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Chapter 11 - White Canvas

Nereyda

The translucent green leaves shimmered and swayed above me. Sparkling flashes of sunlight pierced the leafy foliage at random intervals, glimmering as they seized their rare chance to take the spotlight. The teasing powder blue of the sky floated behind the glow.

I lay on a bed of crisp autumn leaves, staring up at the sky. Braeden lay less than a metre to my left, but he lay on his side facing me instead of the sky. His fingers carefully brushed through my white hair as he studied my face.

It had been several long days since Braeden had first taught me how to phase. We had seen each other every day afterwards and the stolen hours we spent together were by far the sweetest hours of my life thus far. We talked a bit, mostly we just sat together. Occasionally I would phase and he would chase me around the forest in his human form. I hadn't asked him why he seemed so reluctant to phase, I figured that if he had been so insistently avoiding it then it must be a sensitive topic. I was sure he would bring it up when he was ready.

The sparkling green leaves continued to shimmer above us.

"Do you believe in magic?" My words were always slightly louder than they should be when I was with him. I was nearing fifty five decibels, the law said that you could not make noise louder than sixty decibels.

Braeden smirked sideways at me, his full pink lips pulling up lopsidedly and his crystal eyes glinting. "I most definitely do not."

I said nothing for a moment, processing the implications of his words. All my life I had been taught that magic was a hoax. As a child, I had been utterly fascinated by the prospect of being able to do supernatural things. Things that no one else could do. It would make you special. Different.

Unfortunately, there was a significant lack of magic books in the palace library. I knew that many of the books had been burnt after my father had taken control of the city. Anything to do with wolves, be it good or bad. All of it went on the bonfire.

"Not even a little bit?" I turned on my side now, facing Braeden just as he faced me.

His hand stilled in my hair. "Not at all. What people call magic is just science mixed with some ill informed, fanatic ideas about religion and life."

He looked up at the sky. "Those who call themselves witches are basically just religious chemists, able to mix up a concoction that cures or improves health but not much else."

I took a moment to process his cynical view of the supernatural. "And is that your opinion or is it proven fact?" Having believed in the wonders of magic for my whole life, I found it very difficult to take what he was saying as gospel.

He snorted loudly without looking at me. "Well that depends on who you're asking," there was laughter in his voice as he spoke.

I found myself smiling at his cryptic yet humorous response. "I'm sure," I responded sarcastically, shaking my head slightly at the silly turn the conversation had taken.

"It's going to storm tonight," he said thoughtfully whilst examining the partitions of sky above us. "So there'll be a heatwave tomorrow." He spoke slowly and leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world. His fingers had started to tangle absently with my hair.

I waited for him to get to the point.

"I have a surprise for you. Do you think you can get out of the palace around noon tomorrow?" He averted his attention from the sky back to my face. His blue eyes shone as he stared at me, betraying his excitement about whatever he had in store.

I knew that it would be very unlikely that I could get out early tomorrow but my heart ached at the thought of saying no to his wide hopeful eyes. I was sick of letting my family hold me back from everything that I wanted to do and be. I was going to find ways to do what I wanted to do, starting with seeing Braeden tomorrow.

"I can try," I told him truthfully. "I'll probably be able to..." I sat up on my elbows as I trailed off thoughtfully.

Braedon sat up too. He smiled with affection as he rose to his feet. "Don't worry if you can't. But it would be great if you could."

I blinked at his smile, my chest warming unfamiliarly at the sight. He extended his hand towards me and I took it, allowing him to haul me to my feet. I dusted the autumn leaves of the back of my dress just as he did the same. The buttons on the back of my dress were still undone from where I had removed it earlier to phase. I turned so that Braeden could button it up.

"Where should I meet you?" I asked as we started to make our way back towards the castle. Braeden's cheeks were marginally more flushed after buttoning my dress, a small detail I would not have noticed without my leopard sight.

Our steps crunched on the flaking orange leaves.

"You remember the pine clearing from the other day?" His voice was a little hoarser than usual but it was a fact that was easy to overlook.

I nodded without looking at him. He was talking about the clearing where I had phased for the first time.

"If you can make it, I'll see you there just after noon." I glanced at him just in time to see him throw a dazzling smile in my direction. I tripped over a twig.

He left me at the foot of the castle, allowing me to make my own way up to my room. It was nearing lunch time now, I had taken leave immediately after breakfast. It was the first time that I had left the castle alone during the day. I found that I was actually allowed, as long as I had an escort with me and I stayed within the centre of the city. Well, I hadn't had an escort but I was sure that Simon would vouch for me if - for some unimaginable reason - someone decided to question my morning absence. I hadn't stayed within the centre of the city either but how was anyone supposed to know that. The only person who knew of my real whereabouts was Braeden and I'd be damned if he told my father where I had really been.

I was writing in my journal when the call came.

An unfamiliar maid knocked tentatively at my door. When I invited her in she peered around the edge of the door as if I was waiting for her to come in so that I could kill her. It was the nature of all maids in the castle to be tentative, but it had been a long time since I had seen such fear in the staff's eyes.

What scared me, however, was not the fear in her eyes but the pity she exuded when her eyes fell on me. Her next words consolidated the freezing of my heart.

"His Majesty the King has called for your highness." Her voice was a quiet squeak, like a fearful mouse.

My mouth parted in surprise and there was no doubt my eyes portrayed my inner fear. My hands shook. The last time my father had called on me had been when I was but five years old and it had been the most traumatic experience of my life. My hands clenched along with my heart. I needed to get a grip of myself.

I rose to my feet as gracefully as I could, mentally sending strength to my weakened knees. What had been an averagely pulled corset now seemed to be squeezing all the bravery out of me. I called an image of Braeden to my mind. He would not show fear in the face of the King.

I inhaled deeply as I made my way out of my chambers. The extra air increased the clarity in my head and allowed me to smooth my features into a conventional faceless mask.

My bare feet padded across the cushioned carpet as we plodded towards the North West wing of the castle.

By the time we reached the spiralling staircase that led towards my father's chambers, perspiration coated my trembling hands. We ascended the stairs slowly, I forced my knees to hold my weight and not collapse out from under me.

To my surprise we did not turn right at the top of the stairs but left instead. I did not know where the left corridor led and this did nothing to help calm my frenzied heart. Now that I knew that it was my father calling I understood why the maid was unfamiliar. Obviously her main post was in my father's wing, not in the rest of the castle. She could not meet my eye and constantly looked as though she were ready to bolt at any second. I was not at all encouraged by her nervous demeanor.

We passed several doors as we made our way down the wide corridor. Some would call the plain white walls and the white tiles that melded seamlessly together boring. Others would say that the overall look was unfinished. I had lived with the unelaborate blankness for my whole life and although I wouldn't say that I liked the emptiness, I couldn't say that I despised it either.

The seconds it took to reach the end of the corridor seemed infinite as I anxiously anticipated what lay at the end. The nameless maid opened the door for me and I walked through in front of her.

On either side of the room there were five paintings stacked on top of each other facing me. Upon closer inspection I could see that behind each painting there were hundreds upon hundreds of paintings packed neatly behind each other for storage. The bottom rows consisted of the larger paintings, the front left one being a gruesome picture of a vulture pecking at a half eaten human hand. It was more colour than I had ever seen in my life.

The maid had already started to make her way through the tall walls of paintings and I hastily followed, not wanting to see anymore of the highly disturbing art. As I moved through the room I did not have to look at anymore of the paintings because all I could see of them was the white sides of the canvas.

I was sure that no one was allowed to paint such things but seeing as we were in the King's chambers it was not hard to guess who the artist might be. I guessed that I had figured out what my father spent his entire life doing when he was holed up in his chambers.

There was another door at the end which led to what looked like an art supplies room. After that we turned a corner and arrived at a spiraling staircase which led to the North West turret. I had never been in the turret before but I had been in my father's study, which I was pretty sure was just down the corridor past the staircase. For some reason we had taken a detour to get here, a back route that took a lot longer than needed be.

The maid gestured to the staircase as she curtseyed. Obviously I was on my own from here. My stomach turned at the prospect of confronting my father alone in a circular turret with only one way out. I felt sick.

The metal staircase had been painted an immaculate white, but remained cold under my bare feet. The grooves in the metal dug into my toes as I proceeded up the stairs. My skirts dragged behind me, threatening to unbalance me and send me falling over the unsturdy railing. The rickety structure shook with each of my steps.

There was no door at the top, only a gaping archway that led to something I didn't want to see. I entered the turret slowly, trying in vain to slow my breathing and placate my features.

Somehow I was not surprised by what I found in that room, despite the luridness of what I saw. The area was a supernova of colour, thousands and thousands of different shades coming together to form the many paintings that were scattered around the circular room.

My father stood at the centre of the explosion, a white pillar in a sea of colour. He held a paintbrush in his hand, raised to the bleeding eye of a rotting wolf. My stomach churned at the gruesome pictures.

I focused on the paint splattered floor.

"Nereyda," quiet as a breeze, my father's voice echoed off the high, triangular ceiling.

I forced my shaking knees to bend into a curtsey. I still had no idea what our meeting was to be about.

"Come closer," he breathed, dabbing at the disfigured eye that was connected to the wolf by only a single string of pink flesh. I kept my gaze firmly on the floor as I took a few steps forward.

"Do you live comfortably Nereyda?" He asked without turning around. I had not seen his face yet but I had no doubt that his expression would be completely unreadable.

"Yes your majesty," I whispered in the quietest voice I could muster. I would have nodded if he were looking at me, I was mindful of the need to say as little as possible. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what direction he was taking the conversation in.

"Why?" His one word was nearly drowned out by the scratching of the paintbrush.

"Because of your money your majesty." I curtseyed again as I spoke, sure that he would sense my movements even without seeing me. He probably heard the rustling fabric of my skirts.

"Come closer," he said again.

My heart rate doubled at this second order. There was only one reason he would want me to be so close to him. My whole body trembled as my breath came in fast pants. I took two reluctant steps forwards.

He dropped his painting arm to his side and his shoulders drooped. "Peasants."

I barely heard the word before my whole body was thrown to the side. My face burned in the aftermath of my father's hand.

"You would splash my money on peasants," I barely heard his whisper over the ringing in my ears.

My face whipped to the side once more as his hand came around. "You're being incredibly rude Nereyda. You should clean up your face." If his words were louder they would have been a sneer. He spoke with no emotion, as if the words meant nothing to him. I knew that he was not talking of the liquid I could feel dribbling down my cheek but of my expression. He was saying that I should have more respect in the presence of my elders.

I tried desperately to compose my features. My vision swam as I tried to regain my senses. My father towered over my crumpled form, as cold as ice yet the red of fire surrounded him. I hated that I was utterly powerless in his presence. How could he expect me to show no emotion as he hit me? I was on the verge of tears now, the roiling mix of fear, anger and shame all fighting to break onto my face.

My heart thundered in my ears for several beats and when no further attack was made I realised that the onslaught was over. I pushed my weak form to it's feet, swaying unsteadily as I attempted to regain my balance.

"That's all," he was back at his easel with his paintbrush as if the last thirty seconds hadn't happened at all. The wolf skin draped over his shoulders had not moved an inch and not a single white hair on his head was out of place. The only remnants of our encounter lay in the blushed undersides of his hands.

It was a miracle that I managed to curtsey without collapsing once again to the floor. I began to make my way out of the room when his quiet voice stopped me once more.

"Clean your feet," the instruction was offhand, reflexive as if he could be speaking to anyone.

My teeth clenched as I stepped into the water bowl by the door. An all manner of rude words came to mind as I mentally cursed my father. He wanted me to clean the paint off my feet so I wouldn't dirty his white hallways. Fuck the bastard, I would make sure to drip blood all over the carpet the whole way back to my chambers. 

--- A/N --- 

YAY!! I've been waiting to post this chapter for the longest time. Vote and comment if you like, it does help me out :). Hope you're all doing fantastic, feel free to message me about anything :p - Z x