"I wish I could say I've gotten used to that."

Ghost recognized the sound of footsteps as they met the cold, stone floor. The voice of Martha—her handmaid—rang out, disappointment evident in her heavy sighs. The white-haired teenager turned to lay on her back. Her eyes studied the bottom of her mattress for a long while. She listened to Martha scuttle about her chambers, doing her morning routine of opening drapes and pouring warm water into the washing basin.

The Ghost's pallet was damp with sweat, courtesy of her nightly terrors. But that did not make leaving her pillowed sanctuary any more appealing. She found solace in the coolness of the stones beneath her thin blankets and the closeness that the close quarters brought her.

"Sleeping under the bed when you've a perfectly good mattress," Martha's voice was cold, as it always was. "I don't know why we even bother having you a bed. If you're so determined to sleep uncomfortably, I could just have them bring in a barrel and let you sleep there."

Ghost took Martha's heavy huff as her cue to roll out of her sanctuary and begin her day. Martha only glanced at the girl before motioning her to come sit in front of the large mirror. She watched as the light-skinned, dark-eyed woman began to work on her. She washed her face with the water in the basin, scrubbing at the dirt that sleeping on the floor brought to her caramel-colored cheeks. "Light only knows, how you manage to sleep there without sneezing your head off every second."

Ghost stared at her own reflection for a while. She enjoyed watching Martha work. Her nimble fingers brushed and styled her long, white hair with practiced accuracy. She'd always managed to make the odd-looking girl appear presentable.

A simple braid was the style Martha had chosen for the day. She'd pulled Ghost's hair back and braided three separate strands, leaving a few shorter hairs to frame her face. She then braided those three strands together. She'd always complained that Ghost's white hair was too long and far too thick to hold any true lady's hairstyle. She'd complained about her eyes as well. "You've no idea how hard it is to find a color that accents two colors at the same time," She'd told her, "I swear, such eyes would be beautiful if they were not forced to share the same face."

Blue and brown were the colors to which she referred. Blue like an old woman's veins and brown like pig's dung. Her mismatched eyes were the bane of Martha's very existence—Well, to be fair, everything about The Ghost was the bane of Martha's existence. She hated looking after the prince's ward and she took every chance to remind her of that. She was trained to look after queens not "idiot mutes" like Ghost.

When Martha had settled on a deep blue gown for the day, she inquired about the Ghost's plans for the day. "Will you be joining the family for breakfast this morning?" Ghost gave Martha a look, answering with a wordless No. Her handmaid let out a huff. "It's hardly fair to me for you to sit in your room all day and do nothing but read." She put her hands on her hips. "I work so hard to style your hair and pick your dresses. Don't you think it's only right that you put them to good use?" Ghost reached for her trusted parchment pad and charcoal that rested on her bedside table. She scribbled out her response.

I wear them. Isn't that good use?

Martha scoffed at that. "If you were mine, I'd strike you for that attitude." Ghost believed her. Martha would likely strike her for merely existing.  The only thing that prevented her hand from ever raising against the Ghost was her position. Prince's ward.

Despite the fancy nature of the title, it wasn't as coveted of a position as most people seemed to think for, she wasn't the crown prince's ward. No, she was the ward of Fengari Nychta; the Silver Prince. The title sounded nice enough. Upon her arrival in the palace, Ghost had seen nothing wrong with it. She'd even admired it. However, as time went on, she realized just how cruel of a title it was. Silver. Second best. Second to his cousin.

Fengari didn't like to talk about his family or the way his crown was snatched from his head when he was only an infant. Ghost never pushed him to talk about it. She'd only heard mutters from Martha and the occasional guard. Martha said that, when he was born, Fengari was deemed as heir to the throne of The Under. His thick head of golden hair may as well have been a crown. A year later, everything he'd been given was taken away.

Ilios Imera was a beautiful child. His mother, queen Laena, had been unable to conceive for years before the news of her pregnancy spread through the under. Martha said she was there when he was born. He'd had the most beautiful skin she'd ever seen. The color of the ever-rare caramel. The fact that he was born to a Blackcoat on the Summer Solstice only solidified his claim.

No one would have suspected such a golden child to come from a sickly mother. Some believed it was because of the Light's blessing. Others believed Laena had stolen the babe from a servant's breast. Either way, no one dared to question Ilios' parentage.

Fengari was stripped of his title as heir almost immediately. Ghost had heard that his father wasn't seen for an entire week after the announcement was made. Apparently, he'd been very upset with the Magi's ruling. Feng's mother died a few years later.

There were times when Ghost wished she would have been there for the golden-haired prince, but what would she have been able to do? She had nothing—she was nothing. She couldn't even speak. She had only come this far by sheer luck. Crazy, stupid, foolish luck. Luck that she didn't deserve. Luck that she would gladly give to Fengari should she ever have the option.

"I would not count on the prince's visit today," Martha said, "He's been quite busy with his sword lessons. His father has been pushing him a bit too much, if you ask me. What good is a sword to a prince? He'll never use it. He wouldn't even have to use a fork if he didn't want to. Those royals are given everything. Even if they are only silver."

Ghost sent her handmaid a hard look, not caring too much for her last sentence. If Martha saw her look of distaste, she did not note it as important. She continued voicing her thoughts. "Every time I turn around, Heron has that boy of his learning some new kind of fighting. I suppose it makes sense. He always has been prone to throwing tantrums and breaking things." Ghost noticed when Martha ran her fingers across the faint scar under her eye. "Maybe, this way, he can get the princeling to do all of his dirty work for him. He is getting a bit too old to go around flipping tables." Ghost only shook her head.

Martha had breakfast brought to the room. She'd squabbled over a utensil being in the wrong spot for a few minutes, then served the food. Ghost gobbled down everything that was placed in front of her with zeal. When she finished, she chugged the warm water that was always served with her breakfast. She let out a sound of appreciation, slamming the small, iron cup down on the tray, signaling that she had finished her meal.

She thought Martha might scold her for the loud noise, but she cleared the plates away without too much complaint. Once she'd finished wiping crumbs from Ghost's mouth and changing the bedsheets (despite them not being used), she made her exit, promising to return in time for lunch.

Finally alone, Ghost let out a heavy breath and grabbed the volume she'd begun reading the day before; King Aeron The Light. A history that Fengari had brought her in her first week here. A history that she'd kept reading ever since then. She scanned over the cover, now worn down from its constant state of use. The pages' colors were faded now, no longer the bright white that parchment should be. She studied the small black patch on the corner of the book, a reminder of when she'd fallen asleep reading it a bit too close to the fire. She'd never done that again. The book in her hands was one of her most prized possessions and it did not even belong to her.

She gave the cover one last contented look before opening to the page she had left off on. It was her favorite part. The battle and the victory.

Aeron had drunk the healing elixir. His once raven hair slowly morphed into a glorious, shining white. He had been blessed by the Light and had been given this opportunity to take back The Under in the name of the first Mage; Erick.

Aeron rallied his forces in the darkness of The Empty. His newfound power encouraged his depleted forces and they, once again, bowed to him and swore their cloaks and houses to his cause. Aeron had become a king and a god. The battle began at the late hour and continued through the darkness. The usurpers fell at the hand of Helen, Aeron's great sword. Many of Aeron's men fell in the battle, but all lives were given in service to the Light's higher cause.

Aeron banished all descendants of the usurper to The Outer City. They would live their lives without titles...as the Unnamed people. They would pay for the death their fathers brought The Under by being the first defense and protecting the Inner City from the Blind.

Only four of Aeron's great generals remained by the end of the battle. The Lion Elic, The Owl Rosand, The Bear Nathaniel and The Dragon, Aenan—Aeron's sole heir and son.

At the end of the great battle, Aeron declared peace throughout The Under and the stones from Aeron's armor were removed and given to his four generals as rewards for their bravery and loyalty. The ruby from Helen was given to Elic. The Sapphire from the breastplate was given to Rosand. The white diamond from his gauntlet was given to Nathaniel and the onyx from his helmet was given to Aenan—the heir of his father's throne.

It was from this moment that the four coats of arms were created. The Redcoats—to serve and protect The Under and her king. The Bluecoats—to be the heart of The Under when doubt and darkness were ever-present. The Graycoats—to use their hands to heal the broken. The Blackcoats—to rule with a clear mind and purpose. Since the Battle of King Aeron, each leader has possessed the great stones from his armor.

During his lifetime, King Aeron The Light sipped on the elixir that had given him his Light-touched hair. The recipe was passed down to his son Aenon who continued the tradition of consuming the elixir and gave it the name "Fel". Since Aeron's rule, every Blackcoat of Aeron's line has taken up drinking the Fel elixir to ensure that all the rulers of The Under remain worthy of the Light's favor.

All was well in The Under until Varis—Aeron's great grandson—fell into a fit of madness. Varis was the first in his line to be born with the white hair that his great grandfather possessed, thus he showed great promise as a leader as he was blessed by Light. He succumbed to fits of rage and violent acts that were deemed too cruel to be worthy of the onyx throne. Varis died at the age of ten and five. His eldest cousin Elic took the throne in his stead and ruled for five years. He died at the age twenty and seven.

Ghost closed the book. The next few pages were nothing more than names of former kings and records of how long they'd reigned. Nothing that was interesting to the white-haired ward. She preferred the tales of Aeron The Light and how he conquered The Under with Helen at his side. The king of Light banished the darkness into the Outer City and brought the Light back into The Under. He was a hero that would be remembered for the rest of eternity.

A small part of her wished she could be as Aeron was. After reading the tales of the white-haired warrior, she'd wondered what it would be like if she was like him. They'd had the same hair color, after all. Who's to say that was all they had in common? Could she one day take back The Under from usurpers?

The thought was laughable. Aeron was a Lord of Light before becoming a hero. He'd had a title, wealth and an army. Ghost didn't even have a name. Besides all that, how could she fight? She couldn't even find the courage to sleep on her own bed, instead hiding in the comfort of darkness just as she had always done. No, Ghost was no hero. Nor did she need to be. She would be what she has always been; invisible.

In the next few hours, lunch came and went and, with it, came a grumpy Martha. Ghost found another book to read and practiced her penmanship. "If you can't talk, the least you could do is write nicely." Martha had made her practice until she could no longer hold the lead between her fingers. The dimming of the Light outside of her window told the ghost that the Evening Hour was approaching, and that meant dinner would be served soon. She enjoyed dinner. She enjoyed eating. Maybe that was because she remembered the time when even that was a luxury.

When the door clicked open, Ghost had not expected to see Fengari holding the silver tray of food instead of Martha. He seemed to enjoy the confused look she gave him. "Surprised?" His voice was the sound of a drop on a still body of water. Ghost rolled her eyes at him, moving to close the door in his face. He snaked past her and into her chambers before she could.

He set the tray on her dining table next to the large balcony window. He was still in his training clothes and still sweaty. He'd probably only finished his lessons minutes ago and rushed to make his daily appointment with her. Ghost was certain that annoying her was the highlight of the prince's days.

Fengari tsk'd upon seeing the still-opened book on the table. "Did you even leave your chambers today?" Her eyes narrowed, sending him the silent reply. No. Why would I? I have plenty of books here. He pulled the cover from the dinner dish, revealing a lovely, steaming pot of broth and potatoes. "I don't think I should even give this to you. You haven't even earned it-"

Ghost rushed over and filled a bowl with the stew, already digging in before Fengari could voice the threat of removing her food. He blinked. Twice. "Perhaps Martha isn't wrong about you being part wild animal." A glare his way was enough to kill any thought of continuing that line of thought.

With a heavy huff, the prince sat opposite his ward, filling his own bowl with the flavorful broth. "Martha told me you slept under the bed again."

She paused midbite. Not this again.

"How many times will we have to have this conversation? You're wasting perfectly good sheets and pillows by sleeping on the cold floor like some hooligan."

Ghost grabbed her parchment and lead, scribbling down her response.

I like the floor.

Feng rolled his eyes. "Yes, and I like this stew. That doesn't mean I would sleep in it." He sipped another spoonful. The picture of royal raising. "Was it the nightmare again? Shall I have the Graycoats prepare a sleeping tonic?"

She gave him a pointed stare. No.

"Talking to you is like talking to that wall."

She wrote her response.

Maybe you should go and speak to it then, I'd like to eat in peace.