The Princess Protects Her Huntsman: A Nocturne Falls Universe Story

by Kira Nyte

  The subtle pull at her dress and cloak drew her eyes open. In front of her, only a handful of steps away, rippled the shimmering veil.

  “Thank you, Goddess. Thank you.”

  Rhy dropped her hands to her sides and leaned against the nearest tree as weakness swept through her. The unnerving warmth and itch of blood trickling from her nose made her sigh. She gently dabbed it away with the inside of her cloak.

  As her strength returned, she crossed the space between the forest and the doorway back to her home. A place the Whisperer told her never to return to. The wise crone, a creature blessed with visions, knowledge, and magic whom she trusted more than anyone, and she was about to defy her directions for the first time.

  The magnetic pull of the veil drew her. She gave herself over to the tug and stepped through the opening between the human realm and her homeland.

  She came out in the silent forest on the borders of Andallayne.

  For a long moment, she stood still, listening to the chilling quiet. No music from the birds. No creaks from the insects. No…life.

  The trees, shrouded in nighttime shadows, appeared brittle and dead. Dry leaves rained down around her. Rhy pressed her lips together to keep from moaning her distress. Even the dirt beneath her slippered feet lacked the magic it used to possess. Her home was a desolate plane, a shell of the beauty and life it once held.

  Her spirit wept but she steeled her mind against the agony of her home’s destruction. She had the means to protect her people, and protect them she would.

  Rhy pushed ahead, shielding herself from the destruction of her once wondrous world. After a few minutes of walking, she recognized where she was and turned toward the ancient tree. The Whisperer’s home. She only hoped the crone had not fallen victim to the sorceress and her relentless hunt for Rhy and the Heart.

  “Foolish child, did I not tell you to never look back?”

  Rhy gasped, spinning on her toes. A dark figure emerged from behind a thick copse of trees, shoulders hunched in a permanent slouch. The old woman lifted the hem of her hood enough for Rhy to meet glittering black eyes set deep in wrinkled skin, an old beauty worn by time.

  “You come to a land ravaged by her plague and laced with poison. You cannot survive here any longer.”

  “But you do.”

  “Ah, I’m old, dear child. My rattling bones have weathered far more than her pitiful play at magic.” The crone staggered closer to Rhy, her arthritic fingers gripping a wooden stick that looked as craggy as her hand. No one knew how old the Whisperer was, but everyone knew her to be the oldest of the Andallayne people. “Come with me. It’s not safe here for you.”

  “Neither is it safe where you sent me.”

  The crone chortled, the sound a mixture of cackle and nasally cough. “You alone protect yourself. You have the power to do so, and with that power, protect those who need to be saved.”

  The crone took Rhy by the arm, forcing her with surprising strength along the desolate forest path as she battled confusion.

  “Child, try not to think so hard.” The Whisperer jerked one way, then the other, finally continuing their journey to the right. “Now, where is that door?”

  “Is your tree not—”

  The crone waved one of her clawed hands and shushed her. Rhy’s brows drew together. Perhaps the Whisperer had been affected by the sorceress’s power.

  A moment later, the crone let out a sharp “ah-hah!” and dragged Rhy over to where two fallen trees lay, one crossed over the other. Bark and splinters of wood littered the ground.

  Rhy glanced at the old crone, baffled. “Whisperer, I do believe—”

  “I have not survived this long without some smarts, young Princess.” The crone threw up a hand, spreading her fingers out toward the trees. “Open.”

  Rhy stared as the air beneath the trees rippled in shadows until a darkened stone staircase came into sight. The crone pulled her forward, leading her down the ancient crumbling stairs. Rhy looked back to see the forest one moment, then nothing but blackness the next as the magical door closed. She stumbled through the darkness, trying to keep up with the extremely agile crone as they descended into the unknown.

  “In the bowels of the earth, we are safest. Siofra cannot penetrate the woodland Goddess’s powers when she holds such ill intent toward our people.”

  “Siofra?”

  “Our enemy. The sorceress.”

  Rhy came up short, her arm slipping from the crone’s grip. The crone’s footsteps ceased and Rhy was certain those dark eyes stared up at her. The pulse of power from the Whisperer was undeniable.

  “You know her name?”

  “I know many things, child.”

  “You know who has destroyed my home? The sorceress who most likely destroyed my family and my people?”

  “Many have fallen to her destruction, but many survive.”

  A rise of hope burst through her chest. “My parents?”

  “Come. There is light below.”

  The crone’s hand wrapped around Rhy’s wrist and they continued down the stairway. Rhy stumbled when they reached the floor, but quickly regained her balance and followed the Whisperer through a winding maze until, at last, the pressure of the earth around her lifted and cool air touched her skin.

  Firelight sprang to life atop dozens and dozens of candles, providing light for Rhy to glimpse the quarters. A cavern of sorts, with rock and dirt walls, dangling roots, and narrow streams of water moistening the walls and dribbling into natural reservoirs before returning to the earth. A simple linen pad provided an area for sleep. A large stone served as a table. A small area, but comforting for one of the woodland species.

  The Whisperer motioned for her to settle down on an oblong rock shaped like a bench. Rhy obliged, spreading her cloak and removing the hood from her head. The crone crossed to another stone that held mugs carved from rock and wood. Steam began to rise from a bowl on the makeshift table before the crone poured the contents into two cups and brought the mugs to Rhy.

  Handing one to Rhy, the crone settled on the dirt ground across from her and pushed back her own hood. Rhy inhaled a deep breath of the fascinating herbal tea before taking a sip.

  “Before I answer your questions, child, tell me why you defied my instructions. Why do you come back?”

  Rhy lowered the mug to her knees and cupped the warm wood. “I can’t run away any longer. I put many innocent people in danger. I am a princess, Whisperer. I am meant to stand and fight.”

  “You are meant to survive and save the Andallayne people.”

  Rhy shook her head. “I am meant to protect my people.”

  A spark lit the crone’s eyes. Her thin lips slowly curled into a smile. “Who tells you these things?”

  “My conscience. I cannot sit and let this sorceress destroy everything I know and cherish and love. I must stop her.”

  The crone tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Princess Rhyannon, you have grown much in a short period of time. How do you expect to stop Siofra?”

  “With your help.”

  The crone released a breathy laugh, a sound far more human than her chortle. She lowered her head and stirred her tea with one long, pointed nail. “I sense desperation in your stance against Siofra. Far more than the need to save a land. Your heart speaks to me.”

  Rhy fought a sudden wave of weakness and warmth. She sipped her tea and waited.

  The crone licked tea from her nail and turned her attention back to Rhy. Her eyes took on a sharp appearance, the old, tired woman replaced by the wise, revered Whisperer.

  “I want to share a story with you, child.”

  The crone set her mug aside and tapped the top of the low stone table with her nails. White smoke rolled up from the surface to form a globe. The white faded, revealing the animation that lay within. Rhy leaned closer. Within the globe, she watched as a smoky production unfolded. A lush green meadow, flowers swaying in a breeze, two young girls playing and laughing and dancing.


  “Many, many years ago, there were two young girls who loved nature and magic and the gifts the woodland Goddess provided. They were simple girls, born to common parents. Two of the same spirit. Neither of these girls were born into exceptional power or magic.”

  Rhy became lost in the animation, the Whisperer’s voice becoming hollow.

  “Innocence was a blessing, but with age came the loss of that innocence with the knowledge of possibilities. The two girls vied for knowledge. Craved knowledge.”

  The two identical children in the globe went from the meadow to Andallayne schooling grounds, to a room filled with magical tomes. Each short frame portrayed the girls getting older, from adolescents to teenagers, to young adults.

  “They practiced and perfected their magic until they became renowned for their talents and sought out for cures and spells. The woodland Goddess blessed them with knowledge and both girls were grateful for the Goddess’s gifts.”

  The women split in the scene, both performing different magical incantations for different woodland fairies. Both had long blond hair and unmarred complexions, bright blue eyes, were slender and graceful and poised. But as time passed, the scenes changed from serene to something disturbing. Shadows began to shroud one woman while the other remained strong in the light of an unseen sun.

  “And so, as many stories go, one sister thirsted for more power. The Goddess’s gift was soon molded into something perverse and dark as this sister sought to become the most powerful fairy in the universe. But the power wasn’t enough. She was recognized for her gifts, yet she wanted more.”

  The scenes inside the globe blurred, changing faster and faster, a time-warp of sorts that progressed through the years. One sister remained serene and wrapped in warmth while the other grew darker. Her hair, eyes, and skin alone kept her from fading into darkness.

  “Years passed. Many, many years.”

  Rhy’s eyes narrowed as she watched the women in the globe as time sped by. The dark woman maintained her youthful beauty as the other aged.

  “Then came the day one sister crossed paths with a handsome young man. The Prince of Andallayne.”

  Rhy’s shoulders stiffened. She shot the crone a surprised glance. The woman nodded once.

  “Your father, child. When he was in his youth.” The scenes stirred in a dark fog until a new scene came to view. This time, Rhy recognized her father from his youthful days. She had seen paintings and witnessed magical images. There was no denying the young woman in the scene was attempting to woo Rhyannon’s father. Nor was there any denying her father had no interest in the woman. “The sister wished for the greatest power of all. Power over the Andallayne people. Tangible proof of the power she possessed.”

  Rhy startled when the velvet pouch she had hidden in the pocket of her dress pressed into her leg. She jerked back but settled quickly when she realized the Whisperer retreated her hand from the gentle prod. Rhy dug the pouch from her pocket and rested the heavy weight of the Heart in the palm of her hand.

  “The Andal family possessed the Heart for thousands of years. It has never left the family.”

  “You possessed the Heart on the evening you told me to leave.”

  The crone nodded. “Aye. Your father came to me a few nights prior after waking from a vision. One that I shared. The sorceress would seek out the Heart in your home using a cursed creature in her stead. A wolf she controlled through dark, powerful magic and a black heart. An innocent man who could do nothing to fight her power.”

  Rhy’s throat began to tighten, the strangling sensation stretching up to her jaw. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. She hadn’t even realized she had dropped her chin until the crone’s long fingernail caught her chin and lifted her gaze. For a long moment, Rhy stared into the Whisperer’s dark, keen eyes, all too aware that she knew everything about Arrick and herself.

  At last, the crone released her chin and cut her deformed hand through the smoky globe, dissolving the scenes in a mass of gray and white.

  “Your heart weeps for him even now. I can sense your pain and confusion. Know that his heart is true, as are his words.”

  The crone eased the weight of the bag from Rhy’s palm and gently removed the stunning jewel from within. Rhy chewed her lower lip, her gaze fixed on the large oval jewel the color of a clear blue sky encased in delicate gold lacework. The jewel held the ever-present golden pulse of magic and life. The first Queen’s life essence, the seed of the Andallayne race, and the means of rebuilding or destroying her world.

  “How can you be so sure?” Rhy asked.

  “Oh, child.” The crone tipped her hand, allowing the jewel to capture the firelight. The pulsing light glowed, intensifying in color and strength. “I know many things.”

  “The all-knowing Whisperer.”

  “Do you ever wonder why I have been deemed a ‘whisperer’?” the crone asked.

  Rhy offered a small dip of her chin. “I have.”

  “It is not I who whispers, child. It is the universe that whispers secrets and knowledge to me. In my younger years, I was often caught speaking quietly to the forces that whispered to me. I asked questions to make sense of the riddles and prophecies, thinking not of how it made me appear to those who did not understand my gift.” The crone leaned forward, her bones creaking. “I became the Whisperer. She who whispered to the unseen and unknown.”

  Rhy allowed the crone’s words to sink in. “The irony of this, Whisperer, is that you possess the power of the universe. The power Siofra seeks.”

  The crone clicked her tongue and shook a finger. “A poor misconception for a smart woman.” She held out the Heart to Rhy. “No one can possess the power of the universe. It is impossible. One would cease to exist. The universe possesses us.”

  “So, the sorceress seeks this power for naught?”

  “Her greed has blinded her to much, child.”

  Rhy relieved the crone of the Heart, admiring the jewel in its glorious freedom. “Whatever happened to the sister?”

  The crone sat back, lifting her mug of tea from the ground. “No one is certain of her fate.”

  “Not even you?” Rhy lowered the jewel into the velvet pouch before she caught the crone’s eyes. “Have you no knowledge of her demise?”

  “The universe can be a fickle thing, child.” She tipped her mug toward Rhy. “So can the trials that involve the heart. Test him in the most reckless of ways. He will prove himself to you.”

  Rhy rolled the encased jewel between her hands. “Thank you, Whisperer.”

  “There is more you wish to ask, is there not?”

  Rhy nodded. “My parents?”

  “The truth will come when the time is right.”

  The strangling force inside her throat tightened until she gasped. “Please, let me know they’re safe.”

  The crone sipped her tea. “No one is safe, child. Not until Siofra is stopped.”

  “Will you help me stop her?”

  The crone’s sharp gaze held hers over the edge of the mug. Silence stretched as the old woman drank slowly, her magic peeling away at the edges of Rhy’s mind, her dark eyes searching for something Rhy wasn’t privy to understanding.

  When the crone finally spoke, a haunting essence ensconced her voice. “Yes. I will help you with a clue and a question.”

  Slowly, the crone climbed to her feet, dusting off the back of her skirts. Through the velvet pouch, Rhy experienced a potent burst of heat and power before the jewel quieted. Tempted as she was to see what had happened to it, she refused to look away from the Whisperer.

  “First, the clue.” The crone turned her hand, palm up. A shimmering thread of light reached up from her skin and curved down, weaving a path to the ground. “A tether. We are bound to the land from which we sow. The more we ask from the Goddess, the stronger our tether becomes. The more we use her resources, for good or for bad, the harder it is to break free.”

  The crone flipped her hand over and fisted her fingers. The shimmering thread sev
ered and disappeared.

  “When the time comes, dear child, protecting forces will change. You will have a moment, a blink in time, to make a crucial decision. To answer one question.” The woman touched a boney knuckle to Rhy’s brow. “Who will be sacrificed?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two days and Rhyannon still wouldn’t speak with him.

  Arrick pulled his leather jacket tight around him and braced himself against the stares he earned from Cookie and one of her employees as he slipped into the Gingerbread Inn and headed straight for the stairs. Escaping the officer who tailed his every move didn’t end behind a closed door. He was under constant surveillance. He wouldn’t be surprised if the sheriff had bugged his room with cameras and microphones.

  He needed to leave this place, leave Nocturne Falls, leave…Rhyannon. She refused his calls, didn’t answer his texts. Dalila intervened when he tried to visit her at the house. He was making a complete and utter fool of himself in his desperation to apologize.

  After his latest fail—he stopped at Into The Woods to find out Rhyannon wasn’t at work and there was no certainty as to when she would return—he came to terms with his choices. He could either remain here and sulk in his forsaken cursed life and ultimately bring more harm to the woman he loved. Or, he could leave Rhyannon to live her life and he could suffer the repercussions from the witch, forfeiting his life.

  He’d make sure he didn’t survive after confronting the evil creature. He’d make sure she knew her secret wasn’t a secret anymore. That an entire town knew of her and her plan. A town brimming with paranormals that, together, could probably wipe her off this planet, out of this solar system, and through the barrier of the universe.

  Yes, she’d kill him. At least he’d be free of her choke collar and torture, and Rhyannon would be safe from him.

  If he didn’t have Rhyannon, he had nothing. His family had long since perished. He had no friends, no pack, no nothing. No reason to continue, but every reason to end.

  Caught up in his dismal thoughts, he unlocked his door and stepped into the room.

  He froze.