Sim knew the queen had wanted nothing but to embarrass her. How could she have known about Prince Nikayl? She had never heard of the name before. But the question that plagued her most was… who would be willing to marry the queen? She was the threat that mothers used to send their children to bed, the dictatorial monarch and usurper of Mirtlemeadow and the bane of every other kingdom. She wasn’t even human.

As soon as the queen left she headed to the library. She read about other countries, but Margennar... The memory came back to her, of a country of mountains and valleys. It was a vast empire, defeating every invader and conquering all that they sought. There was no reason for them to bother with a small kingdom like Mirtlemeadow.

But she needed to know more. There was an area of the library that she rarely ever visited. She remembered the queen going there sometimes. It was a record of the royal families, not only of Mirtlemeadow but most kingdoms that existed or had existed in the past few centuries. Sim had always thought the records would be outdated, no scholar having been housed in Mirtlemeadow for a decade.

She doubted suddenly whether the queen had her own reasons for searching the royal family records. Awain wondered whether the queen noted the curious look on the girl’s face as they continued to talk. The queen had completed her display of power and now was interested in his kingdom’s economy. Silently the girl slipped off unnoticed.

* * *

The royal family records of Margennar consisted of a single book, thin and bound in red leather. It wasn’t difficult to find, the only book among the hundreds not covered by an inch of dust and cobwebs. The book was in almost perfect condition, the dog-eared pages signs of constant reading. Sim didn’t understand why anyone would read royal family records over and over again.

The first page was that of a king five centuries before, his four wives and thirteen children. Most of them had died young, a daughter and two sons the only remaining. The oldest was on the next page, the pen sketch of his face beautifully capturing the stern sharpness of his features and the frail beauty of his childlike queen’s smile. They had three children. The pictures were smudged, Sim imagined it was due to fingers passing over them a thousand times over the years that had passed. But the names remained. The crown prince, Nikayl.

The records were from three hundred years before. She flipped the pages, hoping that the prince the queen spoke of was Prince Nikayl the IV or V. But she already knew. The subsequent pages were littered with the noble families. There had only been one royal family in Margennar for two hundred years, only one crown prince. She never knew that there were other people such as the queen, hoped that the evil ended with one woman alone.

Now there was a family of monsters ruling over an empire, and she didn’t know how many more existed. She flipped through the pages, seeing more and more of the pale faces. Some of the faces changed, some didn’t. She put the book back down and left the room.

The castle was still readying. She had thought that all the preparation had been for Prince Awain. But the decorations were still being put up, garlands of flowers and golden bells. Every torch was lit, every servant dressed in their best.

But as the night progressed and they had their dinner, no one arrived. The entire castle held its breath as the lanterns were put out, the tables cleared and people snuck off to their beds. Sim was one of the last people to leave the grand hall. She had less fear than the rest of the people around. The queen had never hurt her, wouldn’t hurt her in the foreseeable future. There was no telling who among the staff the queen would choose as her next meal.

Her room would be warmer, but the thought of being alone and asleep while another of the monsters roamed through the castle wasn’t pleasant. She was sure that none of the castle servants knew the nature of their new guest. Awain was in the garden with his sword at the ready. Not that it would be of much use. She headed to her undisturbed writing desk in the library, the one thing of hers that she allowed no one to touch.

Sim looked through the book in her hand. She was steadily working herself through the entire library and pocketing her favorite books for the collection she kept in her room. It was a diverse array, ranging from medicine to metaphysics. Anything she could get her hands on, she read.

The first year of trying to escape, she had learned how to fight. There was never any question of her being much of a fighter. She had been small and stick-like from the beginning, unable to build up any consequential amount of muscle. She was good with a bow and dagger, better with a sling, and that was the end of her prowess. She could throw a punch, but not much more. So she found another way to fight.

Research took up most of her mornings. Sitting at the writing desk by the window, she kept one normal book and one describing beasts. It was amazing the amount of literature their library had on vampires. There were myths that ranged from the impossible to the unbelievable, mostly on how to find one or how to flee. There was nothing, however, on how to kill them. She had searched through every book, every crumbling scroll. There was the sense that the queen had something to do with her lack of information.

Under her pillow she kept a silver dagger. Every door was polished with a varnish containing traces of silver, garlic and holy water. She had no idea what holy water did or didn’t do to the queen. But the first thing to disappear after she had gained control of the kingdom was the demolition of the little chapel in the castle. All that was left of the gods were the sprigs of dried sage and thyme the servants wove into their hems, still believing in protecting charms.

Sim filled her eyes with the gruesome ink drawings in front of her. They were uglier than the reality, fangs and claws exaggerated by the fear of the witnesses and the fantasy of the artists. But they still brought back memories, and she slammed the book shut. It was the nights that brought them back the strongest, those dreams of being a child again, of an old woman dying in front of her eyes a thousand times while she sat frozen in her frilly girlish bed. She hadn’t even screamed, she remembered. She had just watched the life go out…

It wasn’t her fault, she told herself again. Nan’s family had told her, the other servants had told her, but it didn’t change her feelings about. Mechanical logic and her work usually masked the guilt most times, kept the pictures out of her mind. But it wasn’t herself that had brought her back this time. The sounds of a carriage were what had snapped her out of her reverie in the first place, and she looked out of the window. The prince had finally arrived.

Crouching down so only her eyes were above the windowsill, she spied. She saw the ivory streak through the passageways and down the grand staircase. The air sounded with twin booms as the double doors were thrown open and the queen reached the courtyard. The doors of the carriage were still closed, and as the queen descended Sim got the feeling something terrible was about to happen.

A man stepped out of the carriage. He was night itself. Sim couldn’t see the fine details of his face. But what she was enough. He was tall, slender, with a grace to his movements that was both enticing and frightening. He was hypnotic, from the way his smooth brown skin reflected the moonlight to his vivid hazel eyes. Sim slid down as his eyes wandered the courtyard, passing over all the darkened windows and stopping at hers, the flickering candlelight a beacon in the darkness.

She put out the light before seeing anything more and slipped out of the room, running towards her bedchamber on her bare feet, hoping and praying that the prince had already had his dinner.

* * *

The prince turned towards the cold woman in front of him, so different from the frantic heartbeat running further away. He wondered if the queen’s face would have thawed if his brother had arrived. Most likely yes. However much Morgan had changed, however much she pretended that she had become immune to every human ‘flaw’ as she described, her love for Nikayl still knew no bounds.

“Where is his royal highness, the crown prince?” she asked. The prince smiled at her slip in demeanor, back to the poor little serving wench that Nikayl had taken a liking to. Nikayl had taken a liking to a lot of women. Morgan had been the only one that had survived.

“You are looking at him, your majesty,” he said with the mocking tone she had always hated. It was the tone with which he had reduced her from the crown prince’s favorite to a peasant with a pretty face. She had flaunted his brother’s shiny gifts all around the castle, wearing rubies with her rags. She had almost asked for her punishment. Nikayl had gladly given it to her. Still she pined after him, turned the curse he had given her into a gift. The prince saw her as she saw herself. She embraced the emptiness within her, filled it often and without remorse. There was almost nothing about her that remained human, only the shredded remnants of her heart that clutched at the feelings of first love. Nikayl.

“Where is Nikayl?” she asked again.

“He passed away,” the prince said. “Or rather, mother and father had him passed into a bonfire while he was tied and gagged. It was really a lovely family outing. Best in decades.”