The Crown

The capital of Varnholt was screaming with joy. Outside the palace walls, drums beat, wine merchants shouted, "Free drink for the King!", children waved black and gold flags. Inside the palace walls, it was cold.

Amias stood alone by the balcony of his bedroom, looking down at the kingdom below, the heavy crown sitting crooked on his short hair.

“They seem very happy,” he said out loud to the air, letting out a sigh.

“And you don’t seem pleased by it,” Caelum said as he joined him at the balcony, placing his hand on the balustrade.

“Isn't it written all over my face?” Amias asked.

“Even a smile can’t hide the worry in your eyes. Caelum said.

Amias let out a sigh, “Have you looked into the Drakharns?”

“I didn’t want to inform you until the celebration was over, but last night near the valley, three of the villages in the Ravenmoor territory were burnt. The Drakharns left their sigil at the gates,” Caelum said.

“They are getting much bolder.”

“That’s not all. We have word that Vaelor Drayke was seen entering the capital. If I’m not mistaken, he should already be here,” Caelum continued.

The weight of duty suddenly felt heavier on Amias’s head. He lowered his gaze.

“He’s here for his cousin, Lord Cedric and my sister's engagement feast tomorrow,” Amias said, “I doubt he is here for peace, which is why I’m against the marriage between us and the Drakharns.”

“Then we stop it.”

“Mother is against it. Even now that I’m King, I can’t change what’s already been decided. I have to figure out a way to stop this marriage.” Amias clenched his hand tightly, “Those beasts only know how to destroy, and that is all they know. I’m sick of them.”

The door opened, and the Dowager Queen joined them. She was still in her regalia. She didn’t bow to him. Rather, her head was raised even higher.

"Leave us," she told Caelum.

Caelum lowered his head in a bow and left.

She walked around Amias slowly, looking at the crown, at his royal regalia, at his face.

"They cheered for you today," she said. "Did you finally feel like a King?"

"I have always been their King." Amias responded, his jaw tightening.

"If you had stayed in the mountain, you wouldn’t have enjoyed this privilege you have now, so cherish it." Dowager Queen stopped beside him. "Vaelor Drayke is coming tonight."

"I heard."

“Men like him... I mean beasts like himself would rather frequent a brothel for enjoyment rather than sit in a tavern drinking alone. So I believe he should be drunk... vulnerable.” Dowager Queen looked at him. Amias squinted, trying to understand where she was going with this.

Dowager Queen smiled as she reached for his face, but it wasn’t a motherly smile. “You would make the perfect disguise, rather than Caelum. He would cause havoc. You, on the other hand, would go unnoticed.”

Amias frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

"I am saying you have a face no one knows." Her voice dropped. "Not as Amias. As what you were before."

Amias stepped back. "No."

“No as in you won’t do what I ask, or no as in you are scared? I hope you haven’t forgotten. Beneath the crown, the royal robes, you were once a girl. Azubah.” She said coldly.

Amias stilled once she heard her name again after so many years. She hadn’t forgotten, only learned to accept she would never be that girl again, who was once happy with her mother and lived on the mountain expecting nothing.

“A makeover, a veil, and a dress will surely bring out the real you. No one will recognize the King if his hair is let down. You shall go to the Gilded Lily tonight, and while you are there, you shall listen. Find out what he truly wants with this marriage alliance, after which, you come back.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“This is not your decision to make, Amias. There is no choice,”

“It’s been years since I dressed like a woman, I refuse to wear a dress and become Azubah again.”

"And you will not after tonight." She gripped his chin, hard, the way she did when he was seven. "If Vaelor wants war, he will surely reveal it while drunk. This is how we keep Varnholt alive. This is how you keep your sister from being married to one of those monsters, unless you want continuous bloodshed."

She pulled her hand away from Amias's chin, so hard it almost hurt.

She clapped both her hands as she turned to the door.

The old midwife, Zeta, entered carrying a folded bundle of servant clothes, a corset and a wig.

Zeta bowed to the king. She avoided his gaze while placing it on the bed.

"We have an hour until it gets dark," the Dowager Queen said. "There will be a carriage at the side gate to take you to the Gilded Lily. If anyone asks about the king, I shall tell them that the king is resting and shouldn’t be disturbed. While you are there, you are only allowed to listen. Don’t let anyone touch you. Do you understand?"

Amias stared at the dress. His chest was beating so loud he was sure they could hear it.

"And if he recognizes me?" he whispered. “Aren’t you worried about that? That is your secret.”

“You are going there as a servant, not as a harlot for him. He will barely notice you. Keep your head down, do your work, and make certain he never gets close enough to recognize you.”

She left, ordering the guards at the other side of the door not to let anyone in, that the king is resting.

He was left alone with Zeta. Neither said anything to each other. Zeta still looked down as she slowly picked up the dress from the bed. Her hands were wrinkled and shaking as she got closer to him.

“Take off your tunic, my king,” she said softly.

Amias did as he was told. He stood in front of the mirror in his linen undershirt.

Zeta stepped behind him. “May I?”

Amias nodded once.

For fourteen years, his breast had been bound flat with tight linen. He still recalled the Dowager Queen yelling, “Tighter,” with each turn. It was so tight he had learned to breathe shallowly. Zeta’s wrinkled hands worked it loose until Amias could finally breathe freely.

It fell to the ground.

Zeta quickly draped the servant dress over him before he could cover himself. The rough wool made his body itch, but he endured it without complaint. She then fixed the wig on his head, using a brush to straighten the strands.

“You are ready, my king.”

Amias touched the long strands of hair falling over his shoulder.

For the first time in fourteen years, Azubah stared back at him from the mirror. Only this time, he's forgotten how to be her.