It was morning when I woke, a mere hour before I would leave my front door for the last time.
Today, we ran for our lives.
The hour passed under a crippling silence, and while the rest of my family members were rummaging through their things discreetly, I was already packed and waiting in another corner of my childhood home.
The inner city of Beaulieu where the family townhouse stood was true to its name. The sunshine was golden and pure, the gulls screeched from down by the pier and the palace of the noble family glittered magnificently against a backdrop of cerulean blue.
It was a warm September that should have warranted a swim. Instead, my clothes, a cotton nightgown and a dark cloak, were sticking uncomfortably to the surface of my damp skin. There was nothing more inconspicuous for me to change into, and I sat in my mother's room watching the sun rise out of the sea, dreading it with every resounding tick from the grandfather clock.
My mother had been beautiful. At least, that's what I always said in company; it was what people wanted to hear when they asked me about her.
′Oh, Seraphine was so young and so beautiful,′ friends of the family would echo, followed by the unavoidable, the inevitable: 'what a pity.′
Seraphine was my mother's name, and I think I heard it more after her death than I ever did when she was alive. It was as though my mother had died, but this Seraphine's death was more important. Her name was spoken amongst all the guests who shyed away from the three children 'Seraphine' had left behind. I had never seen so many family 'friends' clumped in our tiny receiving parlour. Nor did I cry as many false tears for Beautiful Seraphine as the courtiers, but at night and alone, I wept for my mother.
The room where she had lain for the last of her months was dusty and grey from disuse. A thick layer of dust covered every surface and the windows from which I looked out were murky with grime.
This wasn't really my mother's room. Her place had always been with Papa, or in the drawing room downstairs where she liked to embroider and tell stories.
The room had been forced upon my mother’s memory because it was the last place she had been seen alive. Coughing and sputtering strange feverish words, she had sat in bed, the covers pulled up to her neck as a sickness ravaged her mind and body.
Mid-remembrance I heard my eldest sister, Régine calling me in a quiet, urgent voice from outside the hall. I stood, my hands still cradled against my abdomen as I turned. To my surprise, behind me stood a silent boy who observed me with a pursed mouth and furrowed brow.
"Lem?" I spoke the name on instinct and stopped still in the middle of the room. He was raven haired, bone-skinny like most twelve-year-old boys, with pale green eyes like the fields in early autumn.
I was slightly shocked by his sudden presence, but I knew his face well and relinquished a nervy smile.
"I didn't think I would see you today," I whispered.
The undersides of his eyes pinched as he winced, wordlessly nodding his head, knowing something was wrong by my tone and fretful expression.
I smiled better this time and my shoulders fell with a lessening of the tension that bunched them. "Thank you."
Another more insistent, less patient, call from my sister reached my ears and I twitched forward.
I extended my hand out to the boy, but in sudden remembrance, tucked back against my stomach, for it was roiling with nervous energy, and instead bidded him after me.
With the boy at my side, I gave the room one final look, a shiver curling over my shoulders. The early sunlight filtered in through the windows, giving the illusion of life to the small dancing bodies of dust that were cast into the air.
My heart gave way to a swell of grief. The black haired boy and I slipped out of my mother's room and ran to the front entrance on the first floor.
"There you are, Chérie," Father whispered as he saw me descend the stairs. My sisters folded in behind me, heedless of the boy who also came forward as I ran to Papa. He gathered me up into his arms with tender kisses when he saw me shaking and held me tight as if to offer some of his strength.
"We had better be on our way," Régine whispered.
All five of us, including the boy who trailed closely behind me like a second shadow, piled into the front entrance as Father opened the door.
"The sun rose while you were dawdling," the middle daughter, Belle, agreed before shooting me a deadly look. She was fourteen, hardly two years older than myself, and already thrice the beautiful woman I would ever be.
We left quickly, donning the hoods of our dusty-brown cloaks, and slipped out the front door of the three-story townhouse. It was located close to the centre of the city which meant ours would be a very long sprint to the docks.
My family had always lived in the kingdom of Lammert. Our current home, Beaulieu, was a port city and the magnificent jewel in the province of Artois, rich in wealth and culture. It was built on a hill, with the palace at its top, the ocean on one side, and farms and forests on the other.
"Are you alright, Aceline?" Régine enquired softly, careful not to raise her voice too high as we skulked down the city streets toward the newer, sordid alleyways.
I nodded my head in confirmation and tugged at the ends of my short, curly, brown hair that were more used to being covered by a powdered wig. Lem, the boy with dark hair who never spoke, gave me an encouraging grin and I pursed my lips into a smile back at him.
My family had sold the wigs, perfumes, jewellery and even our clothes for the money our father now held in the satchel he carefully guarded under his cloak. It would be all too easy to make a wrong turn in the outer maze of Beaulieu and find ourselves an easy mark for thugs and pickpockets.
A carriage rounded the corner ahead of us tightly.
The bullish black stallions nearly took us under their iron horseshoes when they careened around another corner, headed fast in the direction from which we had come.
We eyed the black carriage as it once again disappeared with a roaring shriek from the black stallions and the crack of a whip.
"Was that for us, Father?" Belle breathed as her one free hand tugged down on the elbow of our father's shirt.
A calculating look came over his features as he shook his head curtly without replying and ushered us forward. Father's keen, glaring eyes cut through the early morning fog of the harbour as we quickened our pace. The sweaty, panic that overtook us made the damp, salty air taste bitter and my two sister clung to each other like sailors in a storm
Castle spires pierced the blue sky like the golden hand of a god and I watched them warily as my pink slippers skidded with the increasing frantic feeling in my chest.
Today was the Young Duke’s coronation. His formal title was Duke Lysander, third prince to the throne of Lammert. He was hardly a year older than me, but his arrival meant our swift escape.
In the past, Papa had been one of the Old Duke's trusted men, a highly valued merchant and friend. Our family had been involved with the royals for generations, sometimes even marrying into it, but that power and status came at a price.
The black carriage we had noticed climbing Beaulieu's steep streets was likely one of many sent to round up all the heads of the Old Duke's advisors, and do what with, no one fully knew.
It would not be the first time in recent history that a new ruler made a show of their power by disposing of all the men who had served the previous government.
Beheadings were uncommon but not unheard of.
Our best chance of survival was to head for the free port of Libor. It was one of the few cities so far north that no kingdom ruled the land. Once the mountainous area had been commanded by a strong empore, but all the heirs had died, or a plague had set in, or its people fled. It was over two centuries ago and no one truly remembered how the kingdom had collapsed, but plenty of the stories remained.
The forest where once the kindom had lain, would be our only refuge. Being a merchant, Father knew a good number of sea captains and had managed to secure safe passage to Libor for our entire family.
We crossed a narrow gap flanked by two towering townhouses, my sisters breathing hard, and my father's steally gaze parting the way down the road. I wasn't as fast, but I was calmer than them and kept pace.
Unlike the rest of my family, I was bringing friend.
Suddenly, the boy whose face and thoughts had been fixed on the street ahead in perfect silence, flung up his arms beside me. Meeting my gaze with wide eyes, Lem's mouth opened wide as if to yell. Instinctively, I backed into Régine, cutting both her and Belle off as they stumbled into me.
Not two seconds later, another carriage rocketed passed us, nearly catching me in the process. The driver bellowed a rude remark before Papa covered my ears and shouted something equally unsavoury as the coachman sped away.
"My darling, are you alright?" He asked after a moment's pause, his face still red.
"Yes, Papa–"
"Thank goodness you were paying attention, Aceline." Régine curled her pink lip and shook her head angrily. "We'll be lucky to escape the Old Crow with these coaches turning the streets into a hippodrome."
"It wasn't me," I whispered, looking for Lem with a grateful smile, but finding him suddenly gone. "It was–"
I cut myself off and swallowed the tail end of my sentence. I knew it would be pointless to tell them about a boy I knew they could not see.
Shaken, all three of them looked around with surprise and then acceptance.
"You're not going to say it wasn't that imaginary friend of yours, are you?" Belle scoffed at me and I began to follow Papa again as we all faced the open sea.
"I didn't say anything," I grumbled back at my sister who eyed me suspiciously until her nose was back between the folds of the map.
However, from the corner of my eye, just as we passed an open alleyway, I thought I spied a pair of bright green irises framed by a ghostly white face and a flash of charcoal hair that vanished when we passed the alley completely.
Lem's temporary disappearence and my sisters scornful tone regarding him didn't matter for the moment. Even though they couldn't see him, I was sure he would be back.
The boy, after appearing to me for the first time a few years ago, somehow always found me again.
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