying to be discrete. He didn't look once at her—not until he received an obvious elbow prod from Lord Verath, who sat on his other side. The shield whispered something in the king's ear that appeared to irk him. After that, Reyr gazed in her direction a few times, whispered a few bits of information in her ear about various nobles' names that she ought to know going forward, and passed the behavior off as fond affection.

They were supposed to be mates deeply in love, after all. She almost snorted at the idea. The thought of loving him after how he'd treated her thus far? Gods, she'd rather die a spinster.

The rest of the meal, fortunately, was pleasant. She and Dallin were going to become the best of friends. He refrained from asking personal questions, in the event they were overheard by servants. Instead, he made conversation by telling her everything about his day. His training with Lord Verath. The errands they'd run. The more difficult tasks in the dungeons, metting out justice.

The rest of the evening was a blur. She returned to the king's tower, arm in arm with a silent, brooding Lord Reyr, who detached from her the moment it was acceptable. She was introduced to her queen's guard, and made it a point to memorize their names the moment they gave them. They told her little tidbits about themselves, she memorized that information too. Then she was coerced into a meeting with the king's inner circle. Though, not without a heavy dose of backlash from the stand-in king.

"There's absolutely no reason she needs to be here," Lord Reyr growled as everyone began taking their seats. She'd been ready to disappear through the door leading down to her chambers, when Desaree and Jocelyn had cornered her, dragging her back.

"She absolutely must be here," Lord Verath argued. "If you expect her to stand in as queen, then she needs to know what happens around here."

"I don't expect her to stand in as queen," Lord Reyr all but growled. "Because I wasn't the one who gave her the job! I had no say whatsoever in the matter. That was all Princess Taylynn's doing."

"Not just Taylynn's," Prince Feowen said, jumping in. "It was all of us. After she suggested it, it was an obvious necessity. Obvious to all of us, anyway. Clearly not you. Shocking, since you're the king and all..."

"Really, it's..." Mer swallowed, trying to find her voice. "It's no trouble to turn in for the evening," she found herself saying. She tried to back towards the door again, only to find her arm still linked through Desaree's. "There's no need to get riled on my part. I'm happy to leave you to it. Especially since my only purpose here is to be seen and not heard." This last she said directly to Reyr, throwing his words back at him.

His expression darkened. The king's angry, scared face was not an easy sight to behold. "You're not going anywhere," he snapped, which made no sense after the way he'd wanted to dismiss her.

"Good, then it's settled," Feowen said, grinning.

Her gaze remained locked on Reyr's. Gods, she wanted to throttle him. Instead, she clenched her jaw and let Desaree lead her to an empty place on the sofa.

Then, just so that he wouldn't have more to throw in her face, she made it a point to be seen and not heard, letting the others carry the entire conversation. This was something they did nightly, she came to realize. Meeting to go over the day's events, important matters, decisions that required attention. All this time she'd assumed the king ruled in a more solitary manner, but this proved otherwise.

She found herself wondering how Queen Claire put up with it. How she managed to give so much of her time to this kingdom, especially when its king was such a pain. Then she had to correct herself, to remind herself that Reyr wasn't the king. That the queen was mated to the real king, and that they were very much in love.

It had only been a single day, and already her mind was slipping, blurring the lines between reality and the lie she was stuck in. She had no idea how she'd manage this for months, or even years, except that by the end of it, there'd be nothing of herself left. 

💕❤️💕Don't forget to heart this chapter!❤️💕❤️

Dear Reader,

Do you love her already?! I sure do! Sigh. Can you tell where I'm going with this?

Blame my hopeless heart. I just can't help myself. And I'm not apologizing for it.

Next week we are back to Saffra. I know, I know. We miss Talon and Claire. But, with the time difference, months are passing right by while days pass in Claire's world and there's a lot to cover in Dragonwall during that time.

--Mel