Page 2 of Mated to the Crown

“Oh my Gods, are you kidding me right now?” Laughter echoes across the open beams of the barn. I peek my head up from where I am laying and look over at my sister.

“Come on, you know you feel the same.” I blow out a sigh as she points her finger at me. Leaning back against the hay bales again I look up at the strong wood holding the barn up. The cobwebs seem to sparkle in the afternoon sun, small droplets of water clinging desperately to the silky strands.

“Yeah, probably more than you think.” I whisper. If she knew I had drama about her newest crush, she probably wouldn’t be crushing on him.

“What?” She calls but I ignore her. Here we are, hiding out in the hay bale storage of the barn. What a life.

“Well come on, we have work to do.” I grumble. She gets up, patting my knee and I begrudgingly follow her.

My little sister Lyra and I grew in the palace, but not the way you would think.

We were born servants and have stayed such for many years, tracing back multiple times.

Our family was just born to serve I guess, which is something I’m constantly struggling with as I grow closer to 33.

I’m supposed to be off, married with children at this point, and for the life of me it just isn’t happening.

My younger sister, closer to 30, is more ready for that kind of life.

I just need a sign. Every day I pray the Goddess will show me her plans and every day I’m reminded I’m a nobody. Born to make sure the royal family is in good standing, no dishes out of place, no dust on the portraits of their pathetically sad faces. It is not what I dreamed of at all.

I follow after Lyra, quiet and in my own mind as we leave the stables and head up the dirt path to the main castle.

It’s a sprawling masterpiece, perched atop a large mountain range.

A small area that had been molded to hold the castle and its various outbuildings - had been here for hundreds of years, and each time something else needed to be added, they had to chip away from the mountain.

The main city is below in a large valley that opens up to a much more sizable location.

The castle itself is older, painted with different shades of gray along the bricks.

The arches are large and loom over the pathways throughout.

The windows are tall with black bars on them or stained glass emanating different colors.

The main doors open up to an inviting room with various hallways pouring off of it.

I rarely see that room. It is mostly for meetings with the Royal family, debriefings, war rooms or when there is an urgent matter that court can not attend in another location.

We sneak around the back of the castle to the servant entrance.

Inside the bowels of the castle, the inner workings, is where all the real things happened.

Here is the rest of my found family, the ones responsible for making everything happen to perfection.

We are the ones who cook, clean, tinker, fix things, you name it.

We do it. Gods forbid a Royal would have to do anything.

We snake around the kitchen and into the hallway to the laundry area. Lyra pokes her head in the room with the washing machines and whistles. I roll my eyes and cross my arms as I lean against the door frame.

“I thought we had work to do. This isn’t time for a quick hookup.

” Her fiery gaze meets mine and I push off the door frame.

“Don’t fuck too much, I’ll meet you later.

” I pat her shoulder and continue on my way, hearing her squeal of excitement when Jones comes out from the room. What star crossed lovers. Blech.

I follow the winding hallway up to the spiral stairs, taking them two steps at a time.

I have to pull up my dress so it won’t snag on the metal of the stairs.

I hate dresses. I hate the things we have to wear.

At night I usually throw them in the corner and lounge in clothes that are too big for me so I don’t have to feel so constricted.

The stairs end and I make my way outside, walking along the balcony to the end where I stop at a large door. I take a deep breath, brushing my hair with my hands and smoothing out my dress before knocking.

“Ma’am? It is Celeste.” I say quietly and wait until the door opens. An elderly woman looks back at me, nodding and ushering me inside. I quickly move in and make a beeline for the seat in the corner of the room. “What should we read today?”

Most days I am running around doing chores.

Wednesdays though, I hang out with the oldest of the Royal family, and read to her.

Basically babysitting. She is the closest thing I have to a friend and Goddess knows I need one.

She slowly makes her way over to her chair, easing into it before letting out a soft sigh.

“Let’s continue the one we had, dearie.” She points to the black book on the table in front of her and I snatch it up.

“Chapter…. 26?” I try to remember where we were last time. She nods and I settle into the seat before starting to read.

This is the oddest of my chores. It only started about 4 years ago.

Royal Queen Charlotte had stepped down from the throne, leaving it to her surviving children.

There was quite a bit of drama involved with that one since her oldest was a female.

There was lore that a male needed to be the one on the throne, but also lore that if any of them were blessed with the Goddess’ mark they could be.

She had the mark so she eventually took over.

Queen Charlotte had 3 children. Her oldest was (now) Queen Ilsa.

Ilsa was married to King Henry and had three children, Elizabeth, Arthur and August. Princess Sandra was married to Prince James with two children, Malik and Joseph.

The youngest of the children was Prince Nicholas who wanted absolutely nothing to do with the throne and disappeared a few years ago. I have not seen him in some time.

I had grown up in the castle, so many of Charlotte's grandchildren were close to my age. Malik and I were born the same year, Joseph two years later. Ilsa’s children were all a few years older than me but not by much.

Growing up in the castle did not mean we all hung out though.

The Royal family was still very segregated from the servant children.

I had more in common with any of them than the Royal family, even being the oldest now.

I guess technically we weren’t children anymore, but when treated like them sometimes I forget just how old I am.

Lyra and I are the only children to our parents.

My Father Albert was one of the head War Room Generals.

He had been helping strategically for years until his death.

Once he died my Mother found it hard moving on and we stayed at the Palace.

She had nowhere else to go, didn’t know anything but being a servant, so we stayed and the Palace didn’t bat an eye.

“But Dearie, tell me about him.” Charlotte interrupts my thoughts and I look up at her.

“Who?” She told me when I first started this chore to call her Charlotte, she didn’t want to be referred to as the Queen anymore.

This was time we had without the prying eyes of everyone else so I finally did but it had been a huge leap of faith.

She could have gotten me in so much trouble and exiled.

Deep down though, I knew her time as a Queen was done and she just wanted a peaceful life.

“Malik. What is he up to?” Her head is back against the recliner, her eyes closed.

“What would I know about him, Charlotte?” I scoff, trying to find my page in the book again.

A small laugh escapes her and she positions her head so she is looking at me again.

Her face is pale, wrinkles escaping around her eyes and mouth.

Her eyes had turned a dull brown over the years and her smile was barely there anymore.

She is getting tired and she probably wouldn’t be around much longer.

It pains me to see her like this, but knowing she has some comfort in me spending time with her reading is why I continue.

“He is your mate. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it yet.” She laughs.

“What are you talking about?” I slam the book shut.

“He sure as shit isn’t my mate. He is a Royal.

I’m a commoner. No, lower than that. A servant.

” Heat rises to my cheeks. This is the first time in all these years she brought him up.

We talk about her children and how they’ve changed.

How the Royal line has changed over the years.

We talk about her grandchildren and how they’ve grown up.

We talk about little things, nothing political.

She left that life behind when she stepped down.

But now, looking at her as she taps her nose and the sparkle in her eye, I wonder if she knows something I don’t.

“Just keep an open mind. I’m tired. Can you keep reading?” She asks quietly.

My heart thumps loudly in my ears, trying to process it. There is no way he can be my mate. First off, he is Royal. Second off, the Goddess knows better than to mix up the blood lines. While I wish to be that, wish to see him one day, I know it isn’t meant to be.

I open up the book again, trying to squish down my emotions and find my place and begin reading. Charlotte nestles herself back in her chair again, leaning her head back against the large green recliner before falling asleep. After a few moments I close the book, glancing around the room.

They had basically banished her to this room when she stepped down.

She wasn’t to be seen by the public and needed to live in secrecy.

Her husband had died many years ago and she was truly alone.

Her children were more concerned about the Royal duties than her, so she got washed aside.

More chores were added to accommodate her and I was picked to come and be with her so she wasn’t lonely.

Some days other people spend time with her, but for the most part she is alone in this room.

Surrounded by books and other small things that mean a lot to her.

I stand up, placing the book down and putting my hand on her shoulder to say goodbye but she doesn’t move. I check her chest to see if it is rising and falling, and it doesn’t. I flinch backward.

“Charlotte? Charlotte?” I reach forward and her skin is not the warm temperature it used to be, it is steadily falling in the cool room.

I rear back again. Fuck, fuck fuck. I pace around a few times before remembering I know how to check for a pulse.

With my index and middle finger I find the vein on her neck and feel around, feeling no heartbeat. Shit, double shit.

A knock startles me and I run to the door, tearing it open.

There he stands, my supposed mate. He stands taller than me, spine straighter than ever with all of his training and education.

He towers over me, making me feel small even though I’m 5’8”.

His black hair is slicked to the side, his piercing blue eyes boring into me as he stands there.

One hand - behind his back, and the other - up in a fist from knocking.

He wears a suit but it’s garnished with extra buttons and stitching on the shoulders and chest to denote he is a Prince. Fuck.