If the people of Dorian remember my birth name, they don’t use it. They only know me now as Glace Noir, the underwater creature that lives in the south-side cove along Lake Grogan. I know this because every now and then, someone will come to the water’s edge and call to me, begging me to end the everlasting winter cycle I’ve cursed the kingdom of Dorian to live.

“Glace Noir, please release us from the endless winter,” they plead. I find it amusing that more recently they’ve started adding, “Or at least let us die,” to their pathetic requests.

My answer is always the same, regardless if I let the messenger live or not. I tell them, “When you release me, then I shall release the kingdom.” I can’t help the cackles that escape, echoing throughout the cove and mocking their request for freedom.

To be honest, this whole you-curse-me-and-I-curse-you thing is quite ridiculous, and it wasn’t my fault to begin with. Dorian wouldn’t even be in this predicament if the people would only stand up to the one person who can really end their misery. Their beloved ruler—my brother—King Philip.

I wasn’t always this fearsome creature cursed to an underwater prison. And just because I cannot recall how long it’s been since I’ve walked dry land, that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my life from before.

I will never forget.

Never.

~THEN~

Dorian’s downfall began long before I was born. When a lonely king, pressured to take a wife from one of the surrounding kingdoms, fell in love with a commoner from the north. Being from the north may sound harmless, but the people of my mother’s village were widely known for their mysterious and unearthly powers. The southern kingdoms feared the magic my mother’s people possessed, so they banned anyone from traveling beyond the snowy borders leading into the northern lands.

But my father, King Sebastian, went anyway. He was known for his stubborn ways, doing whatever he deemed beneficial for his kingdom. “It is my kingdom, and I shall rule as I see fit,” he would say to anyone questioning his orders. In secrecy, he’d told me that the real reason he wanted to travel north was because he was curious to know if the rumors were true—if there really was magic. It was during his first visit to the snowy lands that he fell in love with one of the northern commoners—my mother.

The two were married within six months, making her Dorian’s new queen—but by title only. It took a long time for the people of Dorian to even glance her way. Not until years later, when she gave birth to me and my twin brother, Philip, did they begin to accept her into their hearts. But only as the mother of their future heir, not as their queen.

Our mother might have come from the frigid north, but her heart was warm with love for her family and the kingdom. She never minded the whispers or the fake smiles. She was just happy they were smiling.

I wish I’d paid more attention to the signs of my brother’s discontent. Maybe if I’d attended court more often and mingled with the lords and council members, but attending court was boring and swallowed up the whole day. To me, that was valuable time I preferred to spend with Mother, reading her books about the history of her people and learning how to use the magic that flowed through my veins.

While I kept to my books, Philip spent his days following Father around, trying to take an active role in running a kingdom. Father indulged Philip’s keen interest because he was a kind man who loved his son. Though, whenever I was nearby, Father would single out my opinion on matters of the kingdom. Philip would offer his solution, but Father only cared to hear what I had to say. This angered my brother, but I always mistook it as sibling rivalry.

Then one day, Mother pulled me aside and warned me to be mindful of Philip’s temper. We were getting older, and his childish tantrums had festered into something dark.

She explained to me, “You might have been born on the same day, but you came into this world three minutes before Philip. You, Celeste, are the rightful heir—not him. So please be careful.”
I didn’t believe her. Philip was my brother, and we were family. He would never go so far as to hurt me just for the crown.

For many years, we continued in our daily routines. Philip kept his distance, which was fine by me. I rarely attended court, spending most afternoons with Mother in the northern tower of the castle. I’d reread her old spell books and practice the ancient language of the north. Mother would praise me on how my casting abilities were beyond what she could do when she was twenty years of age.

Then one day, things took a turn for the worse. I’d been so consumed by my studies that I hadn’t realized Father had grown extremely ill. The last night we spoke, the night he passed away, he asked me one thing. “Please, Celeste. Promise me that you’ll give Dorian the attention it deserves. Don’t run away from your duties as their future queen. Be strong, stand tall, and show them the powerful ruler I know you can be.”

Father’s death was hard, but it hit Philip harder. My brother wouldn’t even look at me after that night, as if it were my fault Father had died.

Over the next few days, the lords of the royal court rallied against my mother. They said it wasn’t right for an outsider to rule over Dorian, especially one from the northern lands. Their anger and disapproval spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom. Farmers, fishermen, blacksmiths, bakers, and others all joined in protest, saying the king’s wife had no place as their queen. Afraid for her life, our mother made a deal with the lords to step down and allow King Sebastian’s next of kin to take the throne—me.

I only agreed to become queen to alleviate the tension the lords had created with the citizens of Dorian. And it seemed to work. Everyone liked the idea of me becoming their next queen. Everyone except Philip, which I didn’t realize until it was too late.

I’ll never forget the morning of my coronation, because it followed the night of my mother’s murder.