Regicide

I should not be writing this down, but I have no one to talk to. I started writing these pages to ensure I would not get lonely, and yet, today, I feel lonelier than I have ever done, in the place I used to think of as home.

Tonight, I was awakened, again, by someone visiting my bedchamber. This time, it was a man’s voice that roused me from my sleep. I sat up, slowly, without saying a word, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Maël was sitting at the end of my bed, singing to himself. His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but he was singing a tune I knew well. It was a lullaby our mother had sung to us, when we were young – before our father accused her of treason, so that he could marry his mistress.

‘How soon spring comes to those our age,
how soon the petals unfurl.
How soon the snowdrops fall on the ground,
how soon they leave this world…’

Maël’s hands were covered in blood. His sword lay just in front of him, blood dripping from its blade onto the stone floor of my bedchamber. It looked like Maël had something over his head and face, but I could not see what.

‘Maël, is everything ok?’ I whispered, knowing that I was asking a foolish question.

Maël turned to look at me. He had cut the head off the bellay doll and stretched its fabric over his own head, like an ill-fitting mask. The wool had torn in several places, and many of the beads had fallen onto my bed.

‘He was a weak man,’ Maël said, hugging himself with his bloodied hands. ‘First, he gave Madeleine away to that snob. Then, he tried to give you away – and to a disgusting lech, like Effal, no less.’ Maël tried spitting on the floor, but his phlegm caught in the wool over his mouth and ran down his chin.

‘What have you done?’ My whole body was trembling in fear. I had always known that Maël had the hottest temper of all my siblings, but I had never thought him a murderer.

‘No, no, no,’ he muttered. ‘That’s not right. I didn’t do this because he was weak. I didn’t kill him out of selfish anger. I killed him for his own sake. Yes, that’s right. I killed him to help him ascend. He was a good man. A strong and powerful man. If anyone can become a Dullahan, it’s our father.’

‘Where is he now?’ I asked, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Maël pointed to the door of my bedchamber. ‘I left him out there. I didn’t think he deserved to see you.’

Feeling rather faint and nauseous again, I said the first thing I could think of to get Maël away from me.

‘You did a good thing, Maël. You are a good son, and a good brother. But Father cannot ascend here, in the palace, can he?’

‘Of course, you’re right, he needs to be in the woods. That’s where the Dullahan hunts.’ Maël lurched to his feet and made for the door.

‘Do not forget your sword,’ I said.

In hindsight, it might have been better if he’d left his sword with me, at least then he would have been disarmed. But I was terrified. All I could think of was putting as much distance between myself and Maël, and his blade, as possible.

‘You are wise,’ he said, grabbing his sword by its hilt. ‘The wolves will be attracted by the scent of Father’s blood. It wouldn’t do for me to be eaten on the same night I become King. Clean up the mess in here, won’t you? And I will see to Father’s chambers. Tomorrow morning, I will tell everyone we went out for a late-night hunt together, but the three of them were ambushed by a poltergeist.’

‘Three?’

‘Father, the King of Fellshere, and Effal.’

Maël’s words pierced my chest more violently than any blade could. I did not want to believe that my groom was dead, but I knew that Maël was strong enough to have killed him, with ease.

‘Have you already killed the other two?’ I asked.

‘I killed them first. It was strange. After I killed them, I felt this tremendous sense of disappointment. I had always imagined that killing a man with my own hands would bring me joy, but breaking Effal’s neck felt no different to snapping a branch off a tree. And killing his father was more like butchering a turkey than killing a king. At least our father roared with rage when he saw my sword at his throat. I cannot remember how many slashes it took to sever his spine, but my shoulders began to ache from the strain of swinging my blade. That is how killing a king should be.’

Tears welled in my eyes. I felt guilty for caring more about Prince Effal’s death than my own father’s, but I could not help how I felt. I had never asked to meet Prince Effal, let alone marry him – the new life I had been about to embark on had been thrust upon me by my father, and my position as a princess – yet, when I had finally started to feel excited about what lay ahead of me, my future had been turned upside down, again, without my consent.

Maël stopped in the doorway to my chamber. ‘Listen, Mother,’ he said, ‘tomorrow night, when everyone else sleeps, I will return to your chamber so that we can celebrate your freedom, together. I promise you, no matter what happens, I will never make you leave this palace.’

Hearing Maël call me mother was the final confirmation I needed that my brother had lost his mind. I tried to think of ways I could escape, or tell someone what had happened, but I knew that a princess’s word stood no chance against that of a king.

I was too afraid to do anything except follow Maël’s instructions. I listened to the sound of him dragging my father’s body down the hallway, and then set about stripping my bed, so that I might use the sheets to clean the floor of my bedchamber. My only hope was that Prince Simone, or my brothers, discovered Maël disposing of the bodies. There would be guards and servants that would see him, but he would execute them himself, if they dared to speak out against him.

And what of Fellshere, I thought, throwing my sheets onto the blood-soaked floor. They must have brought men with them. Maël will have them killed, but our kingdoms will surely go to war when their king fails to return from his trip, here. They will think the whole wedding nothing but an excuse for the King’s assassination.

Something sharp pricked the sole of my foot. It was the back of one of the beads, from the face of the bellay doll. A great sadness welled up inside of me, when I thought of the husband and child I had lost. Writing these words now, I feel the sadness return. I feel as though I could weep, and weep, and never stop weeping for as long as I live. Truth be told, I do not know why I am writing these words anymore. I think I needed to get things off my chest. But what now? My body feels heavy. My stomach hurts. My heart is dead. All I can think about is how sad I am, and how much I hate Maël for the life he has taken from me. Writing this down might be the most foolish thing I have ever done, but there is one last thing I must speak it into the world, even if only in writing – I want to kill Maël. If I was strong enough, I would rip my brother’s head from his shoulders with my own hands.

Soon it will be dawn. I can only hope the morning light reveals more than blue skies over Sardignon.