East of Decreash
Berth's gaze remained fixed on the dress she was knitting. Every stitch had to be flawless. The edges, the delicate floral patterns, they had to fall into perfect harmony.
She was to attend a royal ball for the very first time in her life, and nothing about her appearance could be less than exquisite.
Who knew? Fortune might finally smile upon her. She could be chosen as the king's third queen, and her life would transform overnight into a tale of effortless splendour.
Her thoughts drifted far from the modest room she occupied. In her imagination, she danced beneath a velvet night sky, her hand clasped in that of the King of Decreash.
He would lean close, press a tender kiss upon her lips, and proclaim her his new queen. Together they would rule the kingdom in harmony, just like the princesses from the fairytales her sister once recited on quiet evenings.
The approaching royal ball had become the only topic of conversation throughout the village.
Berth's longing to attend it consumed her entirely. Never once in her life had she lifted a broom or willingly performed chores, yet the mere mention of the ball had stirred in her a sudden determination to create her own gown.
Micah paused in the doorway when she entered the room, a woven basket balanced against her hip.
The sight before her drew a weary sigh from her lips.
Her sister, she thought, must be wandering through yet another fairytale dream. It was the only explanation for the foolish smile curving her mouth as she bent intently over her sewing.
In that moment a loud cry shattered the stillness.
"Ahh!"
Berth jerked violently, her reverie collapsing in an instant. The needle had pierced her thumb, and a bead of blood welled at the tiny wound.
"Berth!"
Micah dropped the basket at once and rushed forward. Taking her sister's hand, she examined the injury with a tense breath.
"How many times must I warn you against meddling with tasks you have no patience for?" she muttered.
She hurried to the kitchen and returned moments later with a handful of crushed leaves. Squeezing them gently, she let their sap drip onto the wound. Within seconds, the bleeding ceased.
"I only wished to make a beautiful dress for the feast," Berth replied, her voice soft yet petulant as she withdrew her hand. "Is that truly such a crime?"
She inspected her thumb with satisfaction, silently grateful for Micah's skill with herbs, though she offered no words of thanks.
"The royal feast is meant for noble families, and there has been no declaration of any feast recently."
Micah said quietly, retrieving the fallen basket. "Why waste your time building dreams that cannot stand?"
Berth regarded her with open disdain.
"Dreams?" she scoffed. "I expected nothing less from you. You seem content with this life, with poverty clinging to us like a second skin. The leaking roof, the bitter cold when the seasons turn… none of it wearies you?"
"Father did everything he could to provide for us."
"His best is not enough," Berth snapped, returning her attention to the dress.
"I am exhausted by this existence. I deserve more. I should be living among silks and chandeliers, not laboring in fields or hauling heavy loads." She rolled her eyes impatiently.
She was beautiful; she knew it. Her figure alone could captivate any nobleman. All she required was the right opportunity, a prince who would carry her far from the wretched place she called home.
"And even if the royal feast is reserved for the noble families," she continued, "I could slip inside unnoticed. No one would be able to tell, not when I am adorned in a beautiful dress."
Micah shook her head in quiet despair.
"Come. We must leave for the farm. The sky is pale; it might rain." Micah said, casting a glare at the sky, the weather was getting paler by the minute.
Berth's expression darkened. The thought of trudging through mud and grime filled her with revulsion.
She had spent hours the previous evening scrubbing her skin raw after returning from the fields.
Her gaze shifted to the cracked mirror propped against the wall. Her reflection shimmered faintly upon its fractured surface.
She was born for grandeur; of that she felt certain. Sometimes she cursed fate itself for casting her into such a family.
"I am not going today," she declared coolly.
"I will remain and finish my dress."
"Is that truly your reason?" "Micah asked, folding her arms. "You may complete it once we return."
"It is humiliating," Berth insisted. "After hours beneath the sun, I return looking disheveled, my hair tangled with leaves, my clothes no better than rags."
In truth, she dreaded the daily shame of accompanying Micah to the fields. Other girls her age adorned themselves in fine garments, basking in the admiration of young noblemen. She, however, returned each day weary and soiled.
The memory alone sent a shiver along her spine.
Micah studied her sister silently before sighing.
"So this is why you refuse to come?"
"Do not feign ignorance," Berth retorted sharply. "I have spoken. I am staying."
Micah knew the futility of further argument.
Micah knew how stubborn her sister could be; she didn't have an ounce of care and would do whatever she pleased.
It was no use standing here and wasting her time trying to convince her; she turned around to leave, but then an idea formed in her head.
"I heard," she said casually, "that a prince may pass through the village today in his royal carriage. Would you not wish to see him?""
Micah didn't know when the lie slipped out of her mouth; she knew things like this intrigued Berth.
The words had scarcely left her mouth before Berth sprang to her feet and dashed outside.
"What are you waiting for?" she called.
"Hurry!"
Micah followed with a tired smile. The lie would reveal itself in time, but for now it has served its purpose.
They climbed onto the small wooden cart, with Micah guiding the patient donkey along the narrow path.
They couldn't afford a horse, so they had to make do with a donkey; this was another embarrassing sight for Berth, another source of quiet embarrassment for Berth.
"One day," Berth declared, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I shall be queen, and you will bow before me."
Micah merely hummed, her eyes fixed on the winding road ahead.
"You may dismiss my words now," Berth continued, "but wait until I wed a handsome prince. I will finally silence Ria and her insolent friends."
"Ria is only a child," Micah replied gently. "Do not let her cruelty wound you."
"That child humiliated me before the entire village," Berth fumed. "Calling me a poor church rat, as though my misery is some kind of entertainment."
"We are poor," Micah said softly.
"Then she need not parade it for all to hear. She is insufferable."
"Berth," Micah warned, "do not speak so harshly."
"I have prayed for the earth itself to swallow me," Berth muttered bitterly. "Yet even that mercy is denied."
At last they reached the farm.
Micah climbed down and began her work, while Berth settled beneath a nearby tree, drawing out her dress and resuming her sewing.
Micah sighed and made her way inside the farm. She pushed a small wooden door open. The door was there to keep intruders out, not that it helped, but it was better than nothing.
The farm had not been weeded for a long time, and there was a lot to do.
But when she glanced at the sight of ripe fruits and vegetables, she smiled, tears almost leaving her eyes; they wouldn't go to sleep without dinner today after all.
She got to work.
Hours passed beneath the relentless sun.
Basket after basket filled with ripe produce, and still Micah labored on alone. By the time she loaded the final harvest onto the cart, she was exhausted.
She sucked in a heavy breath as she reached for the bottle of water she had kept in the cart, but her hand landed on an empty space.
She snapped her head towards the direction her sister was seated under a tree and saw the bottle of water she was searching for beside her, but it was empty.
She felt frustrated; she was parched and the sun was terribly hot.
Remembering the stream a short distance away, she set off at once.
No sooner had she departed than a royal carriage approached the farm.
At first Berth did take notice of it; she was engrossed in the dress she was sewing.
But for a fleeting moment, she inadvertently lifted her gaze, and her eyes caught sight of the carriage.
Instantly her eyes lit up with excitement.
"This must be the prince Micah spoke of."
She rose swiftly, smoothing imaginary creases from her skirt. With a confident smile, she stepped forward.
The carriage bore the unmistakable sigil of Decreash, two swords crossed in an X. It halted before the farm, and three imposing guards descended.
Their eyes settled upon her.
"Is this your land?" one demanded.
Mistaking them for nobles, Berth bowed slightly.
"It belongs to my father," she replied, altering her accent with affected refinement.
"We intend to claim this property for royal construction," the guard continued.
Too dazzled by the prospect of royal attention, Berth scarcely grasped his meaning.
"It would be my honor," she said breathlessly. "Please, proceed as you wish."
They handed her a document. She gazed at the words, her eyes trailing through the letters; in truth, she didn't understand a single word, so without hesitation, she signed her name with the quill provided.
Moments later, Micah returned from the stream. The sight of uniformed guards sent fear racing through her. It had been a harmless lie; she didn't expect to actually see a royal carriage.
"What business do royal soldiers have here?" she murmured, hurrying towards their direction.
She noticed the parchment bearing Berth's signature just as one guard issued a command.
"Quickly get the implement from the carriage and bring down this farm." A guard said, and Micah became alarmed.
"Who gave you the orders to do this? She screamed boldly when she got to where they stood.
"By decree of His Majesty, King Ragaleon Clegane," they replied in unison.
Tears blurred her vision as they began tearing down the wooden gate. Then they proceeded to chop off the trees with their mighty axes.
At that moment Berth's face fell; she no longer understood what was going on.
That was her father's farm they were bringing down; it was their only means of livelihood.
"You cannot do this; this land is ours!"
"It was," one guard corrected, pressing the document into her trembling hands. "Now it belongs to the Crown."
Micah scanned the page; she read through the words but paused halfway when she saw her sister's signature.
Her eyes lifted slowly to meet Berth's.
"What have you done?"