Given the loose texture of most soil in Alastair, the people tend to pave and reinforce every space they can. This is not the case for the royal grounds, however, which seem to sprawl a massive amount and thanks to the concentration of Alastair trees on the property. Assuming they are the reason the land can be built on, how is it that the king’s plot has so much open space with only a small number of trees? It’s entirely possible the first king hoarded the only good land to himself.

“So you made a fake grave for me and my parents? Is that supposed to frighten me?” Icara asked him angrily. “What exactly did you think you could get out of something like that?”

“Well in all honesty, I’m curious about how you’ll react to it. This is a rare circumstance where we can actually challenge your preconceptions of self. I’m sure you’ve lived a very focused life up to this point, possibly on killing me for revenge?”

Icara didn’t say anything, just glared at the king as he smiled back. Koshchei revealed a key he had with him and held it up for her. It was old, matching the door it was meant to unlock, but still glinted a little in the torchlight. A guard approached from down the hall with a set of chains in his hand. The princess sneered at the implication, but Koshchei ignored it as he resumed speaking.

“Before the king and queen died, I was a very learned man, Icara. What you are is something of a unique curiosity. I want to study you as much as I can, to see how you’ve survived, why your memories seem to match the princess.” Koshchei unlocked the cell and opened it for the guard. “Surely you have felt some kind of drifting sense of self? Some feeling that you’re not who you think you are? At the very least, seeing the graves of your parents should shed a little light on that aspect of yourself.”

“All I am is an experiment to you, huh? How would you like it if I used those chains to snap your neck?” Icara threatened, cold eyes locked onto the regal figure.

“The only one who would die would be you, Icara. More than that, you would never really know for sure what you are.”

Icara stood up and turned around so the guard could bring the cuffs over her wrists. The guard had to check with Koshchei for support, and the king offered it with a gentle smile the whole time. When she was securely bound, the guard walked her out of the cell and closed the gate behind them, moving with Koshchei out of the derelict hall.

Past a long corridor and up some stairs, the trio exited out of a large wooden door and into a brightly lit court. Icara shielded her eyes from the sudden light, and they took a moment to pause. Faint memories came back to her as her vision settled back to normal. The high walls of the castle garden, the loose feeling of the sodden grounds. As they moved through, she felt confused by the scenery. It hit her that the alien sensation was her own height, not something that had changed with her absence.

The Alastair apple trees filled the air with a sweet scent that drove her to lick her lips unconsciously. Her body relaxed even under the cuffs on her and the stress of the situation. Nostalgia drove a wedge into her confusion, and she felt oddly powerful as they moved through the garden path. When they did come to a stop, it was before another door that led down. This one had a much more ornate entrance to it, with a figure of Helera engraved above it.

It creaked open slowly and they descended once more, Koshchei holding the torch to light the way himself. Passing by a number of labelled crypts and paths, they eventually found the furthest back occupants. A set of three stone coffers raised from the ground beneath them, and with a healthy amount of moss growing on them. Koshchei sighed from the sight while Icara looked in silence.

“These kind of things should be expected with how wet Alastair soil can get, but it’s always such a bother for maintenance. You, um, Ryan was it? Would you mind clearing the moss off of the coffers for us? Namely just the engravings on the front for now, I feel it would help define things for Icara here.”

Their aide nodded at the request and let go of the captive for a moment, kneeling in front of the furthest left coffer first and scraping away some of the green buildup. Icara could vaguely remember this place, the mausoleum of her lineage. All of those who ruled the Alastair castle ground were entombed here. She remembered her father explaining the Valarus did not always control the land, but the family lineage could be traced down to her through marriage. It had seemed so trivial to her then, but the weight of this moment was stealing her breath all the same.

His hand scraped over the first name, revealing it to be her mother’s name, Faye Valarus. Icara’s hands flexed into fists behind her back as she recalled how her mother would pet her head during dinner. How she would serve her apples when she asked for them, and would hold her tightly at night when she was scared. The feelings made Icara’s eye twitch, and Koshchei watched with the same placid smile from before while she struggled to stay silent.

The next name appeared slowly, but Icara’s mind was faster. She knew the tradition of the father being at the center instantly, and so the name Bavarius might as well have been shown already. Icara’s eyes twitched harder, but not nearly as many memories came to her now. Most of the time in her youth, her father had been busy with work as king. She could recall getting her head pat a few times, but that was only the strongest recollection she could manage. Her knees grew weak and she collapsed on the ground.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

She squeezed her eyes tight to avoid looking at the last name, even if it shouldn’t draw up any memories. That feeling from the cell, the primal pain in her gut, came back in full force. Icara let out a groan of pain and fell on her side. Koshchei had the guard stop and he crouched beside her, putting on hand on Icara’s shoulder.

“Tell me, are you feeling uncomfortable from this, Icara? I can understand if you’re pained by remembering your parents deaths... but is that why you’re really doubled over right now?” Koshchei asked in a smooth tone.

Icara glared up at him, tears welling in her eyes while she struggling to pick herself back up again. “What are you talking about...?” She asked, voice steeped in rage but strained by her efforts.

“I think you might be experiencing a kind of... mental battle. Core aspects of who you are have come into conflict, and your body can’t properly handle the strain it’s putting on your mind. Tell me, it’s some kind of intense pain coursing through you right now, isn’t it? Not just some sudden case of sorrow, right?”

“So what if it is?! Are you really trying to say that’s enough to make me seem like a demon hybrid or whatever it is you called me? This is probably just something that poison of yours is doing to me...” Icara muttered at the end.

Pushing the guard aside, Koshchei wiped the last name plate off with one movement, revealing Icara’s own name on the plate. She looked at it and instantly felt another pang in her stomach, sweat beading on her skin all over while she convulsed on the stone floor. Her face pressed into the stone as she tried to flip over and look away from them. Before she was even on her back, Koshchei was behind her and lifted her up to see it.

“Focus, Icara! This is making you hurt, right? Just seeing your name, no matter what justification you have in your head, it’s filling you with hurt!” Koshchei said, his voice rising above its normally collected rhythm.

“Stop talking and let me go!” She shouted, tears falling over her cheeks at the point, her muscles spasming in an attempt to flee the terror.

He held her like that for a few seconds more until he nodded to the guard. Both of the lifted her up into the air and carried her out of the mausoleum, albeit with a good amount of difficult at the stairs and doorway. Once outside, they let Icara down onto her feet and Koshchei wiped the tears from her eyes. She glared up at him, but could barely maintain a defiant stature.

“They... you... you killed them!” Icara said to him, breath still ragged from the ordeal before.

“That is just something you invented to explain the lack of memories from then, Icara. Your twisted mental state is driving you to acts of violence and thoughts of revenge, it’s an ultimately destructive path that you’ve locked yourself on. Surely you’ve come to realize how hopeless your original plans were. Did you even think past when your base desires were?”

“I was going to learn—” Icara started before coughing and leaning forward a bit, trying to reclaim her footing and calm her muscles. “To be taught in how to rule. I’m the rightful heir to the throne, and I deserve what you stole.”

Koshchei shook his head disappointedly and put a hand on her shoulder, which she stared at with burning resentment. “Tell me this, Icara, from where does a king or queen draw their right to rule? Is it the eyes that give you right? How do they control the actions of your citizens, or guide you to gather their taxes?”

“The royal family has a divine right to things. Even if you don’t agree with the faith or are a heathen, royalty is granted their power from on high!”

He nodded his head in thought before placing a hand on the guard and waving him off. The armored figure looked nervously to the princess, who appeared more like a feral beast with her sweat-matted hair. Koshchei reassuringly patted him forward, sending the man off before he turned back to the princess.

“What you say is the truth known to the people, it is something easily digestible and thus easy to spread. Even as the church wanes in political power, their word of mouth and teachings have a strong effect on the common folk. But do you know the real source of royal power comes from? I’ll give you a hint, the eyes are indeed a part of it.” Koshchei said, one hand offered out to her.

She narrowed her eyes a second before staring down at the ground. The eyes of royals carry a special light to them, something no one is naturally born with. Even if someone has slightly grey eyes, which will happen from time to time, that’s more seen as a sign of good luck. Despite having them herself, Icara could not remember ever being told of how the royal irises are formed.

“The answer, Icara,” he said and broke her concentration. “Faith. Humans develop structures and organizes themselves along those ways naturally. It is in their nature to desire cohesion and unity, at least in the beginning. As communication between each other breaks down, human uniqueness inevitably causes their groups to break down... unless there is something above them.”

“You mean the god and goddess? Or the Divine in general?” Icara asked, the venom lost in her curiosity.

“No, caste systems. Humans may not enjoy being oppressed or conquered, but they do enjoy having some semblance of authority. No authority is greater than the king or queen of a land, of course, and so they become focal points for that faith.” Koshchei paused and pointed to his own colored irises. “These eyes are signs that the people have faith enough to revere their leader. It is actually a little known secret that royal or noble blood appears similar to the blood of those who have bonded with a demon in some way. This is because the same thing that fuels a demon is what grants royals these colored eyes. You, if you’ll indulge my theory, have a pair without being in power because you are part demon yourself. Naturally, your body would look for ways to—”

“Enough! I... I can’t handle much more of your rambling,” Icara said in a muted voice.

“Ah, right, the pain must be bothering you a bit. Care to follow me back inside? I’ve not changed the interior of the castle much from your, or rather Icara’s, youth. Perhaps there’s somewhere else you would like to see?”

Icara’s eyes were distant and shaking. Despite the rejection in her voice, she has felt herself nearly accept his theory as fact when he slipped it in the conversation. The moment she had, her body almost felt lighter and more relaxed. She hated the dreamy feeling, her stomach grumbling. At first she thought that might have been the sickness again, but a gentler noise escaped her belly a second time and she coughed to cover it. Lifting herself upright, she moved past Koshchei a few paces and paused.

“Before we eat... I’d like to see my old room. I had a dream last night that was there, and it felt strangely peaceful there.”

Nodding out of polite reflex, Koshchei moved forward and waved her on confidently, guiding the bound woman into a door on the side of the building. Though her eyes were too low to see it, he was wearing a grin as she stepped inside of the looming structure.