The following is an original work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book/story are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
It’s been two years since officially becoming the Crown Princess of the Eildun. Apparently, no matter my birth right, it wasn’t official until I was crowned in some preposterous ceremony to place a crown on my head that I had already since the age of two. A time when I finally stopped throwing the jeweled accessory into the mud.
Something that never made sense to me. But who was I to question tradition?
Standing before a full-length mirror in my bedroom, I admired my reflection. Vanity was not something I suffered from as other courtiers had, but when the image staring back had been altered dramatically, I couldn’t help but gawk.
Turning my left arm so the inner flesh reflected in the mirror, now marred with rich black ink. Holding the arm out a bit, eyes following the line as it flowed over my curves.
Yesterday, at sunrise, two Eildun Clerics pressed ink into my skin with a series of hair-thin needles. Under the strict supervision of Minister Khayin, very patient and very slow hands, one on either end to meet in the middle, painstakingly scrawled the design on my skin.
The process took the entire day, sunup to sundown. Allowing only three breaks for the Clerics to pray. The entire thing was a test in itself.
This morning was spent at the healers to advance the healing process.
“Can’t have you bleeding through an entire side of your gown,” insisted Khayin.
Most of the scabbing would be gone by the ceremony. I had hoped that meant the itching would alleviate itself as well.
The tattoo started at my inner left wrist, followed the line of my inner arm, and ran the entire length of the left side of my body ending at my outer ankle. One continuous line of intricate designs and knots.
What it specifically meant, I wasn’t sure. There was a series of runes and symbols laced together within the design to form a delicate chain. Minister Khayin claimed it was a prayer to Idun. One that would protect and bless me while honoring our goddess. Certain it would bring fated grace to our kingdom under my family’s rule.
That wasn’t the only thing I was to receive.
The mask.
My mask.
Several days before even getting the tattoos, my father sat me down. Joined by Finneck and Khayin, all expectations were laid before me.
It would have been more appropriate and less time consuming if they had written a list on parchment entitled Rules of the Mask and nailed it to my chamber door. Instead, my father insisted on wasting three hours of our lives. At the end of the lecture, it all boiled down to one simple rule: don’t ever take the mask off outside of the privacy of my personal chambers. Only a select few were ever to see my bare face again before the mask was officially removed in the presence of the goddess and people.
My father promised the consequences would be dire if this one paramount rule was broken. While he gave no specifics, I knew he could be incredibly creative given the opportunity.
I vowed I would do anything to avoid giving him that chance.
Until then, I only had hours left until my face would be hidden.
