It had only been twelve hours since my mother had died, and my father had forced me awake. Apparently the king was hosting a banquet for his son, to celebrate him.

It wasn't his son's birthday, so I could only assume he had done something to make his father proud.

Yesterday, I would've been jealous. Granted I would've been subconsciously jealous. The prince had everything handed to him on a silver platter, to make his father proud all he'd have had to do was bathe without someone giving him a bar of soap. Or, bathing without someone bathing him.

I would've had the energy to laugh at my amazing jokes any other day, but I couldn't now. How I still could make jokes was beyond me.

And your mother is beyond this life.

Tears welled and nearly spilled down my face once more as I stared in the mirror. I was wearing a red dress. The colour looked nearly identical to the red welts that had formed, nearly identical to the flames that she burned over.

I hated it.

But it was better than looking at my face. It wasn't my cheeks, that were dusted in gold, or my lips, that were stained a light pink, but it was my ice-blue eyes, that were lined with kohl. They looked too much like my father's.

My fists clenched at my side at the thought of him. That man had let my mother die, let her burn as I begged him to stop, staring into his eyes. And then he had the nerve to tell me she'd deserved it? How could my mother ever have loved that man? How could she have loved someone so heartless?

No, this person deserved to die.

"Ophelia, we have to leave." My father called from the other room.

And he would die. Some day.

I turned around and slowly hugged my mother's pillow. It still smelt like her, like apples and spices with a dash of tea. My mother used to love tea, she would adore it. She would take me to tea parties, let me have private ones with her, or just sip her tea while we would lay down on the grass and stare up at the stars.

"Ophelia, we're going to be late."

"Coming, Father." I gritted my teeth. I quickly hid my mother's pillow before heading out the doors and into the foyer.

I had a plan. I would ignore him, act collected, like he wasn't the reason I was such a mess. He didn't deserve to be the reason for any of my emotions.

I was silent, walking towards my father at a casual pace.

The moment I saw his face, I knew any plan I had before had vanished. His dark hair was slicked back, wearing a red suit that was the same shade of my dress.

"Where were you?" His voice was emotionless, as usual.

"I– I was fixing my hair." I stammered, trying to keep my voice calm and even.

"Let's go." Was all he said before he strode out the door.

I rolled my eyes before following.

I didn't want to go. All I wanted to do was lie down in my room like a lifeless doll. I supposed, I was. I didn't have the urge to do anything except sleep. But if I didn't go to the banquet, then the king might as well have burned me as well.

Maybe death would be a mercy compared to this pain.

There was no funeral for my mother, so maybe her ghost was still wandering the palace. If so, then if I died, too, then we could've roamed together. Two ghosts, arm in arm, happy without having to pay a price.

What did my dear mother do to be burned alive?

She deserves it.

My father's words rang through my head like a bell, ringing and ringing incessantly, until they turned into a headache that hurt nearly as much as her death. Nearly.

I rubbed at my temples, and I winced at how cold my hands were.

They were so cold.

I removed them from my head, mumbling to myself about them being cold just because the room was cold.

Soon, we arrived at the great hall.

The guards opened the large oak doors, revealing the celebration. Men mingled with pretty women on their arms, crystal chandeliers casting gold droplets of light onto the dancers and feasters. On any other day, I would've smiled at the scene. The gold made everything look so lovely, so ethereal.

But the world couldn't be perfect, not now.

The cold of the marble seeped through my slippers, freezing my feet as I glided across the room like a wraith. I silently took a seat at the head table, where my father had sat down. I sat as far away from him as I could. I couldn't kill him, not really. But the urge would never leave, to ask him: Why?

And then a hand tapped on my shoulder. I didn't look back. It was probably my father, asking me to sit closer to him to torment me. It tapped on it again, and I shifted my gaze from the chandelier to the vase of flowers opposite me.

And then the hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me back until the world tilted. My chair slipped on the floor, landing on it with a thud. My hands shot up to the back of my head, legs pulling to my chest till I looked like I was in a fetal position.

"Hey, guys, Xander's here." A boyish voice drawled.

I turned around to find Hael's disgusting face staring down at me.

Normally, I would've gotten up and punched him in the face. The knuckles on the backs of my hands were bruised, and my head rang from the fall. But the pain was nothing compared to the pain my mother had endured.

Slowly, I rose, picking up my chair, and then placing it back. I didn't need to bother with Hael, as of now. I smoothed down my dress, and sat back down.

The attempt to make me angry had knocked out a few pins in my hair, dishevelling it a bit.

I couldn't care less for someone as worthless as Hael.

Hael's hand tapped on my shoulder again, but the king stood up, raising his glass.

"This isn't over yet." His voice felt hot and sticky as he breathed on me. 

I shivered against his creepy voice as his breath turned my skin sticky. Still, my eyes never left the flowers, but they couldn't help but look up when the king began to speak.

My blood boiled upon a glance at the king. He was there, there when my mother was burning. I had begged him to do something. He was the king, after all. He could've stopped it, should've stopped it. But he had stood there, doing nothing.

"Today, I make a toast to my son, Alaric." His deep voice rang through the room, silencing any hushed whispers. He clapped his son on the shoulder, pulling him to himself.

The prince stood there with his flawless smile, poisonous amber eyes staring at everyone in the room, covered slightly by his curls, which were the shade of a day-old pee stain on a spotless white blanket. His gaze landed on mine, and a smirk graced his lips for a second before it vanished, his eyes now staring at something else.

"To Alaric Vermeer Yerpen, my son, for sentencing his first person to death." The king raised his glass for his son, toasting to him being a murderer at twelve.

Glasses filled with different drinks were brought closer to the ceilings, people murmuring something similar to what the king said before drinking. My glass of water remained untouched on the table.

I wasn't going to touch anything of the king's. Even though my mother's pillows and the bed I layed in were all his, those were gifts, which meant they were now ours. Mine. It couldn't belong to my mother. Not anymore.

I wondered, who had the prince sentenced to death? Were they someone's mother, too? Were they a brother? A son or daughter? Someone loved? Someone who 'deserved' to die?

What was the king doing, letting his son sentence someone to death? He was twelve. Did the prince even have a heart? Better yet, why was he proud of himself?

Another person tapped on my shoulder.

"Ha–" I started, but it wasn't Hael who had tapped my shoulder. It was the prince.

"Xander, guess what?" He smirked at me.

My breaths turned quicker, heart beating as fast as my hands were shaking. He was there, too. He was there when my mother was burning. He had just stood there. Like it was normal, sane.

The prince just sentenced someone to death and was proud of it, so in his world, I suppose it was sane.

"What?" I spat. The sooner the conversation was over, the better.

I couldn't kill the prince, my mother would've found it rude. Either way, it wasn't as though he could've taken her body and magically healed her.

But I had fallen to my knees in front of him, begged him. And he just stood there.

I always thought the prince had no heart, from the times he bullied the other kids at the palace to punishing the working staff for getting a speck of dirt on him. But killing someone, being the cause of someone's death... That wasn't something I'd expected Alaric to do. We weren't even adults yet, and he was already killing people.

"I sentenced someone to death." He smirked, looking like he was pleased with himself.

I said as much. "Are you proud of that?"

"Your highness." Alaric trilled, the word rolled off his tongue.

"What?"

"It's 'Your Highness' to you." The cruel smile left his eyes.

I scoffed and looked back. Alaric may have been labelled a royal, but he was no prince. A true prince would've stopped our fathers from burning my mother. A true prince would never be as cruel as him.

Surprisingly, nothing happened. The prince didn't lash out, or try to get me in trouble.

At least, not immediately.

My chair fell back again, and a shout ripped free from my throat. I landed on the floor once more, but instead of the scene replaying with me getting up, hands grabbed my arms and legs, lifting me off the ground like I was a dead body.

I looked behind me and found Alaric there, clutching my arms while walking backwards. In front of me was Warren—another one of the prince's goons.

People stared at the three of us. Two boys carrying a girl like they were carrying a dead body. It didn't seem to bother anyone, because they just rolled their eyes at us before continuing with their conversation. How convenient.

I pulled at my arms and legs, trying to get them away from their grips. But they wouldn't budge. The prince's grip held, strong enough to bruise. I struggled, panting and screaming at them to stop and drop me.

They just wouldn't budge. Warren laughed at my struggles, though I didn't kick my legs out as much. I was wearing a dress. One wrong move and Warren would see something that would make me kill him. So I pulled at my arms, screaming and twisting my body in an attempt to at least fray their hold.

"Let me go." I yelled at them, thrashing in their hands. I swung my body side to side, and their steps staggered for a second before moving faster. I tried it again, but Hael appeared out of nowhere and wrapped a napkin around my mouth, hands holding my body in place.

My pleads for help turned muffled, my struggles near useless. That didn't mean I stopped the struggles. I tried flipping myself, dropping myself onto the floor, elbowing and punching them.

None of the attempts worked, and the castle air turned from warm and a little stuffy to cold and sticky. The gold light left, replaced by the cold glare of the moon as they dragged me out of the great hall and into one of the courtyards.

I somehow managed to breathe harder as I whimpered. I wasn't in the castle anymore. It was night. They could kill me right now.

Or worse.

"Throw her into the rosebush." Alaric's cruel voice broke the night air in two from behind me. And, like the dogs they were, Hael, Warren and Alaric swung me and threw me into a rosebush.