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Viadne
โ„ญ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ญ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ 1

โ„ญ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ญ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ 1

Seventeen years.

Seventeen gut-wrenchingly long and lonely years.

Soon to be eighteen years in five days, twelve hours, and thirty-eight minutes.

Persephone kept her eyes ahead of her, creating a convincing air of confidence around her as she gracefully followed the intricate patterns of the castle's rich woven carpet. She didn't have to look down to know the detail of the rug beneath her, she had walked it thousands of times. Her footfalls, although muffled by the thick tapestry, felt as if they ricocheted deafeningly off of the cold stone walls of the hollow halls. She silently wondered if she had been abandoned during the night, but quickly erased that paranoia, reminding herself that her father, the King, had called for her. She also reminded herself that as long as she was walking the corridor, life stilled as she knew it. It would resume once she passed, but only once she passed.

Persephone yearned to be a part of the life that filled the castle, but the only way she got what she craved was listening desperately through the walls, hoping to absorb some of the warmth that was intentionally hidden from her. She listened in on the ostentatious balls, the King and the Queen fretting lovingly over the Young Prince, even the maids tittering about a rumor cycling through their mill. She had become quite good at listening because of it. Even if it wasn't meant for her, she would bask in the warmth of her family by leaning her ear against the floorboards to soak in the love cooed to her young brother every night before sleep. She would entertain herself with the newest rumorโ€”the most recent being that Marcie, a castle maid, had an affair with the stable boy although she was promised to a knight of the Montcroix Dukedom. She would educate herself with the political status of the kingdom, even if the information wasn't for her ears. She knew of the negotiations between His Majesty the King and the Xerxes Kingdom as well as the slowly rising tension between the two territories. According to the newsy knights and servants, a new king had come into power in Xerxes and this Archippus Thorir De'Xerxes was a twisted and power-hungry man. They would mutter behind secretive hands that war was just on the horizon.

The soft whispers of the maids floated to Persephone's downturned pointed ears and her back stiffened almost imperceptibly, pulling her from her rambling thoughts.

"Ugh, just look at that hair! What kind of child is born with white hair? And a child of the King, no less! And look at those eyes! Like those of a Fallen,ย disgusting." She knew she should've worn her lace eye cover.ย 

"Hush now, Blair! You know what His Majesty the King ordered of us. Be silent, unless you no longer want your tongue!"

Their rushed footfalls faded from Persephone's ears until the only sound she could hear were her own lonely steps and the maids' phantom words echoing in her head like a war drum. A hot spring of anger bubbled beneath her skin, but evaporated just as quickly as resignation settled into its usual place in her chest. Even if she wasn't treated as one, she still had the pride of a princess and it chipped at her ego to be treated so lowly.

This was no new occurrence. For as long as she could remember, she had been the ghost of the Palace of Aspimar and the King made sure that she was treated as such. The maids would escape through their hidden servant passages, waiting with bated breath until Persephone was past their hiding spot. Some would peek from their hideaway, whispering to one another about the 'apparition'. The more valiant of the palace workers would look down their noses at her and spit insults at her feet, but she had learned long ago to keep her chin high, her back straight, and her hands clasped in front of her.

Never show them weakness, for that is what they feed on, my lovely Eudora.

Her mother's words drowned out the comments of the earlier maids and she felt her fortitude return. Regality strengthened her posture, returning to her the stature of the princess that she was titled.

An eternity later, and yet all too soon, the King's towering office doors loomed in front of her, holding behind it the one being who was able to bring her to her knees. Two knights stood guard on each side of the exaggeratedly large french doors, their eyes casting weary glances to her petite frame.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It seemed that some of the workers truly believed that she was a paranormal being or a curse.

Perhaps she was.

She gave a courteous nod of greeting to each of them. "Please make His Majesty the King aware of my arrival," Persephone gently commanded, her voice wispy yet husky from lack of use. Not much was to be said when the only one willing to speak to her was her mother, but even she was prohibited from visiting Persephone often, so her voice remained unused.

Unprepared for her to speak, the knights jumped simultaneously, the one guarding the right door fumbling dangerously with his partisan. Persephone blinked her large dark eyes at them, raising an eyebrow at their unprofessionalism. These were the warriors tasked with protecting the King?

Before either could make a move to announce her arrival, the King's voice drifted through the wood, as strong and powerful as she recalled. And still just as cold. "Let her in."

Once the knights had regained their stoicism, they each reached for a handle, prying open the doors and allowing Persephone entry. Again, she bowed to them as she passed, making sure to avert her eyes to the floor upon her arrival.

When the edge of the vibrant rug came into view, she halted, making sure not to cross the invisible threshold. Her hands subtly smoothed the fabric of her simple cream chemise, layered beneath a deep nightly blue sleeveless corset. Her silvery hair hung down her back, strands falling over her shoulders and slightly hiding her face. She kept her gaze locked on the lavishly adorned feet of the King peeking from beneath his rich brown desk, the freshly polished leather tapping impatiently against the woven rug before she heard a sharp huff of air from the King. "Persephone, according to Regent Taylors, the mark of your eighteenth year on this world is nearing."

With the bravery of a bear, she schooled her features into a burning scowl, locking her sharp glare on the King's cruelly brilliant green eyes. He didn't even know her birthday was nearing. She also didn't miss his avoidance of the term 'birthday'. She straightened her back, her chin high and her shoulders back as she refused to break eye contact with the man hellbent on reminding her that she didn't belong. "As your child, Your Majesty, it is only right that you remember the date on which I was born."

The comforting dream of rebellion was rudely interrupted by the harsh clearing of a throat, causing the image of her strong persona to fizzle out of existence and remind her that she was still standing before the King, her head bowed in submission and a statement left unanswered.

He gave an indignant grunt before continuing after he witnessed her delayed jerky nod of affirmation. "Then you should know that your next step as a new adult in the Kingdom of Aspimar is to enroll in Nixonia Academy of the Gifted. The academy allows no bias or nepotism, even for the ruler of the land."

This time not in her mind, Persephone dared glance up at the King, but as soon as she did, she wished she hadn't. His eyes, as crystal green as her memory recalled, were harsh and cold, like a tea leaf frozen beneath inches of unforgiving ice. He chastised her with a single glare down his long straight nose, reminding her of what she was to him; a curse. "As King of Aspimar, I cannot allow those under my care to forgo academic enrichment, so once the sun has dawned on your eighteenth year, you will be escorted to the academy to further your learnings and skills."

Although she had averted her gaze earlier, Persephone felt the sharp blade of the King's glare on her, carving into her skin the names he thought befitting of his cursรฉd daughter. Though blood didn't spill, the wounds festered and scarred. "While attending Nixonia Academy, you will take up Esme's maiden name and she will assign you a new given name. No one shall know that you are Aspimar's princess." His voice darkened more, taking on a gritty anger that she was familiar with. "I refuse to have the Aspimar legacy tainted with this devilish creature," he growled, raising goosebumps across Persephone's pasty skin.

With a hateful huff through his nose, the King swiped his hand through the air in dismissal. "If you are late for departure, there will be consequences."

He let the threat hang in the air and Persephone bent into a curtsy. "May the darkness cower from the light of Aspimar." She refused herself the desire to shiver at the greeting and urged her legs to carry her out calmly even if every fiber of her being begged her to race back to the familiar comfort of her chamber. Every time she muttered that greeting, she felt as if she were the darkness and the King was the singeing light, begging for a chance to burn and ash her.

Nixonia Academy. A school founded by the original Four Dukes of Aspimar to send new adults finally growing into their power.

But above a school, Nixonia Academy was a change. Persephone had never really experienced change. She went through the same lonely routine day after day after day, with the rare surprise of seeing her mother or brother, the Young Prince. Fear of the unknown spiraled nauseatingly in the pit of her stomach, but the intoxicating taste of adrenaline swirled with it, making her confused, yet excited.

Things would change, people would see her, and she them. She would breathe the sweet air of the outside without a knight watching her every move. She would no longer be called to her father's suffocating study. She would no longer be the ghost haunting the halls of the Palace of Aspimar.ย 

She would beย free.

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