“My King,” the giant warrior says. “I present Aitana’s son and daughter.”
I look up at the king sitting on his throne. His hair is white, and his skin is wrinkled, but his eyes are as yellow as sunflower petals—just like Mikal’s. On either side of him are his sons, the giant princes. They stand near the wall, glowering down at me and the too-big baby in my arms.
The king extends his arm toward me just as Mikal starts to cry again. King Erdaraj blinks and sucks in a sharp breath. “Come here, slave.”
The First Prince laughs at me and leans behind his father’s throne to whisper something to his brother. Prince Keksej does not laugh; he watches me intently.
Slowly, I step forward. Terrified. I don't belong here, but he does. A member of the Giant Court steps towards me when I reach the top of the carpet, and he plucks Mikal from my arms.
My baby brother immediately starts to scream. I clench my fists at my side. He will be fine with his father. I tell myself that fathers care for their children.
One of the warriors draws his sword. I feel a chill down my spine at the sight of the blade. The warrior approaches me, and I tense up as he wraps his hand around my waist and presses his sharp weapon to my throat.
I squeak. The other giant warrior holds out his hands toward the king, offering him his son.
The king snarls and spits on Mikal's face.
"Kill the bastard, father," the First Prince says, withdrawing a dagger from his waist and passing it to the king.
I feel my heart stop beating, and a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. This can't be happening. Not to my baby brother. "No," I scream. My voice is too small.
My body tenses as I brace myself for the inevitable. But then, a white light invades the throne room, blinding me. I struggle against the warrior holding me captive and fall to the ground. A voice cuts through the tension like a hot knife through butter.
"Stop."
The voice is soft yet commanding. It echoes through the palace, and for a moment, all eyes are on its source. A woman stands on the steps of the throne room, her long white dress swishing around her ankles as she move forward. Her curly black hair is painfully familiar, as are her brown eyes. However, the crown on her head is new, as is her braid with gold bands.
The king is on his feet, and Mikal is still in the arms of the giant lord.
"Aitana," the king breathes. His face has gone sickly pale, and he stumbles back as I hear someone whisper, "The king's whore."
The First Prince is incensed. He pushes forward and grabs the knife out of his father’s hand, blade first. He doesn't even wince as he cuts himself, and blood drips from his palm.
"I'll do it myself," he growls, and moves to stab my brother.
But my mother is faster. Her hand darts out, and the First Prince's wrist is caught in a solid grip. He cries out in pain as she twists his arm behind his back, and the dagger starts to fall to the ground. She catches it.
"I said stop, you filthy pig," she says, and her voice is like steel. She thrusts the handle into his thigh, and he collapses to the ground, writhing in pain. Blood leaks to the ground and he shouts obscenities at her. Two giants advance towards her and she throws them back with the wave of her hand.
Everyone looks at my mother, terrified. I am proud. She is so beautiful.
"Aitana, what did you want?" the king asks.
I don't understand why he sounds so afraid. I thought he cared for my mother. Shouldn't he be happy to see her again?
Her chin tilts upward. "I will kill you all if you or your sons ever try to kill Mikal again. And you will leave Estela alone. She is not to be a comfort woman."
He looks at his son, writhing on the ground. "I swear it will be done. My sons will never touch your daughter or kill your son."
The dream was a memory—but the details are all wrong. The king never tried to kill Mikal. I blink my eyes open, the world around me a blur of dark shadows and flickering light. My head throbs with each pulse of my heartbeat, and I groan softly. It takes time for my senses to return, like sand slipping through an hourglass, slow and stubborn.
As my vision clears, I can make out the faint outlines of the room, but there are bars around me. I’m still wearing my stone silk dress, but it’s so much colder now.
"Where am I?" I call out, my voice hoarse and weak. Panic claws at my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Teo?”
The cage encasing me was cold and unforgiving, its metallic bars stretching upwards towards the ceiling like skeletal fingers, their chill seeping into my flesh, turning my bones to ice. My breath emerges in short, shallow gasps, the frigid air burning my lungs as it scrapes past my throat.
My ears pick up the distant echoes of footsteps, chains rattling, and muffled screams. The cold, hard surface beneath me sends shivers through my body, and I struggle to remember what had happened.