Chapter 1
A hurricane is a huge, rotating storm spawned over the ocean in all its howling winds and torrential downpours. It moves inexorably across the surface of the water, heading inland, gaining momentum and terrifying power before making landfall. Once upon land, it wreaks a horrible path of destruction, spending its energy and leaving a path of devastation in its wake.
In the center is an eye. An eerie space of calm, dead air, surrounded by the whirling evidence of the darkest side of nature's awesome power.
Funny how Mother Nature's forbidding and dangerous energy can reflect in the everyday of living.
Surprising how the eye of a hurricane can last seconds, minutes, years, or lifetimes until the edge runs over, unexpectedly, out of nowhere to obliterate the current events and force change.
Kityana woke from her dream of a storm raging around her, dark gray clouds blowing in violent circles, and she trapped in the eye. She blew out a hard breath, shoving her ink black hair out of eyes the color of crushed violets, filled right now with the appalling dregs of the dream. The lack of a neat braid falling down her back in a rope as thick as her wrist spoke loudly of a restless night chased by these ominous dreams.
Kityana took a minute, sucking in large lungsful of air, as silently as she could. She struggled, fighting to even out her breathing. A conscious thought had her hands releasing the white knuckled grip she had on the soft, black, and gray duvet that draped her from her waist to her toes, leaving her torso covered only in her thin halter bra, tanned skin beaded in fear sweat.
Stupid, she snapped at herself. She couldn't even remember the dreams, just the storm, the eye, the feeling of everything flying out of her control. Not that she had much control over anything in her life. Just what she thought inside her own head. And sometimes even then she wondered how much control of her thoughts she had versus how much she thought because someone else planted an idea there.
Her bead drapes snapped open and Esme, her maid stood outlined in light.
"Princess Kityana." Her voice held a light coating of disdain, the same tone everyone else used when they spoke to her. "It's long past morning. Your Lady Mother wants to see you at afternoon tea."
"How long?" Kityana rasped, her voice hoarse.
"You have an hour." Esme's voice was cruel, her proper smile holding a malicious edge.
Nodding, accepting, Kityana crawled out of her bed and staggered to the shower. Esme sat, basking in the sunlight that filtered in through the unbreakable glass of Kityana's room, not offering to help her get ready or perform any of the duties she should as a maid.
Kityana dressed in a professional suit, long black pants in a stretchy material, shimmering silver long sleeved top made from a breathable fabric, light blazer. She wore dressy boots, the kind that skimmed up to mid-thigh. A quick brush ran through her hair and she coiled it into a tight chignon at the back of her head. Light makeup covered up her rough night of sleep, evening her skin tone. Mascara made her eyes look more awake and added shimmer to eyes that had darkened from crushed violet to a deeper, almost black purple. Her eyes had always been the windows to her soul and showed her changing moods.
"Let's go, Esme." She motioned for her and stepped to the door.
"You're wearing that to an audience with the Queen?" Esme sneered at her.
Kityana paused in front of the door, smoothing her face to neutral with effort. "My Lady Mother may have hired you, but you are still a maid here. I'm sure I can convince her to assign another spy to me." She turned to meet Esme's narrowed brown eyes and reached to open the door. "Keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to me, or you'll find yourself turned out with no references."
Her face went soft and sad, a little frightened and Kityana felt the presence of her bodyguards at her back. Great, now they think worse of me, if that was at all possible. Kityana suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, keeping my face cold and neutral. Esme sure knew how to play to an audience. Unable to properly flounce, missing the flowing dress to add huff to her movements, Kityana swept out, the guards and Esme trailing her.
Her boots rang on the tiled floor as she strode purposefully down the hallway, face blank, shoulder back, chin raised. Her rooms were as far away from the palace proper as her mother could get her, hiding her away like a dirty secret. An ill-kept dirty secret. Everyone knew Queen Cherylin despised Kityana, her youngest daughter, a worthless, airheaded girl who only traveled around and spent her inheritance.
Kityana studied that thought, as she always did when she walked to an audience with her mother. She always wondered why her mother didn't just flush her as a fetus. Unless it was to grow up as the public and personal punching bag for the royal family? Her father, a Duke had been sent away while Kityana was still in womb. Cherylin had had a choice and had chosen to keep her youngest.
Kityana broke out of her thoughts as her party stopped in front of the metal door, sheathed in a thin layer of faux wood, that would allow them into the Queen's presence. The leader of the squad, Sergeant O'Brien, stepped forward to pass her care from the Copper squad to the watchful eyes of the Gold and Platinum squads, their presence telling her that not only was Her Majesty inside, but the Prince as well. The absence of anyone from Silver squad told her neither of the twin Princesses were present.
She chewed her lip, breathing slowly and deeply, focusing herself down to a single point, gathering her mind and emotions in until Kityana didn't exist, until only a shell remained. It was the only way to survive the coming confrontation. Her face hardened minutely; her eyes emptied out. Her shoulders and spine stretched into a long, straight line that would have been imposing on anyone else but didn't do much for her diminutive height. Her joints loosened and she breathed one last deep breath in, then released it silently.
Pulling herself in had taken a minute and everyone was staring at her, distaste written clearly across their faces. They saw a spoiled girl, making her mother wait. None saw the damage Kityana's mother had inflicted over the course of her life, they only saw the mask she donned to survive.
"When you're ready, ma'am." The Gold squad leader indicated the door.
Kityana let her chin dip into a distant nod, looking not at the soldier's face, instead, focusing on a single point above her head. A light sneer curled the guard's lip, there and gone before anyone but Kityana noticed it, as she opened the door.