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Returning home with the wonderful news about the end of the war produced the most wonderful feeling in her. Father had immediately sent out a proclamation throughout the land saying that the war was over, that the soldiers could return home. But, there was no celebration. Oh no, for they were all much too tired. And so, they had all retired to their rooms, Micah getting a guest room, although promising to leave the next morning with his men. After Micah and his men were properly accommodated, Cleona entered her lovely suite adorned with extravagant plants and expensive gold statues. Despite the war, the palace had remained untouched by all of the fighting, for Father had made sure to keep the battles away.
Her personal maid, a little girl named Melinna, helped her take a very brief bath before she donned her night gown and passed out on her enormous canopy bed. The princess was vaguely aware of sweet little Melinna jumping up on the bed and snuggling beside her before she succumbed to the welcoming darkness of a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, Cleona awoke to the sound of a high pitched scream. Jumping out of bed, she grabbed the golden dagger that she always keep under my pillow and raced toward the sound, being careful not to stirr the still sleeping Melinna. Thanks to her advanced fae ears, she was able to pinpoint the exact location of the scream— Father's room. After running through many halls, she arrived at her destination. Stepping inside the room, Cleona saw five soldiers, a healer, and a very faint looking maid crowding around her father's bed.
Gods, they were fast. They had managed to get here before her. "What happened?" she asked as she approached the bed. Sheathing her golden dagger in the fold of her night dress, she motioned for the soldiers to move. They stepped away from the bed, revealing her father. He was awfully pale, as if he was dead.
"Don't worry You Highness," the healer soothed. Gently, she patted the princess's arm and said, as if reading her mind, "He's not dead; he's been poisoned nightshade berries.
I've already given him the antidote. He'll recover in a week. The king just needs some rest." Cleona nodded slowly. Something felt fishy about this predicament, but she had bigger problems to worry about.
"Thank you," she blurted out before rushing out of the room to find Micah. Would he withdraw from the peace treaty now that her father was momentarily disabled? Would the war continue? She had no idea why Micah would withdraw, but then again, he was a very unpredictable faerie.
She rapped impatiently a few times at the door of Micah's room. After a few moments, the door cracked open a bit, revealing a disheveled looking king. Micah was shirtless and sleepy eyed, showing that he had just awakened. "I must speak with you," she declared, keeping her face blank. He narrowed his eyes at her but opened the door fully and stepped aside. She stuck up her chin, threw back her shoulders, and entered the room, noticing for the first time that he was at least a good five inches taller than her, despite her tall height.
Without waiting for an invitation, she strode into the large living quarter and sat down on a gorgeous beige chair. The king swiftly pulled a simple white shirt over his head before coming over to sit across from her in an identical chair to hers. Micah crossed his arms.
"What do you want, little girl," he asked.
She hissed at him. To him, Cleona was a little girl, for he was at least three centuries old, although he looked to be in his early twenties, while she was only sixteen. Still, he had no right to call her that. She was a princess, not one of his subjects. Nevertheless, she let it slide, for if she offended him, he could use that plus her father's current immobile state to withdraw from the peace treaty.
"Your Majesty, there is a slight problem that I hope shouldn't be too much trouble," Cleona said quietly. He waited, stifling a yawn. She folded her arms in her lap before continuing. "Well, you see, my father has been poisoned."
Micah's eyebrows shot up. "When did this happen?"
She laughed emotionlessly. While that lazy bum was sleeping soundly, her father was suffering.
"This morning," she answered. "You see, I would like to know if you're still in for the peace treaty." She held my breath, praying to the gods that he was.
The king looked slightly confused. "Why would I withdraw?"
Cleona released her breath and clapped her hands happily. "That's good news. Well then, I'll be off!" She got up and skipped out of his room, leaving him to his thoughts.
She had barely left the room when her stomach growled loudly. But, before she could grab a bite to eat, she decided to check on her father.
He looked awful. His skin was paler than hers, and that's saying a lot. His cheeks were sunken, and his lips were turning blue. She placed a hand on his head and realized that his skin was ice cold. Strange. All poisons give their victims, if anything, high fevers, not skin so cold one might think the victim dead. He wasn't sweating. Another odd thing. If he was cold, he should be sweating.
"Summon the healer who attended to my father earlier this morning," she commanded a young page who happened to be passing Father's room. The page gave a hasty bow, keeping his eyes averted from hers, before scurrying off to find the healer, for if she was correct, her father's soul had been stolen.