Crowned - 14 | An Identity Crisis

 

Helmire Castle was built on top of the Northern Hills of Kalmia, bordering the submerged continent of the Narkissa on two sides. Their natural crescent shape moulded the castle’s territory, giving Helmire height and security from all directions. The elevation of the black peaks veiled the castle towers, embracing them as one of their own.

Nature was never an antagonist to magic.

Tough the land was dry and unhabitable by Kalmia’s Creatures, mages from Lunaria had transformed Helmire into grounds of scenic beauty which rivalled that of tourist hotspots of the world, like Matholia and Willow.

As per usual, Elvira sneaked out of prying eyes and found the sloping gardens a perfect place for private respite. There, surrounded by flowers, she sat cross-legged, and pointed a finger on a wilted flower in her lap.

“Alive!”

“Live!”

“GROWWWW!”

“RE! BIRTH!”

“BLOOOOOOM!”

“Thrive?”

She exclaimed, for the nth time but the wilted flower remained unmoving and unbothered by her flashy hand movements and tonal-shift advances. Sighing, a recent habit she had acquired, Elvira flopped backwards and rested her head amidst the flowers.

“I really, really, don’t think I have powers. It’s not working, no matter how hard I try, nothing happens,” she huffed to the birds and the bees, “I have never had so much free time on my hands. Now that I don’t have to slave away at the Count’s Estate, life is so much easier!”

She inhaled a breath of fragrant fresh air.

“I’m so useless,” she grumbled, instantly grounding herself.

Maybe Kairo was avoiding her, maybe she was avoiding Kairo, but it had been two weeks ever since their last conversation. Though, whatever the deal was with Kairo, Elvira knew that she was purposefully avoiding all of Kaeo. She did not know how to face him or Clary or any of the other dead people. Formerly dead people.

“At least being trapped by familiar people doesn’t involve doing chores…”

Elvira raised her hands up at the sky and chanted, “Magic Reincarnation, go, go, go!”

Obviously, nothing happened.

Elvira sighed again as her hands fell back on the flower grass. “This is so bad, I’m essentially worthless, why am I even here?” she got up with an ambition to charge inside and make demands for her freedom.

Almost immediately, realisation washed over her like a cold shower.

“Where would I go? I know nothing, I have no connections, no—well, I have friends but they’re all busy. The Count and Countess would begin paying them from the next month so they’re working hard. They’ll be financially independent soon and here I am,” she fell back into the grass, “Absolutely lost in life with a promising yet absent power,” she glared at her hands, “Can you be good at anything?”

She was allegedly good at something but she had never witnessed her own abilities first-hand, only the harsh consequences they brought along.  

“Elvira!” a voice called out.

Elvira groaned out loud and curled up into a ball, hoping the person would walk past her.

“Elvira! I see you there! Quit floundering with the flowers and make some use for yourself! Come, have tea with me!”

Elvira would rather eat Linch dung but she did not voice her avoidant dreams. Instead, she clawed up and forced her face into a smile, “Wilhelma!” she exclaimed, “Fancy seeing you so early!”

“Early? Girl, it is ten in the morning! It might be early for jobless folks like you but I, an employed person, just got off morning duty. Come along now, I’ll treat you to tea!” the tall girl exclaimed.

Wilhelma was considerably taller than Elvira and held a more poised sense of self. Her shoulders were always squared and chin held up high. Even with the harshest of comments, the smile never slipped off her lips. Her dark hair was always in a loose bun, so meticulously pinned that not a strand escaped from her head by the end of the day. She had a pair of dewy siren eyes which she used to convey her displeasure in order to not inconvenience her mouth.

“Treat me, you shall,” Elvira mumbled as she dragged her feet behind Wilhelma.

“Mhm, we’re drinking Hibiscus today,” Wilhelma replied, airily.

“I don’t even like tea,” Elvira grumbled.

“Nonsense! All ladies like tea! That is not how you will wed Kaeo! I’m going to end up grabbing him!”

“Please, make haste, the floor is all yours,” Elvira huffed.

“I would never do that to a friend…”

She had no idea how or why Wilhelma had decided to latch onto her, but this misfortune happened a week ago. She had been having an identity crisis amidst the flowers when the pretty girl showed up and offered her a sweet drink.

Elvira, having never had an overthought human interaction before, simply considered it a kind gesture and drank a sip.

Though, instead of watering the seeds of friendship with that drink, Wilhelma held out a hand and demanded compensation. Elvira, not having a morsel in her name, declared so.

Henceforth, they Wilhelma had established an uncanny sort of claim on Elvira’s time and presence. To a distant viewer, the girls drinking tea together, choosing clothes, running in the garden, petting creatures, would all look like acts of friendship.

But to Elvira’s distaste, it was hours of, “Oh, isn’t the tea marvellous? I know you do not like it, worry not, you shall develop the taste soon!” or, “Oh my! You’re horrible at coordinating an outfit! With that sack of a dress on you, do you think you will reach any man’s bed? Don’t worry, I’m here to guide you!” or else, “STOP RUNNING AWAY! ONE BITE FROM THE PAIX BEE AND YOUR INTERNAL INJURIES WILL BE HEALED, TRUST ME! IT ALSO MAKES YOUR CHEST BIGGER IF BITTEN IN THE RIGHT SPOT!” or maybe, “Yes please, wash the Hornstriders tonight, I’m so exhausted by chasing after you all afternoon. Won’t you help a friend out? You’re the kindest!”

Friend.

Elvira scoffed.

“…but if you take too much time, who knows, he’ll just end up in my bed instead!” Wilhelma giggled at whatever wild imagery her head conjured.

“I hope he does,” Elvira grumbled. “It’s not like I have known him for fifty years,” she scoffed, “five hours, give or take, at best.”

“It’s seldom about time and more about the hows, the whys, the whats and the what’s nexts!”

Elvira rolled her eyes. She wished she could straight up reject Wilhelma’s advances and walk away, but to her dismay, she had few hiding places and too much time with too less work to be excused for.

The only perk of being by Wilhelma’s side was facing the other residents of Helmire. Each and every recruit was an exceptional mage or entity, personally recruited by either Kairo or Kaeo for this elaborate mission to take over the world.

They were all useful minions and she was a useless burden they decided to weigh upon them, one unfortunate afternoon. A liability which roamed with freewill in a heaven of their creation.

“Ugh, I hate this,” Elvira mumbled. Having too much time on her hands had made her an overthinking mess of insecurities.

“Hate what? Tea time? I told you that you will develop the taste soon enough. It is refinement, trust me,” Wilhelma waved a hand in Elvira’s face and led her inside the gleaming black castle.

Misfortune tipped the balance of her life, once again, as they bumped into Kairo by the door.

“Oh, Sire Kairen! Sire Helmire! Hello! Pleasant day, is it not? What are you doing up so early?” Wilhelma exclaimed, going out of her way to demand a greeting.

Elvira rolled her eyes and slipped past Wilhelma in order to avoid brewing awkwardness in their morning greetings. The last push she needed to spiral was Kairo urging marriage. Her face wore a scowl, unintentionally so, as she sped past the greeting people in the hallway. She did not understand what ticked her off but she did not wait to comprehend either.

In her haste to escape, Elvira bumped into a person. Their papers flew out of their hands and fluttered up in the air. She burst in to a flurry of apologies as the person shrugged her off and waved their hand to gather the dropped material.

The exchange could have settled as yet another embarrassing memory to cringe over at 3 A.M. but fate had Kaeo witness the whole shenanigan and pursue a snide remark, “Is it too hard to watch where you are going or do I have to lend you my sight now?”

“It was an accident,” Elvira grumbled, “And it’s not like I want to siphon your magic off of you, okay? You don’t have to whine about it every time you meet my eye.”

“Kairo insists I marry you when I could easily have your pretty little head off your shoulders and up on my display wall.”

“Aw, you find my head pretty?” Elvira scoffed and fanned her hands around her face, “Obsessed with me, even when I'm dead? Sounds a bit loony.”

 Kaeo shrugged, leaning against a wall. His face exuded all the leisure a person could aspire to achieve.

“You should feel blessed that killing you would kill me.”

“Wow, makes me wanna slit my wrist and see what happens next,” Elvira rolled her eyes.

Though she had said the words with much nonchalance, Kaeo’s face darkened at the prospect. She was quick to recognise the hardness in his jaw and corrected herself, “My bad, I love my life too much to waste it over the likes to you.”

“Said the one who brought me back from the dead.” Kaeo scoffed.

“I did it for the Kaeo I liked,” Elvira said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh! You like me?” Kaeo mocked, throwing his head back in disbelief.

“What! No! not at all! the old you, who doesn’t exist anymore! the nicer person! I liked him, like I like Kairo, of course, like nor—”

“Oh, you like me?” Kairo whispered from behind her, scaring her enough to jump away. “Is that why you have been avoiding marriage with my brother? Why did I never consider this?” he wondered in a serious conspirative tone.

“You like my brother now? After all the leaching you’ve done with me? You want to marry my brother?!” Kaeo bellowed.

“Elvira, if you want to, I can—”

“NO! I DON’T LIKE EITHER OF YOU!” Elvira shouted before any misunderstandings could prosper.

“Is it me who you like?” Wilhelma jumped into perspective, grinning ear to ear as she pointed a finger at her face.

Elvira sighed, emotionally and physically exhausted by the exchange. “I’d like my magic if I can find it,” she grumbled to no one in particular.

Suddenly, Kairo perked up, his jade eyes glinting as he exclaimed, “I have an idea! Let’s go on a mission together, for old time’s sake!”

The Lucielle Box - 2 : The Infamous Dungeon !

CHAPTER 1

The sudden brightness made her face squirm and eyes crinkle in response. A hand reached into the box, grabbed her by her hair and pulled her onto the ground. A flurry of laughter rose overhead. With her face pressed onto the stone-cold floor, reality began seeping in her foggy brain. Her vision cleared up and she spotted two pairs of leather boots in immediate sight.

“Not a fighter, eh?” one of the men said.

She felt a hand on her foot, grasping, as it dragged her across the floor and manhandled her onto a wooden chair.

“Change them ropes to thicker ones,” another man said.

“Let me look at that face first…kekekekeke.”

A finger and a thumb urged her face up by her chin and forced her look at the men surrounding her. There were four of them, leering in her face, exhaling odours which felt better to anonymously read off the pages of a book than experience in one’s breath. Their faces were scarred by time and war, darkened by the sun and an assumable abhorrence towards water. Thick bushy hair left no pore unmarked on their faces, in hopes of asserting dominance probably. Their beefy builds left no room for a violent retaliation unless she wished her head to be smashed open, in one blow, and end the nightmare before it would begin.

“She a gud one, I tell ye.”

The strange man’s hands grabbed her by the shoulders.

The girl sucked in a breath from that pungent, murky, damp, air.

“Show ‘em heaven, lass, eh.”

“Mee too, mee too!”

As soon as the man neared her face with puckered lips hidden amidst the bushy mouth of his, the girl began coughing. Violently. Her neck jerked forward but her spit reached flung forward, reaching left, right and centre; she coughed and coughed, distancing the men from her sickly, writhing body.

The dungeon was large, dark and cold, encased by a stone floor and stone walls, lit up by fire torches and lanterns. The men backed up into a corner, eyeing their captive with much disgust as her body contoured into different angles with no breaks in the cough-fest.

“Is she dyin’?”

“Last storm before the final calm?”

Third of them wiped his spit splattered face by his sleeve.

“Or is she acting?”

The fourth man scowled forward and charged his hand for a resounding slap but the momentum of his bulky hand reaching her face was slower than the spout of blood exiting her mouth and making him recoil in defense.

Too late though, for his open mouth and bushy face were now covered in blood. Certainly not a new sight but surely a sudden one for all of them.

“Argh! You disgusting country lass!!” the man scowled.

“Boss!”

“Bossman!”

“Sire!”

His three underlings ran up to his side, armed with their sleeves to instantly wipe clean their superior’s face. Though, their loyalty lasted only until they heard the words being hoarsely let out:

“I … h-have…tub-tuberculosis, ARCKHAHKKKHKHKHAAKHAM KHA KHA KHA, co-con-con-ARKHAKHAKHAKHAKHA-contagious.”

Heaven, Earth and everything in between knew the woes of a long-term slow death exceeded that of being shot by a bullet. So, in respect for their future, all the men hastily retreated to – what one could easily assume – clean themselves up.

The girl spat the last of blood in her mouth and fell back into the chair with an audible sigh of relief. Her tongue dangled out to let it remain open for some cold air to seep in and caress the open gash inside her mouth. She had bitten on her left cheek to make the violent coughs look more convincing but heaven knew it hurt like hell.

‘Well, I survived that thanks to watching so many dramas…but for how long?’ she thought as she looked around the dungeon. Behind her was a prison cell against which stood the box she was brought in. On the farther right was an empty wooden table pressed against the wall and directly opposite to it was a suit of armour.

An idea struck in her head as she dropped onto her knees, from the chair, and seethed as a sharp jolt of pain shot through her legs. The ground was rough and sharp against her knees but she was in no situation of whining about the ill upkeep of a castle dungeon – even though her opinion should have been highly valuable as a prisoner.

The girl crawled and managed to reach the suit of armour at the expense of her kneecaps and threw herself onto the metal, sideways, making it crash to the floor with a resounding THUD! It broke its shape as the head rolled off one direction and the arms in another.

She cringed at sheer loudness of her actions and could only hope no one heard. Amidst the dismantled parts, she spotted the armour’s sword laying near the prison cell. She crawled her way to it, gasping in delight as the slightly unsheathed blade, at the rear, glistened under the torchlights. She pressed the sheath under her foot and struggled to pull the sword out by its hilt. Though, as she stretched her body to pull harder, the sheath slid inside the prison cell emanating a loud drag while the hilt remained in her hand.

Praying to the plot gods, she began attempting to cut open the ropes on her hands.

“Ah, a dungeon escape?”

The sudden words jolted her in the direction of the voice. She spotted a blurred presence in the prison, dragging the sheath as he walked forward, from the depths of the cell, into the light.

Her hands began moving faster on the blade.

His eyes caught the glow of the torchlight as stood beyond the bars, looking down on her with much fascination. The buttons on his coat jacket glistened crimson and it was giveaway enough for her to know that he wasn’t an ordinary prisoner.

He seemed to have spotted the fast hand movement behind her back and could not help but snicker the words, “The Isdarien Dungeon is infamous for being an inescapable labyrinth, don’t you know?”

“I know,” she replied, monotonous, tongue poking out the side of her mouth to let the cold air soothe her burning gash.

“How…?” he frowned.

“Did you not say it is infamous?” she scoffed.

“I was being enigmatic,” he scoffed back, “Of course no one knows.”

She frowned.

“Well, now I know,” she shrugged.

“So, don’t you consider your ardent efforts at escaping to be futile?” he asked, eyes narrowed and neck craning to try and get a good view of her awkwardly rubbing the fraying rope to the sword’s blade.

“I don’t,” she replied, nonchalant.

“Damn, are you a regular?”

“What are you in for?”

A charming laugh resonated off the dungeon walls, intriguing enough for her to look up, momentarily. Curly dark hair covered his forehead but did not hide the genuine crinkle of his sharp eyes.

“I disrespected the big old man,” he replied, a boxy smile encasing his mouth.

“Pfffft, God?” she sputtered and looked away, afraid he’d catch her staring (though, in her current circumstances, there was much else she should have prioritised on her ‘scares-me-right-now’ list.)

“No,” he scoffed, “Grandpa.”

“What’d you do?” she asked, unknown to the fact that a smile was sneaking its way onto her lips.

“I laughed at his thirteenth wedding,” his reply was hushed like a conspiracy.

The rope tore apart and the sword jingled against the floor, once again.

“A punishable offence,” she uttered hoarsely as a realisation set in.

He is a prince.

With her hands free, she rotated her shoulders and wrists to feel the new-found-ease in her limbs. Her brain pondered over the princes’ lore in the book but all she could recall was how each died at the hands of Leonora.

“I am not a regular,” she answered as she picked up the sword and wedged it in between the ropes of her feet, “I was abducted.”

There was a moment of silence as the slow drag of the sword blade tried to penetrate into the thick rope of her feet.

“So…how do you know about the dungeon?” he asked, audibly confused.

“I know about a lot of things,” she shrugged in reply.

“Oh!” he neared the bars and grabbed one each in hand as he asked, “Do you know something about me?”

As she looked up, she found a wide pair of blazing eyes staring back into hers. An upturned smile graced her lips, out of sheer fascination, and she replied, “Well, what I know about us is that if I die here today, then,” she leaned closer to the prison bars and crouched down to be in his line of sight, “An upcoming war will wipe out the entire Royal family in five years.”

She held up hand, wiggling the five fingers, in his face.

Maybe it was because he was crouched, away from the torchlight, but his face darkened.

She picked up the sword to repeat her chore when her breath hitched.

Distant thuds of footsteps made her hand movements hasty and imprecise.

“Someone’s coming,” the prisoner said.

“I can hear it,” she struggled to move the sword faster but as the footsteps closed in, her heart thundered harder in her ears. Sweat overtook her hands as she tried to grasp the sword by the hilt to make it work faster but a sudden coagulation in her throat compelled her to begin cough. ‘Ah! How did I forget…Runa was a genuinely terminally sick person…’ she thought.

Footsteps closed in, the wooden door was pulled open, she continued coughing violently until blood oozed from her throat and splattered all over the pink dress she was wearing. Her vision darkened as she felt a hand jerk her head by her hair.

Then, darkness consumed her into a pool of her own expulsion.

The Lucielle Box - 1: Waking Up In My Favorite Dark Romance Novel !

 

 PROLOUGE

 

THUD.

 

NEIGH.

 

THUMP.

 

Her head banged on wood, insinuating a jolt of pain that drove her out of slumber. The subtle to-and-fro of the carriage that once cradled her body now became an incessant gesture of alarm. The fog in her mind hindered the comprehension of words being passed around yet her ears did not cease to gather.

 

“Leonora’s lass, she is.”

“Caught her straight off the Square, we did.”

“Dun’t know what got her!!”

“Kekekekekeke.”

 

A sharp pain stung through her back as the carriage overcame a stone in its way. Her body fidgeted to find a more comfortable position, when – her eyes shot open! Her perspective was darkened by the lack of light, but that was the least bothersome thing in that moment. For when she rolled her shoulders, she felt two unfamiliar weights bent at a painful angle. When the woman turned her neck to look back, to her absolute surprise, she spotted a pair of hands tied behind her back by their – her – wrists.

‘I have hands…?’

Panic surged through her veins as she realised the compactness of her surroundings. She tried getting up only to realise that her feet were bound together, around the ankles, with yet another rope. Her parched throat threatened to let out a scream but was hindered by a sudden round of laughter.

 

“That skimpy bandit would’ve no choice but to surrender ‘erself now!”

 

“How dare a pesky woman like her threaten the Crown?!”

 

“As soon as we reach the castle, let’s teach this lass a lesson. For the daughter of a Bandit Queen, she sure is quite a looker.”

 

Chills ran down the girl’s spine as her feet gave up and she fell back, onto the cold hardwood of the box. Questions overwhelmed her mind for the last thing she remembered was sitting by the window, staring into the sunset. The year was 2024, the wind was polluted, her body had no hands but at least she was a free individual – who would want to kidnap a disabled orphan? And what did they mean by the Crown and the Bandi--!!

 

Her eyes widened as a hazy memory of a name pierced through her common sense. Leonora. Bandit Queen.

 

Her lips broke into a mirthless grin.

 

Daughter of a Bandit Queen.

 

Her forehead bunched into a frown without hindering the toothy grimace. Her newly found hands grew cold and clammier behind her back as exasperation of the situation dawned on her. Somehow, call it fate’s folly or destiny’s greater ambition at giving the Gods a good laugh – but she, Isadora Bailey, had transmigrated into a fantasy book she had loved ever since she was fifteen.

The Lucielle Box.

 

“Holy fucks.”

 

The plot was simple, yet complex, depending on the age one pursued it.

The story followed a Bandit Queen named Leonora Russet, in the land of Isdaren, who plundered the rich to provide for the poor. She was a brave and kind woman with a sickly daughter and in order to save her only family’s life, she was searching for the Lucielle Box. An object deemed to be hidden somewhere in the Royal Castle with magical properties of rejuvenation. It protected and immortalised the royal family and was Leonora’s only hope to keep her child alive. Though, after time and time again of begging the King to show mercy on her dying daughter and heeding no positive results – Leonora resorted to accumulate power, steal, bring the people on her side and protest against the crown.

The carriage halted and a gust of nauseatingly fresh air entered into her captive box through the small holes on top. The chattering men dragged the box down a slope, mounted it over a trolley and began dragging it towards doom.

Bandit Leonora was wildly successful in her pursuits and even after having the greatest bounty on her head, she remained uncaptured for a decade. That was until the Third Prince’s cavalry were able to capture Leonora’s daughter. They planned to use her as leverage to make the Bandit Queen surrender and puppeteer for the Crown but some low-level soldiers could not resist the temptation of a captive woman at hand and decided to violate her.

The box almost dropped off the trolley while the men were hoisting it up a staircase. A flurry of curses resounded against the cold hard walls of the stone dungeon. A musky damp scent prevailed in the atmosphere, making the trapped girl’s throat itch.

“Could’ve jus bot the lass, but no! Haf’ta bring a goshdarn box all the way ‘cross!”

Leonora’s daughter dies while trying to protect herself. The Third Prince’s plans fail and he shoves the reason of his failure on one of his brothers. Though Leonora was a woman, she was a concerned mother first and avenges she does her daughter’s blood by slaying a Prince…but it does nothing to fill the gaping void of her heart. In five years, Lenora storms the castle, slaughters the royal family, takes over the Lucielle Box and uses it to make a deal with the devil. In return of her child’s life, Leonora unleashes darkness onto the world and plunges it into chaos. She forgets all regard for mankind and wreaks havoc until the Hero slays her at the end of the book.

It was a sad story, yet one brimming with great mystery and adventure. A tale where the sadness was worth the journey undertaken – but that was a fifteen-year-old emo Isadora’s perspective. Twenty-two-year-old Isadora, stuck in a box that was now being pried open, hated the concept of valour stemming from sacrifice.

Especially when she was the sacrifice.

She was Runa Donn Russet.

The daughter who was about to die.