After we were done eating, everyone migrated to the throne room. I always found that particular room to be my favorite. While the chandelier above everything always caught my attention because of the shiny, I loved the way the light reflected off the walls the best.

That time, however, my mind focused on something else.

The stone.

It felt like it weighed me down to the ground, and I couldn't stop thinking of the effect it had on Dad.

His reaction to the gem was wrong. It didn't affect me or Raoul that way; why him? It was like he turned into--I don't know. He wasn't himself.

I tapped Raoul's arm gently. He kept staring at his hands.

The chatter of happy voices around me drowned out the silence from my brother, but it didn't calm my growing panic.

I grabbed his arm tightly. "Raoul?" He couldn't have frozen like Dad did. Not him, too.

Raoul rolled his eyes and snatched his arm away. "What, Clair?"

I took a shaky breath, calming myself. My eyes fell on my parents. They both laughed at something my uncle spouted out.

I kept my voice low. "Did you--did you see what happened to Dad earlier when he touched the stone?"

"No, why?"

"You didn't see his eyes?"

"No, Clair, I didn't. What happened?" Raoul shifted his weight in his chair, crossing his arms.

I bit my lip. He wouldn't believe me. I barely even believed myself.

No one else did, either.

"Nothing," I mumbled. "Just forget it."

We sat in silence. Neither of us so much as glanced at the other. The gem in my pocket pulsed with heat, slowly but surely burning my leg to a crisp. I winced and rubbed at the spot.

Ow.

A hand touched my shoulder. I jumped. "Gah!"

A light chuckle was the response. "Gets you back for sliding into me!"

The king.

I bolted out of my chair and dipped into a shaky curtsy. "Your Majesty."

The king waved his hand. "No, none of that formality. Not with you." His eyes twinkled as he bent down near the seat next to mine. "May I sit?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

He groaned as he sat in the chair. "Don't get old," he laughed. "It's not fun."

I smiled and plopped down next to him. "I wouldn't imagine it. Then again, you've seen more than me and know more than me. What could be bad about that?"

The older man raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Most kids your age think they know everything."

I shook my head. A grin pulled at my mouth. "When you get schooled by your mother on trivia questions every day, you realize that you may be smart, but they are smarter."

He sighed. "But sometimes too much knowledge isn't a good thing. Sometimes, you wish you could forget. Days, weeks, months, hours--all the things you know but don't want to." He looked into my eyes. "Knowledge can be a burden."

"Only if you carry the burden by yourself."

He laughed. "Your parents tell you that one too?"

I shook her head, ringlets flying everywhere. "Nope! It's my own creation."

"Smart girl."

Raoul got up from his seat and walked over to the oldest man in the group. His hair was gray-bordering-white and his back hunched over. His muffled "Hello, Grandfather," reached my ears.

"Majesty--"

The king shook his head. "Not majesty, Clair. Kir."

"Huh?"

"Call me Kir. I don't like the formal address. It makes me feel different than everyone, and that is certainly not the case. Besides, 'King Kir' sounds like something from a children's book."

True, although I wouldn't have told him that.

"Okay, Kir, then." The name felt weird in my mouth, almost like it needed a "mister" with it.

Which, technically, it did.

I watched my mother and father again. Dad grabbed my mother's hand and held it tightly.

"How do you know my parents?"

"I've known them since I was a child. Our parents were friends, which made us friends."

"Oh." For some reason, I wasn't satisfied.

"What's wrong?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I thought it'd be more complicated than that."

Kir laughed. "Trust me, kid. It is. It always is."

I opened my mouth to ask how much more complicated it was but was cut off by an elbow from the king.

"Uff," I grunted. "What are you doing?"

Kir reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small box, no bigger than my forearm. "Early Christmas present. Don't tell your parents."

"Don't tell us what?"

Uh-oh.

I turned my attention away from the box that Kir pulled out of his cloak and focused on my mother. Her green eyes twinkled in amusement at catching Kir and me in the midst of talking.

I reached over and snagged the box from the king. It was heavier than I thought it would be. "That he gave me an early Christmas present."

Mom raised her eyebrow and grinned. "You do know that there are two more weeks until that, right?" she asked Kir.

He just shrugged. "Your daughter looked pretty bored."

"Yes!" I jumped up from the chair and pointed at him. "That is a true statement!"

Mom just laughed. She held her hands in surrender. "Okay then. Open your present."

I didn't even think about the dark man and what he said or did to the king. I didn't even wonder if the "present" was what Creepy-guy gave Kir. I just opened the box.

I tore off the lid and flung it to the ground, where it landed with a clatter that didn't seem to belong in the quiet-ish room. I ripped away the thin sheets of paper that covered the gift, anticipating a book or glass item.

Instead, I was met with a little doll. I reached out and touched it gently, running my fingertips down the grainy surface of the wood. Little gold buttons went up and down the soldier boy's red uniform. The carved in hair was dark brown and messy like the carver messed up in the middle of his work.

I lifted him out. It was no bigger than six inches. My knuckles pushed up against a red lever on the back of the doll, moving it. The mouth dropped open the slightest bit at the pressure on the handle.

"What is this?" I breathed. "It's no doll, but it's also not something I'm supposed to just sit still and stare at."

Kir reached out and took the doll gently from my hands."That is a nutcracker. It comes from Dulcia, a kingdom west of here. It's pretty rare to find one in such good condition."

He pushed at the red lever again. "See this? If you pull it up, the mouth will open." The king pulled the lever up, resulting in the mouth of the nutcracker opening to such a wide gap that I couldn't help but giggle.

He pulled out a nut from his pocket and wiggled it into the nutcracker's mouth. "When you push it down..."

Crunch!

"You get a nut, cracked. Hense the name, 'nutcracker.'"

He handed the doll back to me and smiled. "Do you like it?"

''Like" is an understatement.

"I lov--" My words died in the air. The oily man stood all the way across the room. He fiddled with something at his waist carefully.

But his stare was directly into my eyes.

I gulped, the lump in my throat huge. "Mom, turn around."

My mother turned her head and stated directly at the man. "What is it?"

She doesn't see him either.

"There's a man, over there. Near Dad. He's--he's creepy."

Mom sighed. "As much as I'm sure your uncle would love to be called 'creepy,' why don't you lay off saying that about him."

"No, it's not him! There's another man, that apparently only I can see."

Kir chuckled. "Oh, to be young again."

I blinked back tears. "Fine," I mumbled. "That you for the gift, Majesty. I like it very much."

No one believes me. I'm leaving here.

I walked quickly toward the main door, making my way to the room I was staying in.

Someone grabbed my shoulder. "Where are you going?" my father asked.

I shrugged him away, not wanting to talk. "Out. I'm going to go read or something."

"You didn't bring any books."

"You think that can stop me?"

Dad wrinkled his brow. "What's wrong, Clair?"

What's wrong? What's wrong?

I clamped my teeth together, forcing myself to stay quiet. If I answer, I'll scream.

Dad bent down so he was eye-level with me and put his hands on my shoulders. I looked away.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, softer than before.

I sighed and moved my hands up and down. "Dad, I've told you and Mom that I keep seeing a man in here, and no one believes me. Why to you think there'd be something wrong?"

He nodded. "I see."

That was it.

All the rage that had slowly been boiling up inside me erupted.

And it erupted in the form of a scream.

"No, you don't!" I yelled.

Everyone in the room turned their heads to find out who yelled.

"You don't 'see!' If you saw, then you'd believe me!" A tear fell down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly.

My father stood. "Clair, it's a difficult to believe a little girl when they say they see an imaginary person."

"So that's the problem." I stepped back, crossing my arms. "I'm a 'little girl.' That's why you don't believe me."

"No--"

"YES!" I scream echoed off the walls of the room, sending vibrations through the air. "I'm a child! You think I have an 'imaginary friend!' With as much that you've told me you've seen, I'd think that you of all people would believe me! But no, you're just being stupid! A jerk!"

Dad's hand reached out and grabbed my arm tightly. His eyes shone with fury. "You do not say that, young lady."

Self-preservation no longer existed.

"Why not? It's true! That's what you're being, Dad! You're a--a monster!"

'Monster' was not what I wanted to say. It was too harsh for--anything. Anyone.

But it still came tumbling from my lips.

"Get out."

I stepped back, finally silenced. Never had my father been as terrifying as he was then. With most, the scream was as worse as it got. A scream and a yell. Sometimes tears.

With Dad, it was his silence that was the death sentence.

I could feel his rage. His anger. The way he stood, he showed that he was in charge, that he was the head dog. He was the lead.

And I just angered him to a stage I'd never seen before.

The brown in his eyes flashed to red momentarily. "Out. Now."

I promptly turned my back and stormed out of the room. I kept my head up as high as it could go.

Then slammed the door.

The tears that wouldn't come during the argument--the fight--broke free. I gasped, everything hitting me at once--the words I said, the way no one believed me.

My father's fury.

I ran down the hall, holding the nutcracker tightly in my arms. The stone in my pocket burned my legs, but I didn't pay attention.

I just cried.

_______________________________________

Why do I like writing arguments so much? I like writing arguments and death scenes and fight scenes. I don't get it😂

So, in the Nutcracker book (yes, there's a book) the Clara/Marie/whoever-she-is-called has a dream where she goes to a different place. The dream happens three times, and when she tells people about it, they don't believe her.

That's what I wanted to do with Clair in this. She sees something three times, tells the people around her, isn't believed.

Noa