The Problem With Being a Prophecy's Pawn

Viktor

The drive back to the castle was shrouded in a brooding, somber silence that Viktor found considerably more unsettling than any of Natalia’s usual torrents of chatter. It was, frankly, a surprise. The girl was an idealistic and thoroughly spoiled brat, certainly, but she was also known for her constant, often artless, commentary. This uncharacteristic quiet was a heavy pall of unspoken thoughts that put him on edge. He had to admit, as far as princesses went, he had certainly encountered worse.

He harbored no delusions about her, however. Had it not been for the damnable prophecy that tethered his life to hers, he likely would have silenced her permanently long ago, back when her defiance was a daily, incandescent flame.

Now, it was her recent compliance that truly disturbed him. During their journey to the manor, he had been certain she would orchestrate another escape attempt, yet she had done nothing. It was profoundly suspicious. She was keeping her head down a little too well. The Natalia he knew was far too resilient, too headstrong, to have given up so completely. This felt less like defeat and more like the calculated stillness before an ambush. It did not sit well with him at all.

Then there was Morgan. Viktor could never get a proper read on the girl. While she wasn't as overtly rebellious as Natalia, he knew that a placid surface could conceal dangerous undercurrents. Natalia had to have inherited her stubborn streak from somewhere, and he suspected Morgan was a serpent, coiled placidly in the shade, merely waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Though Viktor had little personal interest in keeping her around, she served a purpose, especially with the rebellion simmering and the threat of war on the horizon. At the very least, he knew the girl would never harm Natalia. Him, perhaps, but never her precious friend. That fierce allegiance, combined with her striking resemblance to the princess, made her the perfect decoy, should the need arise.

Despite his initial disdain for both women, he found, to his own vague disgust, that they were beginning to grow on him. Markus had been gushing about his new maid, and an idea—a plan—had begun to crystallize in Viktor’s mind. He considered giving Morgan to his friend as a gift, a more permanent arrangement. For the sake of practicality, of course, she would have to be his first. It would be a simple matter to stage a "kidnapping." Natalia would predictably raise hell. Then, he would sweep in as the heroic rescuer, and the maid would owe him a life debt. The maneuver would undoubtedly make Natalia more cooperative, and he would possess yet another piece of leverage over the disobedient princess. Yes, he would set the plans in motion. Perhaps at the end of the month.

Natalia

The end of the month had finally arrived. The day had come. Today was the day.

Morgan moved with swift, silent purpose in my chambers, helping me fasten the last buttons on a spare maid’s uniform. She had already smuggled a pack of provisions out of the castle, stashing it in a prearranged spot for us. The plan was as simple as it was terrifyingly dangerous. Morgan would leave first to retrieve the supplies. I would follow when the moment was right, and we would rendezvous at the edge of the sprawling city that encircled the palace. Morgan had painstakingly drawn a map for me, though I had never navigated the city alone. It would be far too suspicious if two nearly identical young women in servants’ attire were seen departing together. I clutched a small pouch of coins, just in case I spotted something that might prove useful for our journey.

A few days prior, Morgan had made a chilling discovery. The people of this world held a deep-seated superstition about twins, believing that one was invariably good and the other invariably evil. Since we could so easily pass for sisters, we could not risk traveling together in populated areas until we were far from watchful eyes.

Our staggered departure shouldn't raise any alarms. Morgan had been running more and more errands for Markus, many of which took her beyond the castle walls, so the palace staff would think nothing of her leaving. If we timed it correctly, anyone who happened to see both of us would simply assume Morgan had forgotten something and was heading out again.

"Morgan," I whispered, my voice barely a thread of sound.

"Yes?" she replied, her focus on tucking in a final pin.

"I need you to promise me something." The venture was fraught with peril, and I knew the King harbored a special dislike for Morgan. I could not, would not, allow him to hurt her.

"What is it?"

My throat tightened as I spoke. "The King has been watching me like a hawk. There's a chance this won't work. Promise me that if I'm discovered, you'll go on without me." I looked at her, pleading. "He doesn't care if you live or die. If we're caught together, he’ll kill you just to make sure I never try again." I would rather spend my life never seeing Morgan again than know she had died because of the King's strange, possessive fixation on me.

"That's not going to—"

"Promise me!" I insisted, my voice shrill with desperation.

Morgan let out a long, weary sigh and finally nodded. A wave of sharp, agonizing relief washed over me.

"Morgan?" I asked, needing an answer to a question that had plagued me for weeks. "Do you… do you know why the King needs me?"

She looked at me, her eyes wide with genuine shock, as if she couldn't believe I didn't know. "You mean he never told you? I assumed you knew. Markus told me… there’s a prophecy. The King needs you because of a prophecy. Without you, he dies."

For some reason, her words settled like a stone in my stomach, cold and heavy. A foolish, secret part of me had hoped my worst fears were wrong, that perhaps he saw me as something more than a pawn, maybe even a person. But this confirmed it. I was nothing more than a tool for his survival. I forced a brittle smile, thanked her for telling me, and urged her to go. She gave a final nod and slipped from the room, melting like a ghost into the grand hallways.

Alone in the silence, my heart began to pound a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Every distant sound, every footstep in the corridor, sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline through me. If someone entered the room before I left, it was all over. I waited for what felt like an eternity but was likely only thirty minutes before I finally summoned the courage to open the door and step into the corridor. A few staff members nodded as I passed, and I returned the gesture, a surge of relief making my knees feel weak. The plan was working.

When I finally reached the palace’s rear entrance, I took my first tentative step into freedom. I had to admit, the air outside the stifling walls was intoxicatingly different. It had been so long since I'd last seen my parents that I was beginning to struggle to recall their faces; the weekend at the manor already felt like a memory from another lifetime.

As I walked through the city, I was completely unprepared for what I saw. Grime-streaked children roamed the streets with their hands outstretched, begging for a scrap of food. Parents with hollowed-out eyes pleaded for any kind of work. The elderly and the blind sat against crumbling walls, asking for a spare coin. All around them, people hurried past with stony expressions, as if they had no food, no work, no coin to spare. Everyone was filthy. Most were dressed in little more than rags. The awareness of my own clean clothes, my healthy body, and my well-fed stomach was a sudden, painful brand.

Why? Why was the world outside the King's opulent domain so utterly broken and neglected? And, I realized with a rising tide of fury, Viktor has been doing nothing but profiting from their misery. How can he be so well-cared-for when his people are dying?

My thoughts flew back to the incident with the slave girl, and a terrible understanding dawned. Because he sees them as beneath him. Just as he saw that girl as less than human, subordinate to her master. That—that monster didn't love his people at all! He was likely just doing whatever was necessary to keep his crown. No wonder those people tried to kill me! They must see the King as an untouchable tyrant, and since my life was apparently tied to his—

A small tug on my dress interrupted my spiraling thoughts. I glanced down to find a little boy with startlingly bright blue eyes and short, matted black hair. His clothes were ragged remnants, his face was smudged with dirt, and he looked impossibly small, as if he hadn't had a proper meal in days. He couldn’t have been more than five years old. No child should ever have to live like this.

"Spare a coin, pretty lady?" he asked, his voice a tiny pipe.

With a quick look around to ensure we weren't being watched, I ushered the child into a narrow alleyway. I couldn’t risk my act of charity inciting a desperate mob; I didn't have enough to help them all. From a secret pocket Morgan had sewn into my dress, I pulled out a silver coin. The child’s eyes widened in disbelief.