Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

A Mother's Voice - EXTRA

A big thank you to everyone who has helped Abby reach 20,000+ reads! Hope you'll enjoy this story.

P.S. Have your Kleenex at the ready.

☆

28th. Fallum. 1038, Age of Gold. Kingdom of Aelurus.

The balcony had been my refuge since I was a kit. On it, I could look out at the expansive grounds below and watch as thousands of blades of grass blew in the breeze, or watch them freeze at snow's first fall. There was a sense of calm to the world below, an order that I liked to pretend existed inside Darkmoore's walls.

But each night I stole onto the balcony, my nightgown the only respite from the biting winds that ravaged Darkmoore's walls in late autumn, I found I could only focus on the shadows, long and gnarled lying like nails clawing at the ground.

In those shadows, I saw the faces of my family's enemies - hundreds of slitted-eyes transfixed on this castle and the throne encased inside, their mouths open, fangs dripping with saliva as they readied to pounce and rip our throats open all because we occupied a space they deemed we weren't worthy of.

The crescent moon in the sky, that glimmering sliver of gold, my family's crest said otherwise. We weren't just worthy, we were goddess blessed.

A knock rings out and I whip around, tromping over barren tile, to peel back the door and look the intruder in the eye. It's Emmin, my father's page kit, wearing a nightshirt that skirts along the floor, and covers up his darling, fluff of a grey tail. His whiskers tremble when he first lays eyes on me but then he remembers the rules and casts his gaze to the floor, like a good common blood ought to do.

"Ben'essra," he said, his voice shaking in tandem with his whiskers. I take note of the scroll he's got clenched between his fingers, and the seal - a crescent mark in black wax. My father's summons.

"I'm not a queen," I say to the kit and reach out to pluck up the scroll.

He puts up no struggle as I slide it freely from his grasp. "Forgive me, your highness." His ears droop slightly and I can't stop myself from kneeling before him. He tries to avoid my gaze, but I reach out and touch his cheek. "Emmin," I say warmly. "I have known you since you were born. You can look at me."

"But," he shifts on his bare feet, his tail swishing back and forth and dragging part of his nightshirt with it. My father must have sent for him when he was asleep for him to forget his slippers. "You're our--"

I tap him on the head with my father's scroll. He looks up at me and blinks. His eyes are a wondrous shade of blue, like the sky on the clearest days. Nothing can hide in eyes that clear, no secrets, no hidden agendas. Rare were eyes like that to find in the castle.

"I'm," I reach out to him and scratch his head. His fur feels greasy against my own - he's probably avoided the baths again, and much to his mother's chagrin. "Your friend, Emmin."

His lips break out in a nervous smile. "Friend?"

I nod. "All that noble blood stuff comes later. Whether it's the kingdom's crown or one of your woven crowns of Affen'dal grass, always remember I am your friend first."

He smiles, and his burgeoning canines peek out under his purplish lips.

"Now," I say, standing tall, regaining that regal stance my father had drilled into me since I was no older than Emmin. Back straight, hands clasped behind the back, tail hovering above the floor. "You scurry back to bed. What were you thinking, coming here without any shoes?"