The cool winds of the snowy October day howl against my back. They pierce through my thin white uniform, chilling me to the bone. Yet I know I don’t have much further to go. The castle lies ahead, a beacon of warmth against the frigid air surrounding it.

I thrust open the servant’s door. Even though I have full permission to use the front gates, it never feels right when Eve makes me walk through them with her. At least with the servants I can feel a little better.

“Ah, Miss Muriel, welcome home. I’m sure you’ll want a bath after another dangerous trip to the slums.”

Edana always means the best, even when she says such hurtful things. This castle is not my home. It is my place of residence, but it will never be my home. Home is the slums. Home is my family still cooped up in their small abode, baking bread for not only themselves, but all the other Level Zeros. Home is the place of my childhood.

My bow and quiver weigh heavily on my back. I’ll need to polish them for Eve’s ascension ceremony tomorrow, but for now I remove them along with my heavy metal boots.

“Truth be told, I only really wanted to kick those stupid things off. But a bath’s not too bad of an idea.”

Edana leads me to the already prepared tub. The porcelain walls sparkle and reflect beautiful lights from the chandelier in all directions. A giant white basin is in the center of the room, plated with silver.

This is the bath for the servants. I rarely use the royal bath unless Eve asks me. I don’t deserve such privilege. Just like with the entranceway, I’m much more comfortable in here. Yet, I don’t deserve this. I deserve to bathe in the wooden barrels of the Level Zeros, filled with grimy rainwater.

Needless to say, I do not spend much time in the bath. Edana covers my nakedness with a long purple gown with long white sleeves and a gold-plated belt. Eve likes to see me dressed up like this, but I’d much rather be in my peasant’s gown, wearing an apron.

“I might not be able to do the former, but I can do the latter.” I race past Edana. Hanging on a hook in the kitchen is my apron – the custom made white apron with my name embroidered in. I tie it around my back, feeling more at home by the minute. After taking a deep breath, I gather my ingredients and begin mixing my dough.

“Edana, if you’d please.” My hands are too busy kneading, so I’m forced to point her to the over with my shoulder.

She grabs a piece of twine tight in her hands. Her face wrinkles in concentration, and every ounce of her being devotes itself to that one strand. When it seems as if nothing will happen, the tiny string bursts in flame. She lights a piece of kindling with the flame, and thus begins to build her fire.

That tiny power is what makes her a Level One, and my lack thereof is what makes me a Level Zero.

I score my bread and stick it in the oven. It isn’t long until the sweet smell of ginger tickles my nostrils – my family’s secret ingredient. Yet this isn’t enough to erase my memories of the slums, so I throw together the ingredients for a second batch.

A soft pair of arms wrap around my shoulders. Her soft voice whispers, “Something smells wonderful. But I am not sure if it is the bread or you.”

She’s always like this. “I sure hope it isn’t me, Eve. I just got out of the bath!”

She spins me around and locks her lips on mine. No matter how many times she’s done this, I’ve never been able to accustom myself to it. It’s as much of a surprise the hundredth time as the first time. Edana takes this cue to leave and give us some privacy.

When she releases me from her hold, I pull out my perfectly brown bread.

“Who are you baking for?” she asks.

The scoring’s a little off, but it should taste almost as good as my father’s. “Nobody in particular. I’ll probably bring it to my kind in the slums the day after tomorrow. Do you wanna come?”

She inspects my bread with a much-less-than-studious eye. “I think I will pass. A Level Five should not associate with Level Zeroes.”

Had I not known Eve, I’d have had my heart torn to shreds by her statement. She’d be no different than the others who believe Level Zeros are all the same – thieves, murderers, and rapists. But now, I know she means the Level Zeroes would never accept her. Showing her face in the slums would be akin to a hate crime for them.

Sometimes I wish magic never existed. Everything in our life came based on our magical rank. Even the slightest magical capacity, a Level One, would allow one to work in respectable fields such as husbandry, education, hunting, and logging. At Level Two, one would spend their days offering their magic to the crystals for the “Angels.” At Level Three, one would become an artisan, and sell goods and services for the nobles – the Level Fours. And only Eve and her mother possessed the power of Level Five, at least since her grandmother died three years ago.

Against the flames whipping in the oven, I cannot help but notice Eve’s pale skin and her caked up sweat. “Are you all right?” I finally ask.

She pulls out her hair tie, allowing her long blonde locks to drape themselves well past her shoulder blades. “A group of Level Fours attacked us. My mother disposed of them easily, but a lot of the guard died from the assault. I was worried you were part of the guard.”

I’d hug her if not for all the flour on my hands. “I’m so sorry. You must’ve been so scared.” She must be crushed from losing so many close friends in the guard.

Eve kicks at the floor. “Scared? They had no chance. But they destroyed the tiger statue you gave me.”

Then again, this is Eve. A stupid glass figurine is of more importance to her than the lives of all her guards and retainers, save me. I know better than to lecture her on the importance of human lives, so I instead redouble my efforts to knead my dough.

“Why do you do that?” she asks.

“I need to agitate the yeast and develop gluten, or the bread will never rise.”

“No, I do not mean you motions. Why do you bake? You are my love, not a servant. You should leave such trivial matters to them.”

“I like it.” I’d explained this to her plenty of times before, but Eve’s never been the most open-minded individual in Northern Aldridge. “It’s a nice way to forget my worries and stress.”

Eve examines my hands as they fold the dough and push. “Can I try?”

Even if I wanted to say no, I have no way of refusing a request from the princess herself. Yet, it would be nice for her to have some sort of stress relief in life. I move out of the way so she can knead.

Or, so I thought. She digs her fingers in the dough and rubs it in circles. No flour, no folding – only playing. I can’t help but laugh.

“What?” she asks.

“Here, let me show you.” I cannot help but notice how soft her hands are when I guide them through the motions. “First, you dip your hands in flour. Helps prevent them from getting sticky. Then you repeat the motion. Fold the dough, push it out, and turn.”

Eve’s hands are simply too weak to knead, so I guide her the entire way.

“I do not see the fun in this,” she says.

“It’s not necessarily fun. It’s a stress relief, and can pass the time.”

“I suppose it is better than returning to my studies.”

My hands freeze in place. “You were supposed to be studying?”

She kneads with renewed vigor. “What does it matter? I know all I need for tomorrow.”

“I can’t accept that. We’re going to study here.”

“What?”

I push on her hands. “Name me the seven types of magic.”

She winces from the true strength of my hands. “Fire, Water, Lightning, Earth, Wind, Light, and Shadow. An individual’s type is determined at birth, and can never be changed.”

“Good. Now tell me about inheritance.” I relieve my grip, but she still winces. Perhaps she’s wincing from my quiz.

“There is no such thing. Having two parents of water type in no way means their child will be water type. Magic levels are random as well, up to Level Four.”

“Wrong.” I push on her hands hard. “Or, at least, half-wrong. You forgot the two guarantees of magic.”

She digs her finger deeper in the dough. “Guarantee One: The Princess, her mother, and her grandmother will be Level Fives, and the only ones in the kingdom. Guarantee Two: If one parent is a Level Zero, so will their kid.”

“Good.” I release her hands.

“But what about our child? If the princess is guaranteed to have a Level Five daughter, and you are a Level Zero, which Guarantee takes precedent?”

Eve may be the princess, but that doesn’t mean she’s smart. “We’re both girls. We can’t have a daughter together.”

Night falls, and Eve invites me to dine with her and her family. This has become a near daily ritual, hence why I did not eat with my family earlier.

Dinner is as exquisite and over-indulgent as ever. Despite only having to serve four people, the cooks have prepared a full roast oxlark, an entire tray of jellied kelip, half a rack of yorlin, and my favorite – a dab of pori on each of our plates. By the time we’ve eaten our fill, only an eighth of the food is gone. Before Eve invited me in, this food would be thrown into the furnace or fed to the horses. Now I bring it to the slums to feed the starving people.

The cooks bring out a magnificent cake for dessert. But Eve pays no attention to it, and instead pulls out a small loaf of sweetbread from her bag.

“Put that away,” says the queen. “You are the princess. You do not need to eat street trash.”

Eve grips on her bread. “This is not street trash, mother.”

“Whether you bought it yourself or if Muriel brought it in, it is still from the streets. Discard it at once.”

Eve defiantly rips off a piece and chews on it. “It is neither. I made it with Muriel, so it is better than any of the desserts you may bring it.” Of course, the latter part is a lie. We over-kneaded the dough, so it came out tough and chewy, and Eve insisted on adding extra sugar at the end which made it overly sweet. But I remember how happy I had been when I pulled out my first loaf back home, so I can’t blame her.

“Is this true?” asks the queen.

“Yes. I’m sorry, your highness. I only did as she requested.”

She cuts off a sliver of her cake. “I suppose I should lecture about the importance of a princess not engaging in such common activities, but it is too late for that. Come tomorrow morning, Evelyn shall turn seventeen, and she shall become the new queen. I have no more say in the matter.”

Eve nibbles on her bread, not really caring about her mother’s words.

“However, there is a matter we must discuss as a family. Muriel, I must ask you to leave us.”

I get up from my chair, but Eve pushes me back down. “She can stay.”

Her father, the king and a rather quiet man, shakes his head. “This really is a private matter. You may choose to discuss this with her later.”

“Nothing is private.” Eve folds her arms. “Muriel is like family, so what I have the right to hear, so does she.”

The queen sets her fork down. “This is a command. She must leave.”

Eve gets up out of her seat. “Then I suppose it isn’t important enough for me to hear either. I shall head to my chambers with her for the night.”

“Evelyn!” the queen stands. But Eve is too head-strong to listen to her. She pulls me along, making for the exit.

The king heaves a sigh. “Muriel can stay. This is too important to not discuss. But if you ever wish to be a true queen, you must do something about that arrogance of yours.”

We return to the table. The queen bows her head in her hands for a time before speaking. “There’s no use in hiding it any more. Evelyn, this is about your father. The truth is, he is not your real father. He is a man I fell in love with.”

As much of a shock as this revelation is to me, Eve doesn’t seem to care. “He has always seemed a bit different to me. Then who is my father?”

The queen keeps her head bowed. “You do not have one.”

“So he is dead?” asks Eve.

“No. You do not have a father. I gave birth to you, but I was still a virgin when it occurred. Yet I knew such a thing must happen, as per our family.”

“Our family?”

The queen stays silent for a bit. “Our family may be royalty, and the most powerful class of mages in the kingdom. But years ago, we were cursed. I do not know the cause of the curse, but I know the effects of it. We cannot conceive children of our own, no matter how hard we try. But part of the curse is also a blessing, for in our thirty-third year, we shall conceive a child without a father, and give birth to them on our thirty-fourth birthday. They shall always be a girl, and they shall always have Level Five abilities.”

I check over at Eve. She’s going to need some consoling after this revelation. But rather than shock or depression, sheer joy emanates from her body.

“Evelyn?” asks the queen. “I know this is hard on you, but it is the truth.”

Eve bounces out of her chair. “Queen at seventeen, pregnant at thirty-three? Got it! Come on Muriel, we have some things to discuss in my bed chamber.”

The queen stands up. “Why her? We are your parents! She is nothing more than a filthy Level Zero you chose to bring in as your personal guard!”

Eve smiles. “You really have no idea, do you?” She grabs my hand and pulls me along. I barely get off a bow to the queen before she drags me away from that place.

He room is the same as always, consisting of her four-poster bed, a wooden floor, and a large bureau consisting of not only her clothes, but mine as well. She pulls out our nightgowns. “I cannot believe her, calling you filthy.”

I undo my dress and slip on my nightgown – a perfect match with Eve’s. “I’m used to it by now. Besides, you used to treat Level Zeroes the same way.”

“I know I did, and I shall forever regret it. You have taught me a lot since I first met you.” We crawl into bed together, with the excitement of the past day fresh on our minds.

“I’d think you’d be more upset about your curse.” As usual, Eve curls in a ball. I wrap my arms around her and run my fingers through her crisp blonde hair. What hairstyle will she wear tomorrow? She seems to change it every day.

“No, the curse is a blessing. We can marry each other and have a child now. We are no longer bound to the laws of biology.”

She’s forgetting an important fact from her studies, as per usual. Marriage is arranged through the church and with approval from the “Angels” – the stupid humans with beautiful white wings who pretend to be divine. They would never approve two girls marrying each other. Of course, I do not bring this up, as such blasphemy has cost many people their heads.

We lay like that for a while, until something wet drips on my arm. “Eve?”

She curls up tighter, but there is no hiding the tears in her eyes. “When those Level Fours attacked today, I was so helpless without you. I cannot use offensive magic like my mother, or even defensive shadow magic. I am forced to stand on the sidelines and heal those in need. Why was I born like this? Why do I have such a useless power? How can I be a queen if I cannot show true power? How can I rule without my people fearing me?”

I could always explain to her the virtues of ruling through love instead of fear, but she doesn’t need my lectures right now. “There is a purpose to everything in this world. Every life, every power, and every position. We may not know it, but one is definitely there. Don’t question your ability. You may find yourself grateful you have it over any others.”

I wait for her reply, but none comes. Instead, her soft breathing permeates the room.

I grip her tighter in my arms and try to get to sleep. She is pretty cute when she loses her composure like that, even if it’s only for a second. It is moments like these that make me question my purpose in really being here.

Am I really only here to help feed my people? Or could it be my girlfriend act is more than a farce to get what I want?