Little Piece of Writing

Prologue

 Once upon a time in a far away land a Queen was pregnant. 

 Everybody adored this pregnant Queen and knew that they would love her daughter even more. 

 One day the Queen was sitting outside knitting in the garden. It had recently snowed and she was bundled up in blankets, upon cloaks, upon dresses. 

 She was knitting with her favorite pair of ebony needles when she poked her finger.

 She saw a couple of drops of her blood fall to the snow covered ground and admired the way the colors seemed to compliment each other.

 The red a splash of color while the white and black balanced each other out.

 “If I could choose, I would love for my beloved daughter to have hair as black as ebony, skin as pale as snow, and lips as red as blood. All the young men would be simply enamored with her.” the Queen mused.

 “But of course that could never happen. There has never been anyone known to have skin that pale, hair that dark, or lips that rich.” the Queen chuckled.

 She settled back to continue her knitting when the wind started blowing rapidly.

 The wind made the Queen’s light hair fly around her head and ripped the needles from her hands. 

 The wind increased in speed and decreased in temperature as it got wilder and wilder. 

 The Queen became more and more frightened until the wind suddenly stopped, as did it seem everything else did as well.

 The Queen was the only one moving, or could move it seemed. 

 She looked around to her guards, frozen on the spot. She looked up the side of the great stone castle into the window and saw her husband, the King, frozen beside a map.

 The Queen’s brow furrowed. 

 Then there was a flash of light.

 Standing before the Queen was a woman, who was dirty and had eyes as black as coal and curly hazelnut hair.

 She had somehow either gotten past the guards while they had been unfrozen, or was the cause of them being frozen, and seeing as how she was the only one who could move besides the Queen, the Queen guessed that it was the latter.

 “Who are you?” the Queen asked in a calm voice, her hand subconsciously going to her stomach.

 The woman smiled.

 “I am a friend.” she said with a slight lilting accent that the queen couldn’t identify.

 “What are you doing here?” the Queen asked.

 The woman’s smile broadened, but there was a cruel glint in her eyes which made the Queen question if what the women had said was true.

 “Is it true that you want your daughter to look as you just said?” she asked.

 The Queen internally debated. This could be a fairy coming to grant her request. Or it could be something else…something more sinister. But the Queen wanted her daughter to be the fairest girl in the land, perhaps the entire world. 

 She nodded.

 “Say it.” the women simply replied.

 “I wish for my daughter to have hair as black as ebony, skin as pale as snow, and lips as red as blood.” The Queen said.

 Suddenly everyone unfroze and when the guards ran over they saw the Queen in labor. A month early.

 A healthy baby girl was born, though she was a bit small. And the baby girl did have hair a midnight black, her skin was the palest white anyone has ever seen, and her lips were the color of rubies. 

 But she was born with two unexpected traits as well. 

 The first were blood red irises. And the second were fangs.

 The Queen died quickly after birth, and with her last breath she said “Name her Icelyn, after the snow she was born in.” 

 The King did so, and decided no one in the Kingdom was to know of Icelyn’s fangs, save for the castle staff. 

 Quickly after the death of the Queen, the King remarried. 

 The new Queen was a thirty year old woman with a lilting accent, brown hair, and black eyes. 

 Soon thereafter the King disappeared, leaving the new Queen in charge of Icelyn and the Kingdom.

Chapter One-Fourteen Years Later

 Icelyn Light rolled out of her bed falling onto the stone floor of her room.

 “I’m sorry Princess Icelyn but your mother told us to come wake you up.” her servant, Monica Schur, said.

 “Step-Mother.” Icelyn growled as she got up. 

 “Why does she want me up so early anyway? It’s still daylight.” she snarled.

 “I don’t know nor do I care. Now stop baring your teeth at me.” Monica said.

 Icelyn loved how Monica talked to her. Like she wasn’t scared. 

 Monica had always been with her, so it wouldn’t make sense for her to be scared of Icelyn. The same couldn’t be said for everyone.

 “Are you excited for the Choosing, Princess?” Monica asked.

 Icelyn glared at her. 

 “Oh right, I forgot your stance on the Choosing. Though I’m not sure why you’re so against it.” Monica said.

 If only she knew what actually happens to those people who get chosen. It made Icelyn sick.

 “You know a lot of my friends think that the Choosing is rigged.” Monica kept talking, telling a story of how her friends thought that it was rigged.

 If only she knew how rigged it actually was. Why only rich or powerful or beautiful people got chosen. Chosen. As if it was some big honor and not them getting sent to the slaughter.

 “But I said that the Queen would never do that to us a-” Monica realized her mistake to late.

 “What did you just call my step-mother?” Icelyn demanded.

 “I said Queen.” Monica said smoothly, clearly tired of this debate after having it so many times.

 “She is not the Queen. My Mother was the Queen. She’s just standing in until I can take the throne.” Icelyn said.

 “Yes, but she married the King back when he was still alive, doesn’t that make her the Queen?” Monica asked.

 “No. Being a Queen means taking care of the people, caring about them. She does neither.” Icelyn said. 

 “Whatever you say…” 

 Icelyn knew Monica didn’t agree with her. But she didn’t particularly care. Icelyn spoke the truth

 Icelyn crossed the room to her mini ice-chest and pulled out a packet. Inside was a crimson liquid.

 Monica went green.

 “Um… if you don’t mind Princess, I’m going to leave.” Monica said.

 Icelyn waved her hand in dismissal. 

 She sat on her queen-size bed cloaked in black silk and sucked the liquid out of the plastic package. It tasted so good. 

 Icelyn closed her eyes and let out a moan. 

 Someone knocked on her door.

 She took the half-drained package out of her mouth and wiped her lips.

 “Enter.” she said.

A short pot-bellied man walked in. He was dressed in extravagant clothes and even though Icelyn had never seen him before she was almost certain that he worked for her step-mother. His eyes flicked from the packet in her hand to her face his eyes growing in fear. “What do you need?” she asked, boredom lacing her voice. “I-Um… The Queen has sent for you.” he said. “She has a visitor and she wants you there to greet him. She wants you down in thirty minutes.” Icelyn growled and the man ran out of her room. “Why do I need to be there? She’s perfectly capable of greeting her own damn guests.” Icelyn grumbled to herself. She walked to her closet and threw open the door. Then she groaned. She had forgotten that her step-mother had confiscated her dark and simple clothes because they weren’t “ladylike.” Icelyn picked out an extremely frilly lavender dress and slipped it on. It had so many ruffles that it wasn’t even funny. She looked herself over in the mirror. She looked awful in that color, and the shape of the dress was extremely unflattering. Good. It would show her step-mother that she didn’t want to be there. She slipped on black flats and walked out of her rooms downing the rest of the contents of the plastic package. She threw it out as she walked into the overly garish throne room. Everything was gold. Everything. And it was so polished that Icelyn could’ve seen her reflection in the golden floor-if she had a reflection that is. And there, at the far end of the room was her step-mother sitting in a gold throne that she didn’t belong in. Her step-mother was a harsh looking women that had curly chestnut hair and black irises. She was currently dresses in robes of a deep red, almost the color of the substance Icelyn had just drank. The only thing with any color was Icelyn’s own throne, made of black stone. It was set to the left of her step-mother’s. Icelyn strode toward it with an easy grace, allowing her step-mother to look over her. “You look awful.” her step-mother said. “Good morning to you too.” Icelyn replied. “Honestly Icelyn, I took away your preferred clothes so that you would look more presentable but this… What is this abominable outfit?” she asked. “I woke up early for this. You’re lucky I didn’t wear a neon green skirt with a bright pink blouse.” Icelyn replied. “Besides, at least I don’t look like a vampire.” “What did you just say?” her step-mother hissed. “I said, at least I don’t look like a vampire.” “I told you never to say that word again.” she said. “Why? Are you ashamed?” Icelyn asked. She rolled her eyes when her step-mother didn’t reply. She picked up the hand mirror on the arm of her step-mother’s throne.

It looked ridiculous. The frame was made of gold, just like everything in this awful room. Icelyn looked into the glass, not seeing anything. “Put that down.” her step-mother said in a quiet, but not at all gentle voice. “Well I wouldn’t have picked it up if I knew what we were waiting for. Or should I say who?” Icelyn said. Her step-mother’s harsh face morphed into something like a smile. “Ah yes… I haven’t told you why you’re here, have I?” she asked. “No, you were to busy criticizing my fashion choices.” Icelyn replied. “Well, our court is getting a new huntsman.” her step-mother said, and though she said it calmly Icelyn could see the barely controlled excitement in her step-mother’s voice. “What happened to the last one?” Icelyn asked. She had liked him. He wasn’t afraid of her, but unlike Monica it wasn’t because she grew up with him. It was because he had always said that he could handle her if she ever attacked, but he knew she wouldn’t, and after he had always winked so she knew he was joking. “Oh, he’s gone.” her step-mother said with a wave of her hand. Icelyn wasn’t sure what she meant by ‘gone.’ That could be interpreted as a various number of things, all of which weren’t very good. “Anyway, this one is supposed to be young, though how young I’m not sure. He was recommended to me by the captain of the guard. They say he’s good with a number of blades as well as a bow.” her step-mother mused. “What’s his name?” Icelyn asked. “Why, Icelyn, are you taking an interest to what goes on in this court?” her step-mother asked. Icelyn gaped. What was that supposed to mean? She always monitored what the court was like, and if they were anything like her step-mother. Using the power to her own advantage. How dare she imply that Icelyn didn’t care who was in the court-her court. “What do you mean taking an interest?” she asked. “Well it’s just you never talk to me about any of the court members, so I just assumed you didn’t care.” her step-mother said with innocence, but she saw the slight glint in her step-mother’s eye. She knew that she was getting under Icelyn’s skin. “Oh you just reminded me! Are you excited about the Choosing?” her step-mother asked. “Excuse me?” Icelyn asked. She wasn’t sure how any of what was just said would remind her step-mother about the Choosing. “I asked if you were excited for the Choosing. Are you deaf? Do you need to clean your ears?” her step-mother snapped. “No.” “Well than answer my question.” “No, I am not excited for the Choosing.” “Why? Without it your precious supply of blood would go out. You would die. And imagine all the people who would be so sad. They might try to overthrow me, heaven forbid.” her step-mother said, with a forced laugh. There it was. The reason for the whole entire Choosing. Icelyn needed the blood, and her step-mother couldn’t afford to lose Icelyn. Because while some people were loyal to Icelyn’s step-mother, more people were loyal to her. But having the Choosing, having someone be honored to be chosen right up until the moment they were killed. It just seemed inhumane. A lot of the time Icelyn wished her step-mother would just let her die. A lot of times she thought that being dead would be better than being her step-mother’s puppet. But then she had to remind herself that if she were dead who would take the throne when her step-mother died? She had to constantly tell herself that when she ruled it would be different. The blasting of trumpets broke her from her thoughts. “Patrick Lauritson of the village of Vitalora.” He was here. She felt her back straightening, her mouth twisting into a calm smile. Her Princess mode as she often called it, or her Puppet mode. When I lead it will be different.

***

So I don't know if this is good or not, but I'll continue writing this if you guys like it! :) It's come to my attention that it may be like some other books out there but I like it so if you do too I'd love to hear it!

Bye Sincerely

Danielle Jones