I never saw the priest again.

  Though that came as no surprise. I was certain that I had been forced

  to bear cruel witness to what happens when someone dares to defy the

  people currently clenching my kingship in a stranglehold.

  I had been told upon my

  trainer’s return that the priest had been reassigned back to an

  abbey for intense retraining and that he was spiritually corrupt,

  which meant I would need a different, more advanced teacher to undo

  the damage he had done. It seemed strange that she would even try to

  conceal what she had done, her cassock had even been changed before

  she returned to the training room, it was similar, but the shade was

  slightly brighter, perhaps the garment was newer and had not been

  washed as much. Why go to the trouble to hide what had happened while

  having forced me to hear her terrible deed? It didn’t make sense,

  though sometimes she did do things that didn’t seem logical to me

  that had what she considered a greater purpose. Still, I knew of no

  one else who was able to wield magic the way she did and even

  further, it felt like exactly something she would do to teach a

  lesson.

  That afternoon, once training

  had ended and it was typically time to go to religious study, the

  cleric had begrudgingly allowed me to do self study in my room

  instead. I supposed that her disposal of the priest had not been on

  her list of premeditated moves which gave me a strange sort of

  comfort. Often it seemed like she was always the one pulling all the

  puppet strings on everyone around her and that she already had

  decided your fate with little you could do to escape. At last it had

  been shown that she was not completely omniscient and clairvoyant.

  Left alone to my own devices,

  though I made sure to position myself at the desk with a religious

  book propped open in case someone were to enter without knocking, I

  could finally have a moment to properly think without complete

  exhaustion to distract me. Unfortunately the first thoughts that

  rampaged to the surface were of the priest and of his untimely end. I

  could still hear the beating in my mind as clear as it had been when

  it was still happening. I wondered if he thought perhaps I would be

  forced to listen so he did not scream or perhaps he did not want to

  give her the satisfaction.

  Glancing down at the page, an

  uneasy idea entered my head: if I could be forced to hear something

  happening in another room no matter how far I went, could someone see

  what I was doing right now? It seemed like a far fetched idea on the

  surface, but nothing seemed out of the realm of possibility anymore.

  The cleric could easily possess my body and make it move on her

  command, what if she could also use my eyes or other sense to spy on

  what I was doing? For a panicked moment, I scanned my eyes over the

  words on the page like I was reading while I considered how likely it

  was, tracking the lines but not actually reading any of the words. I

  made it to the end of the two pages, then flipped, but stopped,

  feeling relieved. If she was truly surprised by the priest not

  teaching me to her specifications, then she had not been spying on

  the sessions. The seed of paranoia was still there though, making me

  doubt every little sound of footsteps or murmuring conversation that

  came anywhere the hallway outside my door.

  After sitting for what felt

  like ages, I decided that if no one had come to check on me or punish

  me for not actively studying, then I was safe for now. I pushed the

  religious book out of the way and turned my attention to the

  bookshelf. I had not forgotten that many of my books had been taken

  and replaced and I had been curious of the books that were left for

  me, but this was the first time I had really been awake enough and in

  a low enough state of pain to give them attention. I glanced through

  the titles, ignoring the history and other like books that I

  recognized and grabbed the first book I did not recognize. It was a

  leather bound tome that seemed not all that old given the pages were

  not nearly as yellowed as my other books and was entitled “The

  Fallacy of Fairy Tales.” I cracked open the cover and flipped to a

  title page with the author presented as A. Hammersmith, not a name I

  recognized.

  Authors were few and far

  between in the kingdom and generally books were not something my

  father really cared about trading for, they were not something he

  enjoyed having or reading. My mother and myself had been allowed to

  moderately indulge in our desire to find different kinds of tales to

  read, but most were only from our own kingdom. Thanks to to my

  father’s lackluster feelings towards the written arts, there was no

  current author in the castle outside of the castle historian and the

  name did not match nor was it a topic he was likely to write about,

  this meant the book had to be from outside the kingdom.

  The fairy tale, or as it

  may more accurately be known as, the fallacy, is a dangerous and

  insidious part of what is currently considered a normal childhood.

  Unlike many of the books I had

  read, the words were press printed and dark against the still white

  page. It was nice to be able to read without having to decipher the

  usually over embellished handwriting or squint to make out faded

  text, but it also felt like the book lacked character and soul.

  Typically the voice that would read out in my mind would be somewhat

  jovial or at least lighthearted, but the stark black, uniform text

  made the voice sound stilted and a bit annoyed.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Unbeknownst to many

  non-scholars, fairy tales are quite often based on pagan rituals,

  rights, myths, or legends. The older the origin of the tale, the more

  likely it is to have a dark and unholy origin that has been muddied

  and forgotten over time. This lost knowledge of tale origin leads to

  otherwise pious and holy people falling prey to not only reading and

  enjoying such tales, but to go on to spread the pagan words to

  others, even their own children!

  I frowned and peered back at

  the bookshelf. Whomever had swapped out my books, and I had a good

  idea of who, definitely believed the same as the author. This must

  have been left as a tongue-in-cheek explanation as to why certain

  books in my library were taken.

  The spread of pagan ideas

  is vast thanks to a lack of education provided by the leaders of the

  Great Church. Terrifyingly, this seems to be true due to their own

  lack of awareness about the origin of common folk tales and even lead

  them to spew the pagan filth directly from the pulpit! This is

  completely counter to our mission to rid the world of its dark, pagan

  past and lead people towards the light and there must be a concerted

  effect to cast these tales from the collective knowledge of our

  societies.

  The bell announcing the

  evening meal chimed throughout the castle and I opened the middle

  drawer of the desk to retrieve a fabric bookmark. I flipped back in

  the religious text I had cast aside to the page number I was

  currently reading in the new text, then shut both and put the new

  tome back in its place on the shelf. I was not sure yet if I was

  meant to read any of the books that I had been given and I was

  inclined to keep that I was secret until I could determine for

  certain. Though it seemed like it would be something my trainer would

  be delighted to know I was consuming, her motives and intentions for

  me were anything but clear and I was not willing to do anything to

  invoke her ire. A second chime of the bell rang out and I hopped to

  my feet, I didn’t want to raise any suspicions by taking too long

  to get to my meal. While the food was plain and nothing to look

  forward to anymore, I was still generally ravenous by the end of the

  day and usually one of the first to arrive.

  As soon as I exited my room, I

  hunched over slightly and walked as if in greater pain that I was

  actually in. I did not like the idea that the cleric knew I was not

  in quite as much pain today as I had been prior despite the typical,

  viscous start to my day and I did not want to start an escalation of

  her violence. I knew now that she was not above taking someone’s

  life and therefore was someone I feared even more than I had before,

  even though I didn’t think it would have been possible. I would

  feign being injured wherever I went if that is what it would take to

  protect myself from a similar end.

  “Ah, here he is.”

  I almost stood straight up in

  shock as I entered the dining room, there was a duplicate of my

  trainer.

  “Mm yes,” the duplicate

  said, “I have observed him from afar, but it is nice to see him up

  close.”

  My heart felt like it was

  going to beat out of my chest. One of her was enough, but no matter

  how much I blinked, a second sat next to her, staring at me with a

  sadistic smile.

  “Oh have you?” the

  original trainer said with an uncharacteristic laugh in her voice, “I

  should have known, you always want to see before being seen.”

  My feet felt glued to the

  floor and a lump was growing in my chest, pressing the air from my

  lungs. The cleric already brought a pang of fear and unease whenever

  I saw her, but this new version of her was somehow even more

  unsettling. They looked identical, but there was something about the

  way she moved her body and looked at me that was much more like a

  hungry predator. The cleric was definitely a predator as well, but

  she could hold back and bide her time, consider her actions, and

  perhaps be persuaded.

  “The boy is afraid,” the

  duplicated laughed.

  “I have been teaching him

  well,” the cleric said, then motioned to my normal seat at the

  table. “Sit, we have a guest for dinner and it is very rude to

  stand there and not join them.”

  Knowing I had no other choice,

  I did as commanded, though I refused to take my eyes off the guest.

  “This is my twin,” the

  cleric explained, “though if you had not figured that out by now,

  then you truly are a hopeless case.”

  That made sense and I felt

  stupid for not having it occur to me immediately, though it was a big

  shock, the person who haunted my dreams had appeared to miraculously

  doubled.

  “It is a pleasure to meet

  you,” the twin said, extending a gloved hand across the table to

  me. Her lips were curled up in a smirk and if I did not fear what

  would befall me if I didn’t accept her gesture, I would have not

  accepted it and assumed it was a deadly trap.

  Her hand gripped mine like a

  vice and locked as soon as my hand touched hers. Pain radiated from

  my hand up to my shoulder and I had to grit my teeth to keep from

  grimacing or crying out. She let out a satisfied chuff of air and let

  go, nodding her head like I had passed some kind of assessment.

  “So this is the boy king?”

  she asked her sister.

  “Indeed, not much to him as

  of yet.”

  Both looked to me, not moving

  their eyes as their elaborate meal of roasted fowl and potatoes was

  delivered along side my plain porridge.

  “Yet,”

  the new twin emphasized.