The Princess Who Wore Her Face

Ariana's voice trembled unexpectedly. 'Y-Yes. I am.'

The stranger's smile widened into a thin line. 'Then prove it. Tell me something that only I would know. A secret.'

Ariana's words tumbled out, as if she had been waiting to get them out since she had arrived in the castle. 'You sleep with the window open on rainy nights. You have the blue ribbon from your seventh birthday hidden in the bottom drawer of your study. When sleep will not come at night, you count the horses in the stables of the royal palace, beginning with the black mare that threw you.'

A heavy silence followed. Footsteps sounded in the corridor, then quickened and disappeared. The men posted in the antechamber shifted uneasily.

The princess's skin had gone ashen, then flame-red with some violent emotion. Her rouged mouth opened in an almost frightened gasp, but then her expression altered, to something colder and more menacing. 'How dare you?'

The slap came so fast Ariana's head snapped sideways. Heat bloomed across her cheek before her vision blurred and she stumbled, regaining her balance with a wince as the pain throbbed in her temple.

'A lowly maid,' the princess hissed, 'what gave you the power to imagine such ridiculous lies?'

Ariana shot the princess a glare through the pain. The sting of her cheek was nothing compared to the hot anger in her chest. 'I am not lying! Everything I said was the truth!'

'Then I shall report you to father. He knows exactly what to do with servants that forget their place.'

Ariana gaped at the woman, her heart hammering. 'Father? You mean King Myde?'

'Obviously.'

'No, no, no, that can't be. He's supposed to be dead.'

The princess looked as if she would swallow Ariana whole. 'What. Did. You. Just. Say?'

'Yes! He's supposed to be dead. I vividly remember he died last year and-'

'Insolent trash!' The second slap came, and this time Ariana's head snapped the other way. A trickle of blood slid down her chin as her vision swam. Then she forced herself to steady her breath and concentrate on the princess.

'Do you dare wish death upon your monarch? You must be dying to receive a good beating. Guards, take her. She is to be given twenty lashes for daring to speak ill of the king and lying about being the Imperial princess. Then she will be imprisoned in the dungeon until she learns some decorum. If she continues her impertinent behaviour, you are to use the iron-tipped whip.'

'She is the Imperial princess!' the guards shouted in unison.

'What do you mean she is?' the princess snapped.

'She is the daughter of the King. She was born last year during the winter solstice and-'

'Enough!'

The guards closed in with a shout, gripping her arms. 'Please, please, no-'

'What are you talking about?' the princess hissed. 'You are not the Imperial princess. My father is dead. Do not lie to me!'

'I'm not lying, I-'

'Insolent little minx. Guards, take her to the dungeon!'

A shout. A thud. Then, a sharp gasp as pain bloomed in her side.

'Please-'

A hand gripped her mouth. A sharp pain shot up her arm, then slowly, the world around her swam into focus. She looked around dazedly, taking in her surroundings; the rough stone floor, the bars on the ceiling, the iron ring attached to the wall. The dungeon. A sick feeling grew in her stomach as she took in the sight of the iron rod running vertically from the ceiling and embedded in the floor. She knew that place. She had stood at that crossbar, arms folded, watching trembling servants whimper and plead as she ordered them to be beaten.

She had never imagined seeing the other side of it.

'Wait, please stop-'

The guard shoved her bodily into the crossbar. 'Be silent.'

They gripped her arms and forced them up until her wrists were level with the iron rings. A thick rope was looped around her wrists and then pulled taut, the rough texture biting into her tender skin. Then, with a grunt, they tore off her top and her ribs were exposed to the cool air of the dungeon. She swallowed hard, forcing her shoulders back, but nothing could stop the shame curling inside her. Then her legs buckled and the ropes bit into her wrists.

She was the one who gave the orders. She watched as others flogged and cursed and cried. Not her.

Something inside her screamed in protest.

A thick hand came down across her shoulders. A scream tore from her throat as she flinched. White-hot pain shot through her as another strike landed and then a third. She tried to catch her breath but a fourth strike took it from her. Then a fifth- she couldn't count. Her tears fell freely as she buckled and the ropes bit into her skin. 'Please-'

Ariana squeezed her eyes shut. Twenty. She had ordered this punishment more times than she could count and yet she had never flinched at the sight of another servant receiving it. Twenty. She had seen servants die from this. She had watched them whimper and whine as they begged for mercy. She had never paused to consider what it felt like from the other side. Five. Six. Seven.

She counted until she was sobbing against the pole, until the pain no longer registered in her body, until the punishment stopped.

For the first time in her life, Ariana had no power. She could not order these guards to stop. She could not threaten them. No one was beneath her and no one was above her. Only the rope and the lash and the knowledge that she was powerless.

She could feel eyes on her. Probably the princess.

The scene morphed to the face of the old woman from Greenridge. Her hands gripping her dress. 'Please Your Majesty, don't take my son away. He's all I have-'

Ariana had ripped her dress free and ordered the guards to take the woman away as well. 'I wish you knew what it is to have nothing.'

Another strike. To be helpless. To be cast aside-

Ariana's fingers twitched against the rope. Then the world went dark. She had never felt such despair, such helplessness. Was she dead? Then she heard it. Crying.

'Ariana turned.'

The old woman from Greenridge stood before her. Her silver curls loosened, streaked with dirt and tears. She held a corpse, Regan, to her chest.

'What-'

'You took my son.'

'He broke the law, he didn't pay his due-'

'We had nothing-'

'He should've found a way." The words spat out.

Cruel. As always.

The picture morphed to show Greenridge, the cracked earth, the fields. Children cowering, Regan begging. Ariana turning away. Guards lifting Regan, his mother on her knees. 'Take her too.'

Ariana stepped back. 'No.'

The scene morphed again, this time to Elena, crying. The tea tray lay on the floor. Ariana's hand striking her. Two times.

Again, Ariana saw servants kneeling, prisoners whimpering, villagers pleading. Every time, Ariana chose power over mercy. 'Stop.'

The old woman was behind her. 'Why?'

'Because I know what I did.' The words choked out.

'You know?' the old woman asked. 'You saw their tears, you heard their pleas but you never stopped to listen because you don't know what it feels like to beg.'

Ariana's mouth opened, but no words came out. She remembered the pain. The rope, the whip, her screams. She knew what it felt like.

'I was wrong.'

The old woman did not reply. 'Change.'

'Change what?'

'The girl that is becoming you.' The old woman's gaze met Ariana's. 'What?'

The scene morphed to Ariana's palace. King Myde was alive and well, roaming the castle halls, and beside him, was her. Not her. A younger Ariana. Beautiful. Proud. Angry. Scary.

"That's me."

"Not yet," the old woman said. "She hasn't become you."

Ariana watched as the young Ariana repeated the mistakes she had made. Cruel words. Punishments. Refusing mercy. A mirror of her childhood.

"That's not fair!" Ariana's stomach twisted in knots. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because you want to go home don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then change her."

"How?"

"Teach her what you failed to learn. Mercy, compassion. What it feels like to be weak."

Tears burned in Ariana's eyes, "But will that be possible, I mean what if she refuses?"

"Then you stay here."

"For how long?"

"Until she changes."

"What? But that's not fair."

"Neither were you when you refused to listen to the people you were supposed to rule." Ariana flinched. "Change who she is becoming and everything will go back to how it was." The darkness was swallowing the old woman. "Wait."

The old woman's voice echoed, 'Remember this Ariana Ophelia. The only way home is through her.' A scream tore from Ariana's lips.

Pain shot through her body the moment she opened her eyes. Her back, her wrists, her cheek. The cold floor. The dungeon. She tried to sit up but curled in on herself, moaning as the rough cloak brushed her tender skin.

The only way home is through her.

Somewhere in this world, the woman with her face was still issuing orders. Still punishing. Still becoming everything Ariana had once been.

And if the old woman was right, there was only one way home. Ariana had to change the woman who wore her face.