Ridicule.

Nova is going to a ball, one that she is relucant to going to. One where her future will be heard, is she ready for the throne? Is she ready for royalty?

"Why aren't you in your gown?" My Father bellowed, howling down the hall. "You know why Novaria. Werewolves wear white in royal events and..."

"Red at weddings, of course, I know." I growled, turning to my Father, growling a little. "But I'm not as dark skinned as my sisters, Father. It does not compliment me. Please, will you let me clothe myself in gold, just this once? Mother has already forced me to wear these ridiculous heels, that's not werewolf tradition."

"There's a reason for that." He said, "You're much shorter than your sisters, your skin is much more delicate. You are my rose, and we want to protect you. You will be the ridicule of the town otherwise!"

"Then let me be ridiculed!" I snapped, "I'd feel just as ridiculous in a frumy white gown than in my golden robe. I can dance with the lords and ladies, along side them, not above."

"My darling Novaria," My Father began, leaning down to kiss the top of my head, "You're so just, but so stubborn. One day you'll learn what it means to rule. Wear the gold."

"Thank you." I hummed as my Father left the room. I looked at myself now, smiling, even though I was never very happy or appreciative about how I look. I had big, bushy brown hair and huge, deep set hazel eyes. My arms carried a little extra weight so that I looked quite muscly. My clothes were all white and stuck to my body like cling film, which did not compliment my skin tone or body shape. I looked down at the burn on my arm that I got when I was cooking one day. It was an ovular scar that was bright and pink, located just below the bottom of my hand. I looked back up to my face, as I pursed my narrow lips, making my cheek bones stick out, even though I had apple cheeks that made me look around fifteen years old. In actuality, I was eighteen.

My Father was getting old, far too old now to even serve in a war. Tonight was the choosing of a queen. I was intent on not making the cut. I didn't even look like a werewolf. They had tan skin, a skinny body, a tall frame, and beautiful black hair. They were thick skinned.

"Princess?" A woman came into my room. I recognised her from the room next to mine, my youngest sister's Nanny. "It's Espen, she's been asking for you."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, jumping at the thought of delaying any sort of ceremony a little longer. "It must be time for a bed time story by now." And by bedtime story, I meant she told me one, and then she would finally calm and rest for the night.

In our family, there is a thin line between being a tramp, and being a princess. Princesses sit up straight, princesses eat properly, princesses lie perfectly on their back with their arms at their side, princesses have amazing manners. I had none of these.

The light of the room flickered as I sat on the bed, looking at the big brown eyes in front of me. They reminded me of hot cocoa on a winter's day, snuggling up and reading books. These eyes however, had a sudden snark. My sister was relentless. At six years old, she was bossing the palace around. She was her own enigma. Her own, loving, creative, restless enigma. And I was the only one who could crack it.

"And then the king said, there's no such thing as a gorilla-dragon!" She exclaimed, looking me dead in the eyes, and bursting out with laughter. The giggle built up inside her like so much water behind a dam, making her shoulders shake and her belly hurt. When it erupted from her mouth it sounded more like a braying donkey as she fought to breathe and stifle the tears.

"You've told me your story, are you going to go to bed now?" I asked. I would have given anything to stay with Espen, to not go back out there and face them. But I had told them that I would only be five minutes, half an hour ago. "Or am I going to have to tickle you?"

"No!" Espen said, springing from one side of the bed to the other, and getting underneath of the sheets. "I'll go to sleep now."

"Good night, don't let the pygmies bite." I whispered, as softly as possible. I reached down, sweeping her shaggy hair out of her face, and kissing her on the forehead, before blowing out the candle and leaving the room.

"Love you, Nova." A voice sounded from behind me. The voice was raspy and low for a child, due to a bad case of vocal nodes, that she had when she was only a toddler.

Gliding down the hall, I headed to the doors of the ballroom. I hadn't been in the ballroom for years now, since the last ceremony. Now, in my new dress, with my face caked in makeup, and my hair so heavy on my head that I may fall over, I clutch the golden door knobs with my hands. I take a moment, holding on tight, breathing out one long, heavy breath. This was it, the day that they had been preparing me for, for two years.

A lady always stays calm, cool and collected.

I breathed heavily as I walked, trying to suck in the fat on my stomach, not that you could see it over the layers and layers of clothing tailored especially to hide it. My gown stuck to every possible part of my body, the dark material surrounding me like a blanket. I lifted the bottom, holding it in clumps to keep myself from tripping on it.

Posture! A lady always composes herself in the best of manners.

Of course, I had all the grace of a three legged spider. My Mother wondered if perhaps her lack of co-ordination was a sign of something, something diagnosable, but my Father wouldn't hear of it. He just said his baby was a normal girl and it was nothing a few ballet classes wouldn't fix. I hated dancing.

I noticed all of the people looking at me, staring at me, squinted, almost confused. I edged along the hall and to the long table at the back, which held all of the royal family. My second youngest sister, Zara, was seated at the end of the table, with a friend. I took a seat next to her, looking down at my food.

A lady never starts eating until the meal has started.

Food would have been so nice right then, might even help my anxiety. But I knew how I ate. I wolfed food down, and took huge bites, and I couldn't risk them seeing me like that, improper.

On the other side of me, my sister, Phoebe. There was a year between us, and one of the most beautiful creatures you will ever see. Even in wolf form she had a certain shine to her hair. She was so small, so dainty, so perfect. Everything that I lacked in becoming Queen, she had, and I hated it. The way she spoke was so soft to the ear, so happy, so innocent. She was like a small deer. "Nova, you're finally here."

"She's not even a proper werewolf!" I heard one of my cousins exclaim, looking over to me as all of them fell silent. My cousins as a collective were practically all the same person, the same thoughts, the same harsh looks. Annabella, Isabella, Arabella, Rafaela and Ella. "Look at her: green eyes, pale skin, how is she going to rule?"

More than anything in the world I wished that I didn't have to rule. Maybe it wouldn't be me. Maybe it would be Zara, she would be good. She was strong, but also headstrong as well. Father, though old, had years left, enough for Zara to marry and learn to rule.

"NOW!" I heard my Father bellow. His roar was like none other, seeming as though he had a large temper was a good front for my Father. His expression made him seem angry, annoyed almost. But, he turned to me, a grin on his face as he looked down. His eyes were also dark, but puffy due to old age. "Shall we begin the choosing?"

All of the nameless faces roared and threw drinks around, laughing and cheering. My cousins all kept firm eye contact with all of us. Zara had become more attached to my cousins, through exposure. I had wished that she would not become one of them, in the plague of fascism they abide to, so that I would not lose her. But alas, she seemed more distant than ever.

The door opened, smashing against the wall in a sudden burst. The room fell more silent than I could ever remember hearing. No-one moved a muscle, except for the woman like creature storming into the room and over to the table. The floor parted, all gazing at her like she was some sort of forbidden fruit.

Beneath the crude mop was a face less appealing than onion eye-drops. Over the past century her skin had become crusty, falling off in flakes the size of almond slices. Her mouth had puckered from lack of smiling and shrunk to the size of a jelly bean. No-one ever saw her eyes beneath the hat, ever.

Legend has it that she was given dark magic by a siren before a tragic ship wreck. She lost one of her eyes in that ship wreck, and people saw her as a monstrosity. Her own betrothed didn't want to marry her anymore. One day she was at a meal, and suddenly stuck a fork in the other eye, prying it out onto the dinner table for everyone to see. Only then could she achieve clairvoyance.

She walked over to Zara first, pulling Zara's arm forward so that her body slammed into the table. She licked her lips, shaking her head. "This isn't the one." She said, her voice hoarse, like she hadn't spoken nor drank for years.

Then Phoebe. She took Phoebe's hand more delicately, tracing one finger down her palm, and looking down. She mumbled to herself for a while, as my heart began to thump. It was going to be Phoebe. I didn't have to worry any more. Phoebe would be fantastic, just like my Father. "No, no." She said, "It's not you honey."

Suddenly, her hand was on mine. Her hand was soft, but frail, I could have broken it at any moment, just from squeezing it. Her head jolted back, back, so far that I could see her eyes. Her eyes. Nothing but her eyes. I didn't see her eyes, I heard them. The scream tore through me like a great shard of glass. I felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, my heart thudding like a rock rattling in box. The scream came again, desperate, terrified... human.

"Agh." I said, pulling my hand back suddenly, feeling all of the hairs on my body at once, leaving my skin and standing up. Making a fool out of myself was the least of my concerns at that moment, as I looked away from her eyes and anywhere else.

"This is the one." And then she was gone.

No. NO!

It couldn't be me. Queen Novaria Winterton of Fray--doesn't exactly have the perfect ring to it, does it?

Everyone stared as if I'd just produced a rhinoceros from my pocket. I could just imagine the sparks in their brain, desperately trying to connect the dots and instead just causing a short circuit. They looked like a pop-eyed toy from one of those claw machines at the fun fair.

The chosen queen addresses her audience.

I needed to stand up. Stand up. Stand up straight. Shaking, I stood up, putting pressure on the table. A soft tearing noise could be heard. Then my balance was thrown off. My dress had sent both me and the chair flying back. Everything seemed to slow down. I tried to grab something, anything, to yank myself up before my impending doom. But instead, I made it worse.

I had gripped the table cloth. All of the food, specially prepared, cooked, grilled to perfection, all over the whole of my family. My sisters covered in gravy, my cousins in whatever sauces they had chosen. I had hit the floor, food all over me, peas stuck in my corset, my hair falling out and drenched in sickly wine.

I closed my eyes. Maybe this would be all over in a second. Maybe I would wake up, and find out that I was in a dream. Yet the cruel laughter pierced my eardrums, over my drumming heart beat. I find out that I am queen, and automatically humiliate myself. I had to get up and save myself.

"I do apologise for that little show." I laughed, trying to make my voice loud enough to echo around the room and be heard by everyone. "I tend to be a little clumsy, but maybe I'll be the queen who no matter what she does, still rises up to a challenge and to protect the people." I had to change the subject, to stop being so awkward. "Instead of droning on about myself for the next five minutes, I would just like to spend a minute thinking about Jeremy, our beloved brother who passed two years ago. Here's to family!"

Making a toast when the wine was covering the floor was probably not the wisest of choices, but it seemed to make a difference. Before I knew it, big or small, covered in food or not, everyone was stood up and raising their glistening champagne flutes, "To family."

A figure glided toward me, hovering before me. There was only one word to describe the sun-kissed Grecian. Where his eyes were the green of fresh dew glinting in the sunlight off a leaf of green emerald. His lips were pale and thin and his nose slender and rounded. A prominent jaw curved gracefully around and the strength of his neck showed in the twining cords of muscle that shaped his entire body; strong arms, bold thighs and calves, a firm chest and abdomen. "I will always be loyal to you, my queen."

Theodore. Theodore Summerling belonged to the second richest family in the land. He was nineteen years old and to be betrothed to whichever sister was lucky enough to become queen of the land. Which just so happened to be me. On top of become Queen, I had to get married to someone I barely knew, great. Most women would kill for someone who looks like him, but I couldn't have felt any worse.

His wet lips made smooth contact with my hand, which was clammy by now, as he bowed in front of me. His hot breath sounded on my hand, making me both want to leave it there for more contact, and to retract it on first sight.

I looked down upon Theodore, almost about to say something, before being stopped, by him turning around. Another disruption of the ball. The guards of the castle stormed in, walking up to the king. I couldn't make much out other than what the guard was mumbling. "There was an attack on the guards at the wall... seven dead... vampires..."

Vampires.