Prologue
The darkness of the halls threatened to swallow Kerry as she ran through the endless maze. The shadows nipped at the edge of her silk gown. The familiar walls turned to shades of gray and then black. It was the blackness that terrified Kerry the most. She grew up roaming the vast collection of passages and corridors in the family home, Kerry knew them like the back of her hand, but nothing seemed the same in the darkness.
Her life didn’t seem the same. A life that people envied. A life that people would and had killed for if her ancestry was any indication. But in the last two years, her world was no longer her own. Of course, if Kerry wanted to admit it, her life had never been her own. She was trapped. Trapped in duties, responsibilities, and tradition.
Just as a glimmer of light pulled her from the obscureness of the dark pathway, Kerry felt herself tugged backward by an invisible force. She reached outward toward the glow, her fingers aching as they stretched out to the light, the sound of her heels scratching against the marble floors, screeching in harmony with her screams.
Her throat ached as a metallic taste pooled in her mouth. It was too much. She couldn’t fight against the force any longer and found her body giving up just as the light morphed into a familiar shine of gold with radiant gems beaming in the light. The grip around her waist released, leaving Kerry’s lungs heaving for air.
Kerry turned from the light without a second thought and dashed into the blackness, allowing the shadows to consume her whole.
“Karolyna!” a deep voice called out, bringing Kerry back into the moment.
She jerked her head violently, knowing that her father was on a war path. She had been disappointing them for years and today seemed to be the last straw.
“Sorry, father.”
“This is exactly what we’ve been talking about. Your head is always in the clouds at this most critical time.”
“I apologize, father. I was simply thinking about the charity event next week and what is left to be completed.” Kerry eyed her mother, quiet but stoic on her perch beside Kerry’s father. She hoped her mother would speak up, acknowledging the importance of the charity event they were co-hosting the following weekend, but as usual, she remained quiet. Kerry didn’t know why she expected anything less.
“I don’t give a damn about that charity event right now.”
If Kerry had been speaking with anyone else, she would have straightened in her chair and explained how this new charity, the first she was spear-heading, would lead their family in a new direction. A direction that showed the people of Lythembria that the royal family cared for their wellbeing, especially those with anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues. It was a cause that spoke deeply to Kerry after watching her grandmother’s deterioration from dementia.
But instead, she remained silent. Her father cared little for what she had to say. It had been that way for as long as she could remember. As King Armand of their small European country nestled between France, Belgium, and Luxembourg, her father ruled their country with an iron first; he ruled their family the same. As the eldest, she received the brunt of his anger and no-nonsense attitude. He didn’t even care that she seemed to break out into hives whenever she was within an arm’s reach of their centuries-old throne.
He was the ruler, and by the rouge creeping up from his neck to his receding hairline, she had disappointed him yet again.
“Karolyna! For our country’s sake, please pay attention!” he snarled, the irate voice echoing off the marble walls of his office where the three of them sat stoically in their finest garb. Her father was decked in his military suit from his time in the Army and her mother wore an elaborately beaded ball gown that, by Kerry’s assumption, weighed more than her mother’s small frame. Kerry herself wore a red silk dress by and up an coming designer that hugged every one of her small curves.
Placating her father, Kerry gesture with her hand for him to continue, “What is it you need to discuss?”
“I hear that you have turned down Lord Donoveaux’s request. . .again.”
She bit back a moan at the thought of that slimy weasel’s roaming hands and his propensity to find her at every event. She did not doubt that he was currently searching the ballroom at that very moment in search of her. The man that had the talent to make her vomit in her mouth whenever he spoke had it in his head that he should be her husband even though she had denied his advances more times than she could count.
“I have no desire to be betrothed to Lord Donoveaux. He sees me as nothing more than a shiny object. And frankly, the man disgusts me.”
“Karolyna, it’s almost your twenty-eighth birthday. You must find an eligible husband before ascending the throne,” her father tried to explain for the umpteenth time. It was the same story, a different day.
“You’re going to live forever, so what does it matter?” she joked to lighten the mood, but she could immediately see that her father wasn’t having any of it. “I understand the law, father, but I don’t see why it’s necessary for this day and age. Plenty of countries and kingdoms have abolished that rule. Why do we have to be any different?” Kerry questioned, trying to help her father see sense.
“Because it’s tradition!”
he snarled loudly. Kerry’s back immediately straightened and fear nipped at her nerves. Her father rarely raised his voice, choosing to speak to his family more diplomatically than with love or affection. “The point of this party tonight is to help you find a suitable husband before the coronation period begins, otherwise. . .”
“Otherwise, what? I abandon the crown?”