Chapter Seventeen

"Wedding," I sighed playfully in the direction of Queen Nerida, who responded with a gentle smile, once again tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Perhaps we could first focus on celebrating our twenty-first birthday," I suggested, the weight of our complex situation momentarily set aside as I sought solace in levity.

As Irina's father gradually distanced himself, his form enveloped by the presence of a gathering of Senators, an unspoken understanding passed between Queen Nerida and me. We embarked on our walk back to the royal apartments, seeking solace from the prying ears of the Council's chambers.

"Speaking of the wedding," she began, a hint of trepidation threading through her words, leading me a few steps further away from the Council's vicinity. "How is Irina?"

My gaze briefly shifted toward Irina's father, his attention subtly divided between his ongoing conversation and our discreet exchange, stirring a wave of guilt within me.

"Be forthright," Queen Nerida insisted, her voice carrying a mix of urgency and concern. "We must make a decision soon. Can she manage the proceedings tomorrow?"

For a moment, my lower lip was captive between my teeth as I wrestled with the truth. "No," the confession weighed heavily upon me. "She won't be able to."

A flicker of agitation danced across the Queen's features, but it was swiftly smoothed away, her hand absently arranging the delicate folds of her skirts. "Well, then," she stated, a measure of resolution underpinning her words. "You will step into her place tomorrow."

"Your Majesty," I interjected, a note of earnestness underscoring my words, "with all due respect, I am not comfortable assuming her role in selecting potential suitors. Irina should be making those decisions—"

My words were abruptly halted by the Queen's cutting retort, a stark reminder of the growing harshness in her demeanor. It seemed that Irina's deteriorating condition bore with it a corresponding escalation in the Queen's frustration. But she needed me, I was Irina’s best decoy. I was the one who understood Irina best.

“Irina will be better soon,” Nerida's voice bore a blend of conviction and desperation, a refrain she had been repeating for seven long years. “My daughter is not ill,” this was a newer development.

"Your Majesty," I ventured carefully, my voice steady despite the charged air, "what if Irina could marry for love instead of political obligation? It might lead to a union where her condition is truly understood—"

“There is only political obligation,” the Queen's rebuke was sharp, her gaze unwavering. "And if you fail to grasp that fundamental truth, then I have overestimated your intelligence."

I swallowed my retort, the lines of my role now clearer than ever. "My apologies, Your Majesty. My words were out of line."

A thin smile curved her lips, a touch of tenderness tinging her actions despite the complexity of our situation. All she yearned for was a healthy daughter, or at the very least, the illusion of one through me. We all had our coping skills.

“Very good, I will see you tomorrow, daughter,” she acknowledged, and I felt the weight of her recognition, an affirmation of my role as her daughter in this intricate charade. A group of women from the court passed by us, their deference to me evident.

I straightened. She kissed my cheek with a tenderness that made me want to cry. We were all so broken, barely keeping our heads above water.

“Tomorrow,” I affirmed. The word pained me, yet, her gaze, wide with anticipation, demanded a response that carried not just my acquiescence, but also the promise of endurance. "Tomorrow, Mother."
—----
I had been filling in for Irina so much lately that when I walked through our apartments’ halls, the attending servants began to bow to me as if I were her. The truth was widely known within Astraeus's inner circle—everyone understood Irina's condition—but it was my face they associated with royalty. For nearly two years, the duty had rested almost solely upon me.

My life had begun to blur. From age fourteen to the brink of twenty-one, I had seamlessly embodied the essence of the Princess. It had started as a collaborative effort among Aelia, Amaya, Saija, and me, each of us taking turns stepping into Irina's shoes. Yet, somewhere around the age of nineteen, I slipped into the role more permanently. Aelia, gentle and kind, had assumed a more traditional role of caretaking for Irina, while Amaya and Saija channeled their energy into rigorous training as Shadows.

On the occasion of my eighteenth birthday, Amaya, the indomitable warrior among us, approached me with an unusual request. She sought my permission to train as a Dawnlight Master, a prospect that stirred a tumult of emotions within me. Beneath the surface, beneath the love I held for her, simmered an undercurrent of resentment. She was seizing the opportunity to attend an elite war college, forging connections, and embracing a semblance of a normal life. But my love for her overshadowed my envy. I was on the verge of granting her my blessing when Queen Nerida entered the scene, her hands finding purchase on my collarbones as she spoke. She gave Amaya her encouragement, weaving a thread of familial obligation into the offer. Saija was assigned to accompany her, while I remained entrenched in the role of Irina's unwavering shadow. I would always be here, my place would always be by Irina’s side.

"Hi!" Irina's voice rang out, infusing the room with her vibrant energy as I stepped inside. She and Aelia occupied a window nook, engrossed in a card game. I shared a silent exchange with Aelia, an unspoken signal that today was one of the better days.

"Hi, lovely," I greeted her, my voice tender.

Taking a seat at the vanity, I surrendered to the capable hands of the handmaidens—those who were not among our intimate circle. They meticulously unraveled the intricate layers of my hair and makeup, expertly applying generous amounts of white powder to ensure our skin tones remained indistinguishable.

With thunderous grace, Saija and Amaya returned to our elaborate suite. Their attire exuded the essence of warriors, clad in traditional fighting leathers, their Dawnblades adorning their backs, a veneer of mud covering them. Envy swelled within me. Their lives were characterized by the freedom I yearned for, the freedom to choose their path.

"What's up, ruler?" Amaya's voice, though directed at Irina, held a playful familiarity that resonated among us despite our shared age. Irina, as always, giggled, her response carrying an innocence that belied our common years.

"How was council?" Aelia's daring query pierced the air, an audaciousness that was met with disapproving glances from Saija, Amaya, and me. Aelia did not believe that Irina was weak like the rest of us, that her emotions were a source of beauty rather than vulnerability.

"It was fine," I reported evenly, my fingers deftly selecting makeup remover as I began to erase the deep red lipstick from my lips. "The prospect ball is scheduled for tomorrow."

“Oh, are you to be married?” Irina's inquiry touched a nerve, an instinctual response of mine that I hastily stifled.
"Irina," I interjected, stepping closer to her, my true identity now distinct as I shed my royal facade. You could the tell the five of us apart now. Aelia had slightly lighter blue eyes than us, she was forced to wear contacts. Saija’s skin was slightly darker, so she was dressed in long sleeve robes, and like Amaya had brown eyes.. But me, my perfect, haunting, green-blue iridescent eyes, they were a perfect match to Irina. My prison.

"Irina," I reiterated, but she remained ensconced in her world, crisscrossed at the window, murmuring about a glint of something shiny in the sky. I turned my attention back to Saija and Amaya as I encountered silence on her end.

Saija, who had her moments of patience, approached Irina and clasped her hands in her own. "Irina, you are to be married. You are the princess of Astraeus." A pang of déjà vu gripped me—Saija's words echoed the scene on the island when Kaimari had gripped my hands and delivered a similar declaration.

Yet, Irina's smile didn't waver; it persisted, unsettling in its continuity. "No, Saija, please stop teasing. She's Irina."

Amaya joined the scene, her presence making it palpably more intense. "I-Irina, have you taken your medication today?"

The visage of the true Princess of Astraeus shifted, her facade slipping. "Medication?"

Aelia’s hand was on the back of my waist. "You need to leave," she warned me, a note of urgency underlining her words.

I exited the room to the sound of Irina being restrained. Of her screaming after me that she would kill me, that I was an imposter, and that I would never steal her throne. Each word she hurled at me was a dagger to my heart, a torrent of guilt and panic that surged within me. Her once gentle suspicions had transmuted into an unrelenting belief that I was an infiltrator sent by the Empire to annihilate her family. It was a fracture within her psyche that shattered me, a reminder of the fragile reality I was bound to.

In the corridors, I leaned against the cool marble wall, my heart hammering in my chest, tears welling in my eyes. The echoes of Irina's accusations still reverberated within me, a dissonant symphony of her suffering. The walls themselves seemed to hold the weight of our shared turmoil, bearing silent witness to a deception that had become my existence.

And as I stood there, cloaked in shadows both metaphorical and literal, a hollow yearning took root within me. The tension between the roles I played—the dutiful decoy, the irreplaceable guardian—had grown into a chasm of longing. I longed for recognition not as a stand-in, but as the iridescent individual I was. I longed for the parents whose gaze held the weight of unspoken truths, the parents who had come to see me as their own. I longed for a reality where I wasn't just a shadow, where I didn't have to bear the weight of Irina's burdens. And most of all, I longed for a world that wasn't ensnared by the Empire's threat, a world where I could be free.