Prologue

PROLOGUE

T he throne room is littered with gold, piled in chaotic piles wherever items can fit. This room used to be covered in nothing but white marble. White marble pillars. White marble floors, strangely painted mural of myself being worshipped on the ceiling. Now, it's all gold. Even the plant in the corner is golden and glittering, a single butterfly frozen where a single leg was touching the plant when I'd placed my finger upon the leaf.

Scattered throughout the room, there are golden statues, men mostly, but a few women are strewn in. Peasants and charlatans, men who promised to deliver results and offered only loss of war or resources, people who thought to overthrow me. They'll never fail me again. They'll never fail anyone now. Frozen in time forever by the golden touch I've been blessed with, they make for perfect décor. Nothing is quite so intimidating as a reminder of who holds the power in this room.

Me. It's always me.

The man standing before me is older than I am, made apparent by the wrinkles lining his face and sunspots across his cheeks and shoulders. The differences between classes is always obvious when they stride into my throne room dressed in rags and I sit upon a golden throne wearing nothing but expensive golden silks and jewels. It cheapens the room for him to be here, but my role as king is to hear all plights.

Even if I have better things to do.

Beside me, in a smaller matching throne, sits the one spot of color in my throne room that isn't gold. Marigold is bright and charming, her dress a brilliant pink that would put any flower to shame. She's the perfect daughter, my legacy as much as the gold splendor around the room. She sits primly upon her throne, her lips turned into an unpleasant frown. She dislikes these meetings as well, though for different reasons from me. My sweet daughter detests suffering, no matter who is doing the suffering. She doesn't like being reminded of the peasants and their struggles, much preferring to help in the town when she's able. I've often spared her this task, but one day, she will be forced to sit upon the same throne I now preside on. One day, she will be queen, so it's best for her to sit through these meetings and learn how it should be done. Her efforts in the town won't help her rule. It'll only make her a target once she's queen.

"Your Majesty," the man begins, his voice as shaky as the summer sun outside. "Our crops are failing this year because of the locusts, and we cannot pay our share to the palace. I come asking to be exempt this year from the crop supply if your generosity will allow it."

I lean forward in my chair, studying the man. Dirt is still beneath his fingernails as if he couldn't be bothered to clean up before he came here. His clothing is equally as soiled, and I wonder if he even owns a pair of clean clothing. Surely, he would have cleaned up before he came here if he had. The absolute audacity of this man dragging in the mud and the muck from his fields to sully my pristine golden floors. " All of your crops are failing?" I ask.

He hesitates for a moment, his hands twisting together. "Not all, Your Majesty. There might be just enough for my family to survive the winter I believe?—"

"Oh," I interrupt, leaning back. "So then submit what hasn't failed and the rest will be forgiven."

The man blinks. "But Your Majesty, if I give you what little we have, then my family will starve this winter."

"And if everyone doesn't pay their fair share, then I will starve," I reply, sniffing. "Which of us is more important?"

Marigold gasps beside me. "Father!"

I glance at her. "You're meant to observe, daughter dearest. Not interrupt."

"How can I not interrupt when you're being so cruel?" she spits, but in her sweetness, venom barely seeps into her words. "Surely, we can forgive this man for one season?"

"And what will other's think if we let this man get away with abandoning his obligations? Hmm?" I ask, shaking my head.

"That you are a merciful king," she argues. "That you care about your people."

I study her, really take in the pride and joy before me. One day, Marigold will make a great queen, but she's yet to understand the burden that comes with ruling. If I let this man get away with this for one season, he'll come asking again the next, and then others will do the same. If I cannot feed the court, then there can be no ruling class. I meant what I said. I am more valuable than any of the peasants in my kingdom. I cannot allow things to be forgiven so easily.

"You are worried this man and his family will starve?" I ask her.

"Yes," she says. "He has stated that they barely have enough for themselves." Her bright blue eyes shine with barely concealed fire, a trait she inherited from her mother, may her soul rest in peace. I never loved the woman, but she gifted me with the brightest star of an heir so for that, I'll always be grateful and speak of her with respect, even in her death.

I nod and look back at the man. "How many strong is your family?"

He shifts on his feet. "It is myself, my wife, and our two children."

"Of the four of you, which of you consumes the most food?" I ask.

He hesitates. "I suppose. . . it is I, Your Majesty. I tend to the field all day and therefore need the most energy. The children are yet too young to work in the fields."

I stand and stride down the three steps to stand before him. The man flinches back, his eyes dancing to my hand where I rest it against my golden robes.

"Your Majesty. . ." he says, fear trickling into his words. "Please."

Marigold stands behind me and shuffles down the steps. "Father, we can help them. It's a simple task."

I glance over my shoulder at her. "One day, you will be in this position, daughter dearest, and you'll have to make tough decisions. You'll understand that you cannot always rule with a gentle touch. Sometimes, a firmer hand is required." I glance at the man before me. "If you are not there, your family will survive the season on less. If you give your life for theirs, I'll forgive them their payment."

The man's eyes blink with sudden tears, his hands wringing together in horror. "But, Your Majesty?—"

"Choose," I demand, tilting my chin up. "Or I will choose for you."

He hesitates. "I do not want to leave my family."

"You starve together, or you sacrifice yourself so they may live," I declare. "These are your options."

His tears begin to spill over his cheeks.

"Father!" Marigold cries, coming up beside me. "Stop this! Please! I know you are not so cruel!"

"Then you have not been paying attention, daughter dearest," I answer, not looking at her. I can't bear to see the disappointment there in her eyes. One day, she'll understand. One day, she'll be forced to harden. But today is not that day. I want her to stay my little girl for as long as possible. She's already a woman, suitors creeping around in the hopes of earning favor, but she's still the same little girl who used to sing to me when she thought I was sick. She's still the same little girl that asked for ice cream sundaes after every meal.

"I'd like my family to survive," the man finally whispers. He tugs the hat from his head and hugs it against his chest as he bows his face before me, looking down so he doesn't see it coming.

"An honorable choice," I tell him, nodding. "Your family will cherish your sacrifice."

I don't actually plan to touch the man. In scaring him, he'll be grateful for any second life he's given, and he will strive to repay the favor. Next year, his fields will be in abundance, and he will make sure to give plenty. But first, he must think that I mean what I say, that he must sacrifice himself for his family. It's a lesson I use often, one that works wonders in keeping my people afraid and eager to work. It'll do for this now and I'll explain it to Marigold once the man goes on his way. I lift my hand from my robe and reach forward. I intend to put my fingers near his shoulder, as if I'm offering comfort for his sacrifice, and then stopping as if I've had a sudden change of heart. What I don't plan for is my daughter and her heart of gold.

"Father, no!" she cries, throwing herself forward. I have no time to react as her small fingers wrap around my arm and try to wrench me backward away from the man. My fingers jerk and touch the barest edge of her bare forearm.

"Marigold!" I shout, jerking my hand back, but I'm not fast enough. "No!" I cry, forgetting the man completely as he stumbles back and sprawls out on the floor in horror, his eyes on my daughter.

Marigold screams in pain, her eyes riveted to her fingers where gold begins to seep into the porcelain of her skin, changing it, hardening it.

"No! No! No!" I cry, rushing forward. There's no stopping the spread. I've tried. I've tried countless times to better control it, but my gift is also a curse. A curse I'm always very careful to conceal around my daughter.

Until now.

"Father!" Marigold screams. "Help me! It hurts! Oh, Enchantment, it hurts!"

Tears rush unfettered to my eyes as I collapse at Marigold's feet, as I watch the gold spread up her arm, solidifying. She screams and screams and screams. The man rushes from the room, leaving us there, choosing instead to starve now than face what Marigold faces, unknowing that I'd never meant to turn him to gold. Her arm remains frozen in place as the gold crawls along her skin, as the gold spreads and takes over. Her screams echo around the throne room until the gold seeps up her neck and stalls her vocal cords. Her eyes are wide in fear as they land on me, as they hold, as I see the horror of what I am, the monster I've become.

Marigold was right. I am cruel. I am the worst kind of cruel.

The gold stops moving, leaving me to stare at a statue of my daughter, as golden as the rest of the room. The color she wears is no longer there. The pink has been replaced with gold. The blue of her eyes is gone. The porcelain of her skin is no longer porcelain. All that remains is the most beautiful and horrifying statue I've ever seen.

I bow my head into my hands and cradle my face, my crown toppling off my head to clang on the floor beside her golden feet.

"What have I done?" I lament, sinking to the floor. "What have I done?"

When the peasants come for my head, I don't dare take any part of my castle with me. I don't dare fight them. I don't care to. Instead, I load up my daughter's statue onto a wagon, cover her, and disguise myself with a cloak. I sneak away without anyone the wiser, watching from afar as they storm my castle and ransack the gold scattered throughout. I hear that my enemies come to collect their pound of skin and find the castle empty. I hear they put out rewards for my head, the cursed king. The golden one.

But I disappear, leaving behind my world in favor of one who accepts outcasts and monsters.

That's where I belong. With other monsters. I don't deserve to breathe the same air Marigold once breathed.

I don't deserve anything but her permanent horrified gaze upon me.

A reminder of the greedy beast I've become. . .