1 Chapter 1
Princess Zenithia’s bed was already turned down. Tending to her nightly ritual, Tilia dressed her in a silken robe, and brushed her long glossy hair before hurrying from the room. She was eager to meet someone. A man. Rushing along the many passageways, she peered about nervously, hoping she wouldn’t be seen before reaching a doorway which was hidden among the stonework. Pushing the fifth stone upwards, she heard a creak and then another before the door yawned open.
Slipping inside she waited, peering into the darkness and beyond. Tilia knew riches were stowed far back in the recess of the room and this made her even more fearful. Entry was forbidden for females, yet she took this risk, wanting nothing more than to feel his arms around her, but after a time she came to realize that he would not be coming. Reluctantly she retraced her steps.
Disappointment consumed her as she made her way to her abode, yet she still entered the secret corridor which led from her room to the Princess’s. She did this every evening before retiring. Peering through a small cavity her eyes opened wide as she witnessed a man leaning over the Princess. Gasping with shock, her hands fluttered to her mouth to still a cry.
His back was familiar, but it was his hand that transfixed her. One was clenched cruelly over the Princess’s mouth. She watched in disbelief, paralyzed with fear, as Princess Zenithia struggled against him, her legs thrashing about, trying to escape his clutches, but he was stronger. A moment longer and she was still.
He waited only a second before scurrying towards the window without even a backward glance at the Princess who lay with her head askew, her eyes wide open. Tilia knew that something was very, very wrong.
Natasha could feel Tilia’s fear, her own heart racing, palms sweating. Tilia’s anxiousness when she could not awaken the Princess was palpable. Tilia hurried from the room to summon the queen. With Tilia leading the way, they rushed to the Princess’s bedside. When the queen and Tilia realized Princess Zenithia had indeed gone to the gods they knelt at her bedside and wailed, grief-stricken.
That’s when the intruder saw his opportunity and leaped from the window. 1
Natasha discovered the hard way she hated flying. She was restless, couldn’t sleep properly, and when she eventually did fall into a thankful dreamless slumber, the steward woke her to ask if she wanted something to eat. It was a nightmare. The air conditioning was too hot causing the overhead vents to dry her out even further. Her eyes were sore and gritty. She was uncomfortable as her legs continued to cramp, so she climbed over Rebecca to take a walk and stretch her legs
Many of the people on the plane were sleeping. Some were hanging over the arms of their aisle seats, so she carefully skirted around, trying hard not to disturb them. Brandon and Christopher were in the center aisle of the plane. Brandon had fallen asleep on Christopher’s shoulder. He looked adorable, even if he was drooling. She wished she could take Christopher’s place and was half tempted to bump into him.
She did a few laps of the plane, each time hoping that Brandon would wake and join her, but he didn’t. Aware she needed to keep her circulation flowing she lingered at the back of the plane with some of the other passengers who were also drained with the rigors of flying.
“First time to Cairo?” an elderly woman asked.
“Yes,” Natasha said. “I didn’t realize the trip would be so long.”
“You’ll love it. But all this flying,” she moaned. “It doesn’t agree with my arthritis. My bones are getting too old and stiff for flying. If only I was young again like you.”
She prattled on for a while before Natasha could make a hasty escape. She used the toilet and washed her face, splashing water on her tired eyes. Calling into the galley she asked for a bottle of water to replenish her fluids as the air conditioning continued to dehydrate. Back in her seat she put on the headphones and listened to music. As the hours dragged on, she retrieved her journal flipping through to the most transformative part about her life and how she’d managed to be here, sitting on this plane.
I stayed in my room all night and no one even bothered to see if I was okay. If Dad doesn’t change his mind, I’m never speaking to him again. This morning when I came down to breakfast Mum had a bowl of Albran covered in skim milk with sliced bananas and a glass of orange juice waiting for me. Well, I could hardly contain myself. What a feast!
Forgive me, but when I looked at her, I pictured her with an apple in her mouth slowly being rotated on a spit. Childish I know, but I was still angry.
