Missing Royal

Copyright © 2014, Konstanz Silverbow

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

This book was professionally edited by Tristi Pinkston

www.tristipinkstonediting.blogspot.com

Cover art by Ida Jansson @ Amygdala Designs

www.amygdaladesign.net

Formatting and interior design by Rachel Morgan @ Morgan Media

www.morganmedia.co

ISBN-13:978-1497318649

ISBN-10: 1497318645

To everyone who told me I would never be published,

to every person who told me I would never succeed,

to every hater and bully out there.

To every dreamer, to every believer.

Dreams DO come true! This book is proof of that.

First and foremost, my thanks goes to God, for guiding my words, for leading me through this journey, and carrying me through it when I could not make it on my own. And for blessing me with so many wonderful fans, friends, and supporters.

Thank You

To Katie: Though we have our differences, you never once quit believing in me and my dream to become a published author. Many thanks to Kayla, Kathy, and Kevin for the endless support all these years.

To my beta readers: Jessica Celeya & Ruthi Kight, who have both dealt with my craziness and every awful mistake in every single book I’ve ever asked them to read for me. Brenda Tetreault, who not only allowed me to steal her last name for my character, but has made me feel like the most important author in the world! Jessica Nicholas-Slater, who has (only) semi-creepily stalked me, and also made me feel like the #1 author in the world! Sharilyn Dickerson, who has believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself!

To the women who got me started in writing: Laurel Jefferies, Karen Hoover, Shanna Tull, and C Michelle Jefferies.

To my BFFs who’ve never given up on me: Natalie Robinson, Rachel Bird, Brooke Adams, and Lizzy Hughes.

To my family: Mom, Dad, Adrienne, Josh, Evie, Inara, Hamilton, Alston, Cami, Sydney, Frederick, and Zeke, for bugging me about finishing this book for eight years, for allowing me to dump all the chores on you so I could write, for letting me talk about this book constantly, for helping me get to this point—for everything!

To everyone who has supported me—I wish I could name you all by name! You know who you are.

A Special Thank You

To the Silverbow Dragons, my super awesome and very supportive street team!

To Helena Ferrell for not allowing me to give up, for the constant support, for giving me hope when there was none, and coming to the rescue when I needed it most!

To Adrienne, for helping me 24/7 and an even bigger thank you for the epic map!

To Ashley Croson and Amy Lewman, for making sure I got my horse terms correct!

To Asha Ward and
Krissenda Leigh-Pink for taking the time to be brutally honest with me and helping me turn this book into something so much more!

To Tristi Pinkston, thanks for making editing so much fun!

To Rachel Morgan, for designing the inside of my books and formatting them!

To Ida Jansson, for making the cover of my dreams (of eight years), saving it for me, and customizing it down to exactly what it needed to be.

Thank YOU!

For reading my work, for supporting me, and for making this author’s dreams come true!

Other Books by Konstanz:

Only Half Alive

The hall is filled with laughter as I pick pieces of food from my red hair. The student body watched as my entire locker exploded in a food bomb the second I opened it. I should have expected it, seen it coming. I should’ve learned to stop using my locker a long time ago considering how many pranks it’s been used for.

I try to wipe the food out but my hand comes away yellow, covered in mustard. I clutch my school books to my chest and continue walking but I keep my head held high. Their words can’t hurt me if I don’t let them. At least, that’s what I tell myself to keep from crying.

It’s the normal for me. Every day is the same battle as I push through the throngs, walk past the jocks and cheerleaders. Even the nerds have gone to calling me names. I rush into the bathroom and stick my head in one of the sinks to try to wash out as much mustard as possible.

It isn’t just my hair that’s a mess. Ketchup and mustard cover my shirt as well. Pickles almost the color of my eyes fall to the floor as I shake my head and keep the tears buried inside.

I don’t understand what I ever did to deserve their hate. Then again, there’s a lot I don’t understand. Like, why do I put up with it? Why is it fun for these kids to hurt me? Why don’t I belong here? I wish I had an answer to any of these things.

I take one last look at myself in the mirror. My once-white shirt is now a collage of condiments. With a sigh, I peek out the bathroom door, looking back and forth in hopes that the halls are clear. They are.

I dart toward class, still wishing someone had an answer. My mother, my father—they can’t tell me either. I turn the corner and take a deep breath before I push through the final bubble of giggling teenagers to enter my classroom.

Ms. Salazar is already at the chalkboard writing today’s English assignments when I step inside the room. But she won’t call me out—she wouldn’t even punish me if I walked in after the bell has gone off.

She sees the way I’m treated by my fellow students. She knows I don’t fit in here and she feels bad for me. She wishes she could make them see me the way I should be seen—as a human being with a heart and feelings.

The pity in her eyes is evident when she looks at me. I hate it. Hate that she does nothing about it. Then again, I hate myself for the same reason. At least we both agree on one thing—I don’t fit in here. I never have, I never will. I’m not like those around me.

I sink down in my chair and bury my nose in my books, just as I do in every class. Some of the teachers are stricter but Ms. Salazar doesn’t care that I don’t pay attention to the lesson. She knows I already know all of it. That’s what happens when you have no friends—you get ahead in school because it’s all you have.

That, and daydreams of being someone I’m not. I pretend all the stories are real, that I’m a dragon rider, a zombie slayer. I pretend to be the princess who saves herself, the cool girl who’s really a geek. I pretend I’m anyone but me.

I can feel the voice about to call me. My head spins, my eyes water, and I feel a tug.
Come home, child. Your time is near. We need you here. Please, Shanice.

“Ms. Tetreault, are you all right?” Ms. Salazar asks. She must’ve seen the look on my face. I grow dizzy and feel faint every time the voice speaks to me.

I sit up straighter, my heart pounding. The woman’s voice, continually telling me I should come home. I don’t know who this voice belongs to—I don’t know where home is, if not the house I live in. All I know is that this is another reason the people around me think I’m crazy.

“I’m fine.” I nod and look away, embarrassed once more.

Ms. Salazar glances at the clock on the wall. Almost a half an hour before class ends. “I think we will let out early today. You are all free to go,” she says while still watching me. I have a feeling she doesn’t believe me at all. I begin gathering my books, carefully arranging them in my backpack.

“Are the voices talking to you again? Maybe it’s a ghost,” a classmate says as she walks by, waving her arms and making ghost-like sounds. I shrug it off, not allowing my emotions to be free. If they saw me crying, matters would only become worse. Not that it
gets
much worse—I’m currently covered in the makings of an epic hot dog and some other gooeyness I don’t want to identify.

“Shanice, might I have a word with you?” Ms. Salazar walks closer to my desk as the last of the students leave. From the way she abruptly ended class, I already figured she wanted to speak with me. I took my time in gathering my belongings to avoid more taunting from the other students, yes. But I didn’t even bother to stand.

“Of course.” I try my best to give her a convincing smile but the face I make wouldn’t even convince
me
.

“You know you can report their bullying, right? Why do you allow them to harass you endlessly?” She touches my shoulder, wanting to connect with me, show me that someone cares. “It isn’t right and they should be stopped.”

I bite back the words I was so ready to say, feeling the tears coming with them. Instead, I blink, making sure no tears will escape. “They cannot hurt me if I don’t let them. I ignore them and I make do.” I wanted to say it with conviction but my words were barely audible.

“Shanice, you shouldn’t have to simply ‘make do’. You deserve to walk among your classmates, known to them as their equal. I hear what they call you.”

I avert my eyes. “Thank you.” I stand. “I need to go.” I want to smile, but can’t. Considering we were let out early, she knows I don’t need to go anywhere but she just nods, also unable to offer a smile. I throw my bag over my shoulder and shuffle from the room.

The silent whispers that call to me echo around me, stopping me mid-footstep. I look around, frantic to find the source, to know what it is I am hearing. To know that I am not crazy. My shoulders slump. Perhaps I
am
crazy.

I feel so lost standing in the hall, people flowing past me as if I don’t exist. And when they do see me, their glares are all I see, their taunts all I hear. I do my best to tune them out and listen to the voices that truly haunt me.

Shanice, please, Shanice! We need you. Come home.

I shake my head and push my way through the throng of students. I can’t handle any more today. Mondays are never good but today is especially horrible. My heart pounds and I can’t catch my breath. I sway, the hallway looks like its spinning. I close my eyes and try to clear my head. When the swaying stops I take a slow steady step forward. When I don’t fall over and I’m not going in circles I push my way past more groups until I reach the nurse’s office.

“What do you need?” the nurse asks, annoyed without looking up.

“I’m not feeling well and I need to go home.”

She looks up now. Her eyes soften. “Of course.” Like with the teachers, she treats me as if I were different—fragile. Perhaps I am, in the crazy kind of way. Perhaps something is wrong with me and I’m the only one who doesn’t know it.

The nurse releases me without asking further questions. I’m grateful for the easy pass right now.

I pull my hoodie on and head toward the road. It’s a slow, long walk through three miles of neighborhoods but I’m used to it by now. This isn’t the first time I’ve left school midday. I consider going home but that’s not where I’m most comfortable. It’s not really where I want to be. Instead I turn towards the stables – a half a mile away.

The voice, the haunting chill it leaves over me, isn’t new to me at all. I’ve been hearing that voice for as long as I can remember. I don’t talk about it, I try to pretend the voice isn’t there. What I really want is to figure out why I hear it. Why me? What does it want?

But how can I appease a voice that doesn’t exist? I don’t dare tell those around me about them anymore. Long ago, I promised they had left. My mother was the one to disbelieve me the most. She asks every day now if I’ve heard them again.

And every day, I lie. If I tell her the truth, what will happen? She can’t make them go away. She will believe I’m crazy, that I belong in a mental institution. I’m already bullied far too much. What would happen if I was taken to a mental hospital?

I shake my head, willing myself to think of something happier, hoping for an explanation soon. Somehow, one day. For now, I just have to survive each day—pretend everything is all right, that I’m normal. I bite my lower lip so hard I think it might bleed trying holding back all the tears ready to fall.

But it doesn’t do anything but hurt my lip. I wipe them away before anyone sees and continue walking the dirt road toward the stables. I need to find peace and riding is something that helps with that. It’s something I’m good at—something that’s my own. It’s a freedom unlike any other. I want to waltz through the stable doors as if I own the place. Still in pain and hurt from the torment, I simply grudgingly walk in.

Star greets me with as much excitement a horse can. She’s beautiful—a dark bay with a pure white star on her forehead. It wasn’t hard naming her when my parents gave her to me a year ago.

Though our friendship started off a bit rough, Star’s never let me down. And only one human being comes close to that—Valentino. I find myself smiling as he walks in.

“I didn’t expect to see you so early today.” He returns the smile, casually approaching me, his hands tucked in his pockets. His curly black hair falls over his forehead, almost hiding his dark green eyes.

I never have to try to be something I’m not with him. He doesn’t judge me, he doesn’t bully me—he’s my friend
It’s so nice to have one person I can count on.

I begin brushing Star’s mane. “I had to cut school short today.” I avert my eyes, embarrassed that I couldn’t handle the bullies. Ashamed that I can’t stand up for myself or tell anyone what’s going on.

“It isn’t fair that you have to hide to be safe. Why don’t you fight back, Shanice?” He brushes a strand of hair from my shoulder on his way to the saddles. Heat rises in my cheeks. I don’t know if I’m just a friend to him, but he means so much more to me.

“I can’t. They don’t care about me and they will torture me with anything and everything they can. If I fight back, I’m sure they’ll find some way to use it against me. And right now, that isn’t something I can handle. I just … I just want this all to be over. I’ll survive high school and move on. Go to college and find people who care about me, people who understand me.”

“I care about you,” he whispers. “I understand you. It’s their loss that they choose to be jerks rather than befriend you.” He saddles Star and gives me a boost so I can mount. Not that I need the boost at five foot five but it doesn’t stop me from letting him help.

“I know.” I look down at him. I want to say more but instead, I attempt a smile. It barely qualifies but he pretends not to notice.

“Come on.” He smiles back before saddling his own horse. While I wait for him to mount, I braid my hair back so it stays out of my face.

Most of the time I prefer it to fly free, the wind rushing through it. But now I just want to run. Nothing can hinder me, nothing in my way, just freedom of running wild and no one to stop me. As soon as Valentino is mounted, I smirk.

“I’ll race you to the broken gate!” I laugh, not bothering to wait for a reply. He’ll race me just as he always does, always has, and always will when I challenge him.

I think about the first time we raced, the first time we rode, the moment we met. It was a day just like this one. A slight breeze, the sun playing hide and seek behind clouds. He greeted me like a proper gentleman, as if I were a lady. He smiled, showing two dimples. His eyes shining. His smile was unstoppable and very contagious. We went for a twenty minute ride to see if riding was for me. An hour later I still wasn’t ready to leave.

My parents put me into fencing and archery—I wondered if they thought we were still in medieval times. But when they offered me horseback riding lessons last year, I couldn’t resist.

Turns out it’s the biggest blessing in my life. Had I turned it down, I wouldn’t have Valentino. How lonely it would all be without him. He doesn’t even realize how much he means to me. He’s my knight in shining armor, and he doesn’t even know it.

Star begins to whine as we get closer to the gate. I pat her neck, unsure what the problem is. The gate isn’t menacing. I don’t know if anyone else knows about it but I’ve never seen it used. It’s old and rusty, crumbling in decay. I’m amazed it still stands, so I can’t imagine it actually works anymore. It would have to be broken down, which wouldn’t be hard.