Moira tugs the cotton thread through the fabric, but it catches on the bundle of threat on the underside. The pathetic daisy winces at her, pleading with her to put it out of its misery. Stabbing the fabric again, she follows the outline pattern but her needle slips and sticks her finger instead. A curse escapes her lips as she pulls away dropping the hoop at the stool beside her chair.

“Your Highness,” Zack speaks from the other side of her bedroom door, “are you alright?”

“It’s fine.” He’s always right there. Three paces behind her, or on the other side of every door. A spot of blood appears on her finger, searching for a handkerchief at her vanity she applies pressure and wraps it securely. But her fumbling draws Zack’s attention and once more he voices his concern. “I’m fine Captain.” For the love of Zander, does he have to be so… so Zack.

She’s asked him to leave her alone, but to no avail; ‘orders are orders’, is his only reply. Apparently even her orders don’t count because his direction comes from the king. Great. She was almost fine with being stuck in Alexanderia, but since the new arrangement she’s itching to leave. It didn’t even have to be far, anywhere outside the palace. Anywhere away from him. Her father keeps a tight schedule with her tutors and classes. But little did he know today she has a plan.

She glances at her staff leaning against the wall in the corner. Eclipse promised to fix it once they get settled, and frankly she’s as settled as she will get in a place like this. He promised to take her to the Magic Shop, to repair the cracked opal. If she is honest, she’s been looking forward to this for days. To leave these walls, escape the formalities and see people. Not the ones who occupy the palace, but those wonderful souls who can live freely in the sun.

Zack won’t allow her to go alone, but he won’t question Eclipse. The hardest problem was finding the panther. He’s usually by her side and he never vanished without a word. But lately, he’s barely around; gone by the time she wakes and doesn’t return until long after she’s asleep. The only evidence of his presence is a rumpled carpet beside her bed in the morning.

But she dismisses the thought, today was their day. For the first time since she arrived excitement bubbles in her limbs. Maybe they’ll stop to see Sara. She hates how big the smile grows on her face. But sometimes, even she, deserves a bit of happiness.

Slipping on her tight shoes, she grabs her staff and flings open the door. Zack jumps to his feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform as she enters the private apartment. It’s where she receives visitors and it’s his new favourite place to loiter. He notices the smile droop when she notices Eclipse isn’t in the room.

“Is everything alright Your Highness?”

“Have you seen Eclipse today?” It’s passed lunchtime, he should be here.

“I saw him speak to Lord Edward this morning, but I haven’t seen him since, Your Highness.”

“Oh…” but she’s not defeated, “then I’ll find him myself.”

As usual he follows, the measured paces echo behind her as she exits her apartments. Down the hall and over the stairs to the public areas of the palace. She squeezes her staff; the smooth handle soothes her. It reminds her of when she was on her own, but that feels like a world far way.

Now all she has is Zack’s predictable footsteps behind her. If only he treated her like he did before; before he knew her secret. She’ll give it all up just to be able to bicker with him. To sit across from him and read his face, to speak openly and freely. She doesn’t know how much he tells her father or what side he’s on.

The bickering lords are gone, and the floors of the throne room are freshly mopped. Everything is pristine, empty, and silent. She passes the throne, standing solemn on its perch. She pauses, the glittering chandeliers above catch her eye. Then two voices float from the opposite hallway.

The figure of her father startles her, he’s been absent for so long, seeing him in ordinary settings is like seeing a ghost. Although the feeling doesn’t last long, its replaced by a tightness in her chest and sweaty palms. Lord Beckham is at his side, and they stop their chatter once they spy her. At first her father smiles, but it fades when he notices the staff in her hand.

“Moira, what are you doing with that?”

“The opal is cracked; I was going to take it to town and get it repair.” She points to the damage; giving a sideline glance to Zack. He lowers his gaze, knowing full well its their duel that caused the damage.

“Why do you need it repaired? What use is it here when you have trained knights at your whim.”

“Because if I try to use it in this state, magic will seep out and cause a lot more harm than good.”

“No, my dear, what I am saying is, there is no need to repair it because you have no need to use it.”

“I’m a Mage father, I need to practice my skills.”

“Not under my roof.” His eyes meet hers; the pleasantries are over. “Remember my rule? I allowed you to attend the Academy but there was to be no magic on the palace grounds.”

“Fine, I’ll practice in the mountains, or somewhere in the kingdom.”

“I forbid you to leave the palace,”

“We had an agreement. You said this wasn’t a prison, what did you call it? Oh, that’s right, my home. So, which one is it father? Is this a prison or a home? Because one means I’m a criminal and the other says I’m your daughter.”

“That’s enough Moira!” he shouts over her protests, “you will not practice magic in our home.” He rips the staff from her hands and shoves it into Zack’s chest. “Captain, see to it this is returned to her quarters and it remains there…permanently.”

“You know this isn’t fair!” she calls as he stomps down the hall.

Her fists clench, fed by the anger in her heart, until her nails bite her palms. She turns away from the sight in a futile attempt to avoid the sense of abandonment. Her footsteps echo through the quiet room. Despite her success, her training, her ability to survive she’s nothing more than a child to him. Is this what the crown, the weight of its importance, does to people?

Her father’s portrait greets her, ignoring the blunt insult, she glares at the cursed golden seat. This is what Margaret fights for, the power and authority that it represents. Its what her father fought Kipling to protect. The memory of that chaotic night stings her eyes. The shouting, the chandeliers above crashing to the floor. All over that seat.

“It is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, truly exquisite,” interjects a voice from behind her. “Forgive me, Your Highness, it was not my intention to startle you,” Lord Beckham bows.

“Not at all,”

“I bet Your Highness looks regal on the throne, why, take a seat, after all, it is yours by birthright.” His eager eyes assess her every flaw. His black slick hair resembles wet feathers; emphasizing his beak nose and pointed chin. “Please Your Highness; we all dream of seeing you in such a stately seat.” There’s poison behind his professional composure. He’s the lord who whispers in her father’s ear. Her foot pauses at the dais step, “it is a large responsibility, is it not, Your Highness? Those beyond these walls see it as a decorated chair, but those who are to govern, see it differently. You are elevated above those you serve, the root of all power is not something one considers lightly. Everyone desires to rule, but only few can shoulder the burden. Your absence—”

“Is none of your concern.” She observes the space realising it is not the kingdom her father serves, but the world this lord governs. “I understand it was unorthodox, however, one detail I discovered on my travels concerns this very seat. From my experience, it contains the memories of the previous monarchy. For instance, this burnt spot on the cushion— from my grandfather who smoked while he thought. These lines on the arms— from my father who forgets to trim his nails resulting in these marks imprinted in the gold. Long after the king is gone, the throne alone withstands. The only question I ask myself, as the throne is my birthright, is which mark will I leave.”

“Wise words, Your Highness,” a sly smile curls his lips, “perhaps, your mark is one which royalty throws tantrums when unfavorable situations arise. I have witnessed your impetuousness on several occasions. Is this the new trend you wish to set?”

“This entire charade for a chance to question my conduct? Perhaps your time is better spent dealing with matters of state.”

“You are a matter of state, Your Highness. The most important matter of all. It is a personal duty to inform you of the truth of your situation.”

“Which is what exactly?”

“I heard on occasion, of your father expressing frustration regarding your behaviour. I fear your conduct is an embarrassment which reflects poorly on him. I dread the action against you if this continues. Please Your Highness; I am doing this in your best interest.”

“My best interest?” she suppresses a laugh.

“It is beneficial for you to become, shall I say, agreeable to the court.

“Conform or leave? Is that it my lord?”

“No horse likes saddling at first, but I am merely imploring you to ease your future state by—”

“Submitting.”

“By taking precautions to ensure your future here,” suppressing a grin he bows and leaves.

Submit, the word sizzles in her mouth. A toxic chemical burn as she comes to grip with the future set out before her. Zack stands mute in the corner, avoiding her eyes by staring at her staff. Play the faithful daughter or be tossed away. Perhaps the later isn’t as terrible as she once thought. When she approaches, he holds it out for her to take.

She considers it, but she pauses, her hair stands straight on the back of her neck. Despite the emptiness of the space, she knows someone’s watching her. Beckham watches, waits, and then he’ll pounce. Swoop in like the bird of prey he resembles and rip out her heart.

“I’ve never heard the king so angry before.” Zack mumbles, surveying the throne room.

“Well, guess your part of the family now.”

“Take it, it’s yours.”

“Don’t bother, you have your orders.” This is her father’s domain, and despite her best-efforts Beckham’s right. If she’s to survive here she needs to play her part.

She lays awake gripping her pillow as the moon rises in the inky sky. It’s been three years since she lay in this bed staring at the moon and wishing she was anywhere else. Anyone else. Three years and nothing has changed. Why is she in a place where she’s alone, despised, and ignored. How can this place ever be home? She sighs, staring at the darkness outside. If only it would engulf her, then maybe her body will feel something beside hopelessness.

The door handle clicks open, and the sound of padded feet wander to the bed. Part of her resents him. His freedom to come and go as he pleases. While she’s kept in check by people who wish to see her fail. She can’t look at him, only he can soothe her and she hates it.

“Where were you today? We had plans to repair my staff.”

“In town.”

“I needed you today,” she hugs her pillow tighter.

“We spoke of this before,” she hears the exhaustion in his voice, “you exceeded expectations, your next lesson is to learn to live without me, one day I will—”

“I know.”

“Moira,” he sighs, admitting defeat. His paws lay on the bed. “Moira, I am serious, I need you to put aside your emotions and listen to me. I apologize for my absence, hurting you is not my intention. I have my reasons and unfortunately my fears are confirmed. Sara is in danger; she is not safe in her home.”

“What do you mean? You said she would be safe there. That its for the best she’s with her aunt. Now you’re saying she isn’t. Did you lie to me?”

“No, I will never lie to you. I believed her aunt was the better option than having her follow us around the continent. However, I reassessed my assumptions and discovered her aunt’s violent nature.”

He explains what he witnessed since they left her with Lady Sherwood. The belt strikes, the bruises, the screaming. How he’s alarmed with how much weight Sara was losing because she didn’t receive meals if she was argumentative. She spends hours locked in her room and he hasn’t seen her outside in days.

“I can not withstand her cries anymore,” he concludes.

“I need to fix this. Tell me how to get her back.”