Unlikely Queen (Crystal Castle 1)

We stop within a few yards of the wooden entry and our protection orb wobbles under the strain of the witch’s spell over the castle. The angel leading the way knocks on the door, then steps back into formation and waits. A few heartbeats later, the giant wooden doors creaks open and we are bathed in bright light.

“Move, witches,” an angel behind us barks.

Tatiana casts me a worried look, and I’m sure my expression mirrors hers. Squeezing my hand tighter until it hurts, we cross the threshold and watch the blue orb quiver one last time before completely dissolving.

We are defenseless, and I swear Tatiana’s shoulders sag in defeat. Our magic could not overthrow the queen, but if we leave here unscathed or even make it back out the door, we will consider ourselves fornunate.

Inside is a vastly different story from the outside. It isn’t old. It isn’t intimidating. Instead, everything is pristine white, from the walls to the furniture. Ornate urns dot the perimeter, and traditional Baroque paintings grace the walls. An exquisite chandelier hangs over the middle of the ballroom, casting a golden glow on everything that surrounds us. Compared to how the rest of the wards live, it’s clear how our exorbitant rent payments are being used.

We are marched farther into the room and are stopped just shy of a single lounge chair. It’s then we see her. Tanya is on her knees, her hands tied tightly behind her back, keeping her still and upright. Her hair is tousled and her face reddened. She looks fearful when her eyes meet mine, instantly rousing the pit of dread in my stomach. Once hopeful we could rescue her, those thoughts are now dashed.

Tatiana, consumed with a desperate need to get to our sister, struggles against the ropes tying her to the angel. Fed up with her futile attempts, the angel yanks on the rope, sending Tatiana hurtling backward. His action looks subtle, but with an angel’s strength, it packs a punch. My sister lands harshly on her backside, groaning upon impact.

“That really wasn’t necessary,” I snap, bending down to help Tatiana to her feet.

“It’s real simple,” the angel snarls, “she’s tied to me for a reason. And that reason is not to run off.”

Releasing my sister, I square off with the brutish-looking angel. “We haven’t done anything wrong. Therefore we are not your prisoners!”

He smiles cruelly and with loathing. “Sure looks like you are to me.”

“Let them go to their sister,” a familiar voice orders from behind.

I watch the smile fade from the angel’s face, his grip tightening on the rope.

I turn to Bronik, whose jaw is set like stone. “Thank you,” I offer, but he says nothing.

With a shove to the back, the angel steers Tatiana toward Tanya. I follow, eager to get us all together. As if to taunt her, the angel restrains her when she’s only a yard away, preventing Tatiana from consoling our sister.

“Let me go,” she hisses, lashing out behind her, and I hear the angel’s laugh before he releases the rope. Tanya begins to cry when we both fall to our knees beside her.

“I’m so sorry,” she begins between sobs. “I tried to run.”

Tatiana’s face softens and she smiles weakly. She wants to offer her comfort, but it isn’t the time nor place. What matters is that we are all together, and we’ll face this as one.

“That’s enough,” the angel orders before pulling Tatiana to her feet.

She has reached her boiling point and spins to face him, lifting up onto her toes to get closer to his face. “What. Is. Your. Problem?” she seethes.

Again, we see that wicked smile, then his eyes flick to something behind us. “She is your problem.”

We don’t need to look to know why the hairs on our arms are standing on end. We don’t need to look to know the reason for the air around us to have suddenly gone chilling.

“Tatiana,” a sing-song voice sounds.

We slowly turn in unison as the queen enters the hall. “Always a pleasure to see you,” she croons with obviously false sincerity. She is dressed in an exquisite, red floor-length gown that flows behind her in silken waves. It reminds me of a pool of blood. Like a typical queen, she wears a crown, but it isn’t made out of gold and colorful jewels. This one is made out of a circle of rare flowers favored by witches. She walks strong and confident, unfazed by the ropes and tears. There is not even one solicitous glance spared our way as she takes a seat on the pristine white chair in front of us.

“Likewise, my queen,” Tatiana says through a smile, yet her teeth are bared. “Can I ask the meaning of you holding us here?”

The queen casts a slow eye over all of us before landing on me. She studies. Watches. Our stares are locked, and I wonder what is going through her pretty head. Most of the world is in fear of her, and maybe a small part of us is as well. But deep down, she is the same witch we grew up with, the one my sister taught a few spells to. So, if I was asked if her stare, the one boring into me right now, is intimatding, I would tell you no. Not in the slightest. Her mouth stays closed, then, finally, she breaks the hold and turns back to Tatiana. “You all look so much alike, yet so different. I forgot that.” She talks like she’s chiding herself. And then, so abruptly it’s unnerving, her expression changes. It darkens. All familiarity is lost. A friendship that survived years is now forgotten. She stands strong and tall, eyes blazing in accusation as she locks eyes with my sister, Tatiana. “Don’t you think you have harbored her long enough, Tatiana?”