The garden at this castle looked to have been ignored for years, perhaps not enough evidence of neglect to have been ever since I had left as a child, but since my mother’s death was a likely timeline. I didn’t have any particular memories of her having any special interest in the garden, but my father certainly would not have and would have never thought to care about its upkeep. I had fond memories running down the cobblestone path between the fruit trees, stopping to pick up an apple or plum that had freshly fallen to the ground, perfectly ripe and sweet. There were fruit trees of all types in the garden, heavily laden with fruit whenever the spring and early summer rains had been plentiful. They were not only beautiful, but practical with the pantry filled with preserved and stored fruit for a bit of summertime joy and freshness even in the depths of a harsh winter. I used to have my fill of all the fruit I could eat during the summer months and then push away most every meal offered, happy to live as some sort of wilderness imp in the warm summer sun.

It felt strange to stand in the same garden and realize how small and stunted the trees actually were. As a child they had loomed over me, feeling like they must be at least a dozen feet high when in reality they were not all that much taller than myself as an adult. It also felt like the garden area itself must have shrunk over the years, running from one end to the other used to feel like some kind of feat and I would challenge myself to see how many times I could make a full circuit. Now, it was certainly bigger than the garden at the castle Yser, but still it was not an impressive expanse of wilderness like it had been in the mind’s eye of me as a young child. The red roses along the wall that separated the garden from the field behind the castle had always felt like an impenetrable mass preventing anyone from trying to climb in or out. Now they were a bit overgrown, but vastly smaller than the tangled mess I remembered. It seemed a bit silly now that I had ever been deterred from climbing the wall and exploring the fields beyond by their presence, though it goes to show the difference in scale through the eyes of a child. I wondered just what else I was going to come across that seemed small and insignificant now that I had blown up into huge proportions then.

Stopping at the benches that marked the exact middle of the garden, I sat down upon the granite and frowned as I felt the bench subtly shift beneath me before settling into a stable position. This was another sign that things had been let to fall into disarray under poor leadership. Perhaps it was something small, but potentially important if a notable dignitary or another member of royalty were to visit. It would be beyond embarrassing, and most certainly politically damaging, to have someone with real importance to see the castle grounds quite literally crumbling around them. I had been all around the castle that morning, not only making my presence and authority clear to all the servants and staff, but to survey what my first actions would be to make it a place I would consider my home. It was all very much as I recalled it being and yet things seemed oddly different in ways I had not been anticipating. I knew my father had been a very particular man about how he liked things to be kept and run and those systems seemed to have been held, but a great deal of the aesthetics of the castle and the grounds had been left as an afterthought. The overgrowth of the garden and the degradation of the benches were only a small symptom of an overall problem the castle grounds had, they had been neglected to be kept up in a way to signify someone of great importance inhabited the castle. Hinges on doors had been left to rust and squeak when swung open, cracked tiles in the kitchen left to further widen, and even paint peeled in the corner of the royal bedroom. All of these things were little fixes that were easy enough to have ordered to be taken care of in perhaps even just a single day, but it seemed like no one had noticed they had fallen into disarray or if they did, they had not bothered to say anything about it. I supposed in a way it made some sort of sense, my father had not been someone who thought their power came from image nearly as much as it did from fear or impressive feats. He was more the type to opt to ride into battle with him leading the charge and be there to personally behead the leader of the enemy forces rather than care much for the state of his lands. He would have never been the type to be bothered by a bit of chipped plaster or fading wallpaper, even if it did show poorly on him in the eyes of other people of importance. If they had a problem with it, he would have opted to just show them the sharp end of his sword and be done with it. There was some merit in that, though it was a crude way to rule, it lacked the finesse and manipulation that was so much fun to participate in. Perhaps it had been my mother who cared enough to keep the castle in a reasonably nice state and with her death there simply hadn’t been anyone around to care anymore. The grounds did reek of lacking a woman’s knowledgeable touch, though that would change and would flourish under the sophisticated guidance of two women at the helm.

A sense of satisfaction blossomed in my chest as I looked around at the ragged garden, the blooms of the roses still big and luscious despite the fact they were noticeably obscured by their own thorny branches that sorely needed trimmed back. All the small issues I had found so far with the castle grounds could be fixed and even improved with the order to trim, paint, and repair and it was my right now to change what I saw fit. I had the servants, wealth, and far reaching power now to do as I pleased. The castle Yser and taking over the title of monarch for the House had been merely a few scratches to satisfy an all consuming itch that had never completely subsided. There I had been a queen, but I had never been under the illusion of being what I considered a proper monarch. My seat on the throne had been contingent on playing nice with Rafe and his demon hoards. Had I ever decided that I was done letting him pull the strings behind the scenes, I knew that I would not have been able to stand a chance at keeping power. I was powerful, certainly more so than my great aunt or grandmother, but not powerful enough to hold off more than a few members of a demonic army if Rafe decided he was done with my puppet kingdom. However, this kingdom was far away from the shadowed recesses kept secret by the necessity of magical travel, these lands were out in the open where the sun truly shone and demons dared not walk. If he were still living and his kingdom still intact, there would be no chance he would be bold enough to march on me and try to convince me to bend to his will once more, I was free. This is exactly what my destiny had been intended to be, this was the legacy that was meant to be mine for the taking, and while I kept thinking back to how proud I had been to take the Yser throne and all the accomplishment I had felt, in a way it very much paled in comparison to the feeling I had now.

All it had taken was murdering both of my parents, though I supposed that I had only indirectly caused my mother’s death by inaction to save her. I kind of wished I would have thought of some more spectacular way to hasten her death, but there had been a small part of me that had hoped she would have seen the error of her ways and begged to atone for her misjudgement at the end. If only I had realized back then that she was truly a smear upon the Yser name, someone to be culled from the family line, then I would have made sure she died with fear in her eyes, perhaps burning in front of me like my father. I had hoped to recapture some of the feeling of triumph by watching my brother burn before me, but I had let the creature get into my head and manipulate me once again. That would need to be rectified and my brother would burn no matter what the fiend said was for the best or not. I would cultivate a satisfying end for my brother, even if the revenge would go a little cold while I plotted, though I suspected I would not be able to stay patient for too long. I craved for the feeling of knowing my unwanted sibling was dead and could never be a distasteful sight for me to rest my eyes upon any longer. And as for the fiend, his days of being the meddling force in my destiny were numbered as soon as Mistra and I could find a way to eliminate him.

As I swung my head around to look at all the overgrowth I would demand be taken care of, a curious thought entered my mind and my eyes wandered up to the steep side of the castle and to the window of my old bedroom. I used to look down upon the gardens on rainy days and sigh about being unable to go out and frolic, thinking it a great tease that my room overlooked my favorite playgrounds on days where it was inaccessible. I wondered what had become of my old room, surely it was converted to something at some point, probably a storage room of some type, but even if it would end up being disappointing, I wanted to step inside the room and see what had come of it. I only hoped that they had not completely dishonored my name by letting some servant move in and take over, that would be a wound that would take quite a while to heal and even I might have felt a little pity for whatever I would end up doing to the inhabiting servant out of blind rage.

How nervous I was standing at the door to my old bedroom was surprising. No matter what had happened to the room it did not matter, I was here now and the rightful ruler of this kingdom. With that thought in mind I shook away the negative thoughts and pushed the door open. A wave of satisfaction tinged with distant sorrow washed over me as my eyes were met with a scene I had held in my mind since the day I had left. My room had been left untouched, even the mirror I had broken in my rage and frustration still sat atop my childhood vanity. The bed had been made as if I might have returned any day and my armoire was nearly empty, but the few garments that still remained were clean, freshly pressed, and hung neatly. Even two pairs of shoes that had not been sent to me were lined up at the end of the bed, waiting for my return, though the leather was quite clearly cracking and the soles were a lost cause. If somehow they would still miraculously fit me it was all but certain that the sole would crumble away on the first step. Curiously, dust did not cover any of these things, which meant someone had been tasked with keeping this area preserved and clean and it had not been simply closed off and forgotten. I supposed that in some way I had not been forgotten. The feeling should have filled me with a bit of a warm feeling, like perhaps in some way my parents had valued me and for a brief moment it did, but it was quickly replaced by anger. If they wanted to retrieve me they could have, even if I would have bit, spit, and kicked the entire time and it would have been dangerous.

Mari and my grandmother would have put up a fight, but knowing what I do know, it would not have been impossible by any stretch of the imagination. Back then, I thought Mari and Evonia were all powerful battle witches who would strike down an entire regiment at a simple whisper of a magical command, but that was not where their skills in magic had laid. Given the pressure of a physical fight they were not like I who could command fire to scorch flesh from bone, their skills laid mostly in guile and subterfuge. Perhaps they could have dug down and held out for a while against a marching force, but between just the two of them, they would have eventually exhausted and given me over. The demons at that point would have not interfered, I was just some child with no official pledge to them and there could have been other heirs. A regiment or two sent to retrieve me would have done to retrieve me and bring me back. In fact, I was certain my father had sent men into more dangerous situations for land or glory and I rather liked to think that my return to them would have been more important than taking some stinking bog from another kingdom. Surely if they loved me they would not have allowed me to have been taken from them so young, never to be seen again. Furthermore, they had to have known that I would have come back in an instant if they had only been willing to name me heir instead. I probably would have thrown a bit of an attitude for a while to keep them reminded of how unfair they had been to me, but I loved this castle and this kingdom, I would have never turned my heart to ice about my family had they only not turned their back on me. Yet, they pushed the idea that my bastard brother deserved the place on the throne more than I, openly displaying their favoritism for him from the very moment he took his first breath. They had loved him more, for no other reason that being born the sex they preferred and society wrongly said would make for a better ruler and no amount of apologies or fake fond sentiments would ever wash away that scar from my heart.

No, as much as a part of me wanted to feel a sense of love and affection from my parents for their dedication of keeping my room in place and tidy should I happen to return, it obviously had meant nothing to them than empty displays of affection and was only a show to soften their feelings of regret and guilt. The wound slashed into my heart on the night my damned brother was born had been cut far too deep and too little was done to try to smooth over the lasting scar, nothing I could find or figure out about the motives of either of them would ever redeem what they had done to me. They had it within their power to name me heir and with any amount of effort they could have pursued trying to bring me back and they chose to do neither. The kept room only made sense as a way to ease their guilt to make them sleep better at night. I suspect that it was only my mother who held on to any sense of affection anyway, she had probably been the one to order it kept and cleaned, I could not see my angry, gruff father having sentiment in the things I had left behind if he could not even bother to upkeep the general appearance of the rest of the castle. Besides, my mother had at least come to see me even if it had taken nearly a decade and it was for mostly selfish reasons. Still, there had been some sort of familial love and regret in her eyes, even if it was clouded by her own selfish ambitions. My father had appeared not to care for anything other than the fact I had been standing between him and the young girl he already considered his property. I suppose many people would look at the spotless duvet and shined shoes and think there was love there, but love is not betrayal, nor is too many sweet words and pleas for forgiveness with no commitment to changing or acts of atonement. Sometimes it is far too little too late and a chosen family is stronger than any close blood ties.

Sitting on the bed, I looked around the room and felt a sense of pride once the anger and throbbing betrayal in my heart had begun to fade. I had fixed the injustice for the angry little girl who could not understand why she was losing her destiny. She had felt angry, sad, hopeless, and helpless, but today I had avenged her in all ways except one, though that would not be too far around the corner. I lingered on the bed, my eyes trailing over every item in the room, taking in the weird feeling of nostalgia I was getting from seeing everything exactly as I remembered in the sharp image of my memories. It did not take long for me to decide that I had seen enough and that one of the first things I would order done would be to clear out this room. That little girl was gone and needed to be put to rest, like a ghost who had been doomed to wander the halls of their home until someone completed their unfinished business. Now that her vengeance was mostly complete it was time to start preparing to finally let her rest. I didn’t think I could part with all of my old things just yet, but eventually I would burn or bury them, finish off the end of that saga and leave myself only the present and future to dwell on.

A servant passed by the open door of the room and did a double take, surprised to see anyone in my old room. It was the old nursemaid, her wrinkled, aged face screwed up like she had just taken a big bite out of a sour lemon. It gave me immense satisfaction to see her so upset and disconcerted by my return, like I appeared as an angry specter coming to haunt her for her past digressions. Unfortunately for her, that is exactly what I intended to be.

“Surprised to see me back where I should have been all along?” I questioned as I rose to my feet. Now that I was an adult I stood taller than her and I found it pleasing that I could loom over her and make her feel further uneasy.

“Yes you should have been,” she said back with an accusing tone, “we would have welcomed you back at any point. It is you that decided to stay with those evil witches. You choose evil over your family, always have and always will.”

I raised my eyebrow with a dark, questioning smirk. She was much more mouthy than she had been yesterday when I arrived, perhaps she was emboldened by something that she felt might defeat me or snatch the throne from my hands. I was equal parts annoyed by her sudden shift in level of respect she was affording me and curious as to what exactly had changed that she thought would make any difference.

“You would have welcomed me back, told me to know my place, and keep my mouth shut against speaking up for what was rightfully mine.” I sniffed in distaste and waved away her accusation that I was all at fault for leaving with a roll of my eyes. “I was but a child, not even fully on the cusp of early adolescent and yet you feel like I deserved any sort of blame, and the adults around me took away everything I had ever been promised without hesitation or a single second of thought of what it would mean for my future and my destiny.”

“It is the way of things,” she said, still holding onto her defiance. “You were not the first princess to have to give up the throne to a younger brother. The difference was you were too spoiled and rotten to do so with any tact or grace. Now look at where it has gotten you, you have become an evil witch with fury and ugliness in her heart. You are so cold and unfeeling, are you even human any more or have you given too much of your soul away to evil spirits?”

“I don’t suppose you would know how it feels to know you are the one promised power for ten years of your life only to be instantly looked over because someone else was born with the only ‘better’ qualifications about them being about what was between their legs. How could you ever understand that? You were born from the very start to be nothing more than a clod of dirt stuck to the bottom of the elite’s feet, a pile of refuse allowed to shuffle through the royal halls despite being no better than a lame mule that everyone keeps alive and around out of pity.”

Her nostrils flared and her hands clenched at her sides, lips twitching like she wanted to spit back vile insults and slurs, but knowing better than to say anymore than she already had. I did not yet know what exactly my reputation was in this kingdom, but it was at least not good by her reaction and that pleased me greatly.

“Keep in mind one major thing about me,” I cautioned as I stepped slowly towards her. I made sure to keep my pace slow, hips swiveling with every step to evoke within her a feeling of a poisonous serpent slithering towards her to deliver her doom.

“Keep back,” she said in a choked whisper though she seemed to be too afraid of my approach to turn and leave.

“Listen close,” I whispered, refusing to stop my advance, “you cannot escape the truth I am about to bestow upon your ears.”

I leaned forward and placed a hand on the door frame next to her and leaned forward, letting a deep, husky chuckle escape my lips as I pushed my face close to hers. She was trembling though she was doing her best not to give away to me that she was scared, but the scent of terrified sweat that had started to sprout across her body was heavy in the air around her. I waited to say my next words, languishing in the deep satisfaction this moment was bringing me. It was the height of human experience to feel like the predator looming over their prey, knowing they were the one who would bring the blackness of death whenever they deemed the time right and not a second sooner. I brought my eyes up to pierce into hers, my gaze cold, unfeeling, and sharp as daggers.

“I do not take pity on the mule, I will put it down.”

A pallor washed over her face and she became white as freshly spun wool, her elderly lips cracking open into look of terror. She backed away from me in a panic, her back smacking into the wall across from the door and her eyes wide as she looked down both ends of the hall like she was hoping someone might swoop in and try to save her.

“Do not worry my dear,” I cooed in a sickly saccharine voice that dripped with insincerity, “I think you might still have some use in you still to pull a plow or carry heavy things, but someday, probably soon, you will outlive what tiny amount of use you have left in your old bones. When that fast approaching day comes, then nothing will give me more pleasure than watching the flesh burn away from your bones and your wretched existence end in nothing more than smoldering ash to be swept up and disposed of with the other refuse.”

She let out a strangled sound of terror and took off shuffling as quick as she could away from me and down the hallway, leaving nothing but my deep state of satisfaction and the smell of her sweat. Yes, I think I was doing very well avenging the little girl who lived in this room, I could feel her beaming with glee inside of me.