Shadow of the Prince

With Death Comes Life

Dal blinked through haziness. She realized she was staring up at an unfamiliar grey-cast ceiling.

"Dal?" Came her mother's familiar voice from off to her right side. 

She turned her head, soreness following her movements. The colors of the room around her seemed brighter. The linen beneath her, for example, seemed to glow a bright white.

Wait a moment. Linen? Bed?

Dal blinked, and hastily took in her surroundings. She lay in a small, unfamiliar bed, in a small, book filled room. It immediately reminded her of the old crone's home; the one her mother called Pernica.

The only thing familiar in the room was her mother, who sat in a rocking chair beside a bookshelf against the wall, staring at her with a blank expression on her face.

Is that where she was? In the weird old woman's bedroom?

"... Am I," she croaked, her voice raspy and dry. She cleared her throat. "Am I in that woman's bed?"

"Yes."

Always had a way with words, her mother.

"What happened?"

Her mother slowly stood, her lips pressing into a thin line. Little wrinkles puckered at the corners of her lips. 

Served her right with all of the frowning that she did. 

Her dark-haired mother came and stood beside the bed. She reached to the nightstand and opened a drawer. she rummaged for a few moments, before plucking forth a mirror, and holding it out for Dal to take.

Dal took the mirror and raised it to look at her appearance.

She couldn't help the gasp that fell out of her mouth.

"What happened to me?!"

"What happens to us all, when it is time."

"Did-did the old lady do this to me?"

"Yes, with my help."

"You both did this to me?"

"You know, when I was your age, I had the sense enough to be grateful and not ask any questions."

Dal lowered the mirror and turned to look upon the weary face of her mother. She looked for any sign in her skin of the changes. She sought any hint of the changing hues of her skin or any sign of discoloring or bruising. There was none.

Her mother must have read the fear in her daughter's face, because, for just a moment, her stern expression broke in the slightest.

"You will be able to turn it off, in a manner of speaking," Aragda Leary spoke quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"You will be able to control which face you wear; the one you have, or the one that you want others to see you as."

Dal nodded, and slowly raised the mirror back in front of her face.

She looked like herself, but not. Who looked back at her in the mirror was some symmetrical beauty, lacking any blemish or scar.

Her mother leaned down beside her, studying Dal's reflection with her in the mirror.

"This is the face that will help you gain entry to the castle. This is the face that will win you your Dark Prince," her mother promised.

For some reason, her mother's words didn't bring contentment to her. She wasn't so naive to believe a prince would fall in love with a commoner's appearance, but she didn't think she would need to change her face to be loved at all. 

As she stared at the achingly beautiful version of her face in the mirror, she found herself searching for the small scar at her temple from tripping in the market, or the freckle on her ear that reminded her of an earring. She looked for just one imperfection in the too-perfect face.

Dal frowned.

"At least I still have my hair," she muttered.

"Ah, well. Your auburn locks are the only thing you got from your father. It seemed cruel to take it away."

Dal blinked. That couldn't be possible.

"But father's hair is blonde," she whispered.

"Theikuth's father's hair is blonde. Your father's hair is the same reddish-brown as your tresses, here."

She knew it without having to ask, and yet the words were biting at her tongue to escape. Her mother had always told her that she and Theikuth were half-siblings. It was her own willingness to live in ignorance that allowed her to pretend that it was Theikuth who was born outside of the bounds of man and wife, and not Dal herself.

Theikuth was the favorite for a reason.

"Where is my father?"

Her mother reached out her hand and placed it on hers in a shocking display of motherly affection. "He's dead, child. He died long ago."

"I don't understand."

"You won't for a while, but that is no matter. What is important is that we get you into the castle so the Prince can see you, so he can become bewitched by this new face of yours. It is only by your marriage to the Prince that all that has been done can be undone," her mother said.

"That makes no sense. A man won't fall for a woman simply for the face that she wears."

"You overestimate their intelligence."

"You underestimate them," Dal said.

Aragda shuffled across from Dal, scooting up onto the bed so and looking her daughter directly eye to eye. There was a strange kindling in the recesses of her eyes, like firecrackers going off in the night sky. It unsettled and excited Dal all at once.

"Don't argue with me, Dalia. You can bring the rains back to Eatrahan. You can break the curse upon the land and upon our family."

Her mother's excited face was alight as Dal had never seen it before. A strange and foreign expression danced across her face, and she wondered if this is what it looked like to see hope in her mother's features.

It was for that reason alone that Dal kept her burgeoning doubts to herself.