Chapter 2: A Royal Meeting

The palace was waking up at the same time as the Queen’s high-pitched scream echoed through the halls. Servants rushed in panic; afraid something had happened to their ruler. But as most had predicted, the flowers hadn’t even lasted half a day before losing their shine. Iselda was sobbing uncontrollably, clutching the dead bloom in her hand, sitting cross-legged beside her bed.

The servant in the pink dress, Iselda never bothered to remember their names, approached cautiously, touched her shoulder, and said softly, “My lady, why must all your precious tears be shed for this little sprout?”

Iselda turned her tear-stained face toward the servant. “A little sprout?” she repeated incredulously. “Do you think something like this could ever grow in these tunnels? A flower, nonetheless. These do not belong to my land.”

“Maybe the girl who gave you these flowers came from the Naturalist Tunnel. Who knows, my lady.”

“I may have grown in these halls, servant,” Iselda replied, her voice sharp with anger. “But I am not ignorant of this realm’s rules. No Naturalist has ever grown brown hair. They are all white-haired, don’t you know?” She clicked her tongue in annoyance at her servants’ lack of wisdom and refinement.

The servant ignored her tone and answered lightly, “Yes, yes, I am aware. But you could always revisit her lands and ask her about these flowers. Perhaps even keep your own here in the chambers. Not just one sprout, but the whole set. It is not the end of the realm, my lady.”

It was… clearly a good idea. Not just good, splendid. Perhaps her servants were wiser than she thought, Iselda mused. Rising from her place beside the bed, she composed herself; wiped the tears from her cheeks and glanced at the chamber doors. Many of her attendants stood gathered, their eyes full of worry. Heat flushed the back of her neck as her face grew red. The servants, however, counted this as a small victory, they knew their Queen would be pleased to have another excuse to visit the farmer girl again.

Queen Iselda took a quick breakfast by the ceiling-tall windows, then dressed in a turquoise gown trimmed with lace at the ankle. Around her delicate neck, she clasped a necklace of blue indicolite tourmaline, crafted by her own hand. She was no warrior, and her powers were limited to shaping jewels. Her family had never taught her how to wield the stone to her advantage, only frivolous crafts like necklace-making. She was not resentful, not entirely; she had no wish to be a warrior. But a lesson in self-preservation would have been welcome.

When Queen Iselda got a quick look at herself at the mirror on the shelves storing her books, she did not see a lady, she didn’t even see her reflection. It was a person; she didn’t quite land on which gender they were. Short purple hued wavy hair falls into their faces gracefully, reflecting her none existing eyes… But if they had one Iselda was sure it would be purple, full of rage, an Amethyst nonetheless.

The Queen whipped her head away so fast her neck cracked. She slowly gasped for another breath, but her lungs betrayed her. The floor shifted beneath her feet. Everything was happening in a miniscule of time that Iselda couldn’t keep up with it. Her vision started to blur and when her entire body hit the ground, she wasn’t conscious at all. 

The palace descended into chaos, again. Servants scattered, calling for healers, desperate not to lose another Queen to sickness. Not today.

By the day’s end, Iselda stirred from her slumber. She had been unconscious for hours—five, perhaps more as if hours meant something. Her head throbbed, swollen as if her brain tried to escape from the prison, shortly, it hurt. So much. Slowly, she scanned the room. No familiar faces. None of these people seemed from her Tunnel. She tried her voice but no sound escaped her lips. Moving was also a no-no. Yet she recognized the chamber, it was her palace, and was her bed. But why? How? Who? She had so many questions in her very much hurt brain. 

A figure sat slouched in a chair by the window, taller than her, posture strange. Iselda’s eyes couldn’t focus on his features. Was he speaking? A low murmur hummed somewhere near, just out of reach. She tried to move again. No chance. It is as if she was trapped in a dream or someone already dead.

Had she died? Oh… The thought hadn’t struck her at all. Like it should have been the first thought, right? So, the guy sitting across from her was probably the reaper, right?  Oh…everything made sense again. But the guy didn't close the distance. Instead, he rose, turned, and leapt out the window. Gone. And Iselda was left with nothing but the echo of something ominous, like the ache of missing someone so fiercely you want to tear yourself apart, only for each piece to return, unbroken, again and again. Too much for her hurt brain to bear.

A sudden shake on her petite shoulders pulled her back. She opened her already open eyes to the paisley ceiling above her bed. And when she scanned the room this time, she encountered familiar faces. Relief washed over her for once.

She was alive.

The pink-dressed servant now wore blue; her expression softened with relief when she finally saw Iselda awake. At her shout through the high ceiled hall, more servants flooded the chamber, gathering around the Queen’s bed, eyes wide with respect and joy that their ruler had awakened.

Iselda tried to straighten up in the bed but it was harder than it looked. The servant in blue helped her lean against the bedframe. Yes, it was better. Yet she did not have one tiniest clue of what had happened to her. Or any idea for the dream. 

“You want some water, my lady? Perhaps something to eat? You’ve been unconscious for three days,” the servant said with worry. “Are you feeling any better? Please, anything at all, no shame in speaking, my lady.”

Iselda rasped, “Th… three?” She coughed. “Three days, you said? How… what h-happened?”

“My lady, do you recall how eager you were to dress for your meeting with the farmer girl?”

“Yes… yes,” Iselda coughed again.

“That day, I left your chambers to prepare for your departure. But you didn’t appear. After nearly an hour, I returned to check on you, and… and you were lying on the floor. Unmoving. I was frozen in fear. But… but Mister Uther helped you,” the servant explained, tears glistening in her eyes.

Oh… Person on the reflection. Yes, certainly Iselda had more than one thing to worry about.

Iselda’s chest tightened. She longed to see the mirror again, to confirm her terror. With the servant’s help, she crossed the chamber and faced the golden-etched glass. Her left arm around the blue dressed servant, her thoughts became muddier every step she took. Yet, her breath caught as she met her own brown, curious eyes. No purple today, she guessed. 

She exhaled big this time.

And then, she lifted her free hand and slammed the mirror. The glass cracked, splintering like a wound across her reflection.