Page 4 of Waking Roslyn

“Some people believe so strongly that you are unworthy, that I fear they may try to take your life.”

There was a buzzing in my head that was making everything fuzzy. I could feel it in my temples and along my jaw as I tried to line up all the words they had said and force them to make sense. “Just because mother wasn’t nobility when you married her?” I asked.

He gave a nod, his nostrils flared. “Some people’s prejudice runs deep.”

“Who?” I demanded as a simmering rage rose up inside my small body. The thought of anyone forcing me away from my home filled me with such righteous indignation that, in my thirteen-year-old mind, it almost pushed out the terror of hearing that someone wanted me dead. “Who is it? Is it the king? Is it the lawmakers?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“The earls.”

The rage that had animated my movements suddenly washed out of me in one great wave, leaving me cold and unsteady. “The earls?” My father’s cousins. My mind churned, trying to make sense of it. “Because if I were to die, then the crown would pass to Lord Malladon.”

“Yes.”

It made sense, at least in a strictly factual way. I just didn’t understand why they made me suffer for it.

“The earls want me dead?” I asked in a whisper.

My mother nodded. Though her face was fierce and confident, a slow stream of tears ran down her cheeks. “Their dislike of you seems to have only grown in the last few years, since so many members of the royal family have perished.”

“Is that why their children treat me the way they do?” Pushing me into fountains. Twisting my arm. Locking me in closets.

She nodded. “I think the earls taught their children not to accept you.”

I pulled my hand from hers, as if I’d been burned. “But...” My eyes darted from her to my father and back again. “They don’t truly want to hurt me. They tease, but…” That’s what everyone had always told me. Our fathers were cousins. We were family. Everett and Neil and Nina and all their siblings were just immature. They teased. They were playing. Sometimes they scared me or hurt me, and I hated it, but I put up with it because my parents and every other adult had excused it. I’d accepted it as just the way it would always be, and I’d done my best to make myself smaller in the hopes that they wouldn’t be bothered by me.

“That’s what we believed.” She reached for me again, pulling me back into her protective embrace. “It’s what we wanted to be true. And maybe those children really are teasing. But their fathers…I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Malladon and Ravenna—we’re afraid of what they might do to ensure that the throne never falls to you.”

“How do you know they want to hurt me?”

“The queen sent one of her guards to warn us.”

My brow furrowed. “If the queen knows, then why doesn’t she do something about it?”

“They don’t talk about it outright. They use code words so as not to incriminate themselves. They speak about ‘cutting the thorns from the rose.’ The queen and her guards are certain they’re talking about you, but they can’t prove it. Not yet. There’s no fixed plan in place, it’s just rantings and what-ifs.”

A tear slid down my face, even as my mother’s arms tightened around me. I was trembling, my mind churning but unable to hold on to any reason or logic.

“Why do they hate me?” I whispered.

My father scooted closer and grabbed my hand. “They hate the power you hold, but they don’t hate who you really are,” he said as if that should be some sort of consolation.

I shot to my feet, pulling away from both of my parents. “What difference does it make?” I asked, tears rolling down my cheeks. “They want me dead!”

“It’s despicable, I know,” he said, his lips pressed so tightly that they were turning white. His jaw clenched and his hands shook. “It’s not right and it’s not fair and you don’t deserve any of it. But it is happening, and we must act to protect you,” he said.

I turned to my mother. “So I have to go?”

She stood and came to me, cupping her hands over my cheeks. She looked to my father, then closed her eyes in resignation. “I think it’s best.”

“But…I’m not—” I shook my head viciously, hating the tears that crowded my eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” I sobbed.

“I know, Rosie,” she said, kissing my forehead. “I know. This is not your fault and you should not carry this burden, but we can’t control the greed of others.”

“So…do I have to leave forever?”

“No, of course not!” she said, and then I watched her face fall. “At least, I hope not.”

“You hope?” That was the only assurance she could give me? Hope? “You mean I might never come back?”