by W. J. May
The castle was going into lockdown around her. The gates had been shut, the doors had been locked, and armed guards checked the perimeter. Ravens had been sent to the major cities in each of the remaining kingdoms, each carrying a handwritten letter from one of the leaders of the realm. The festival-goers themselves had been politely arrested—not that they realized it at the time. They were simply ‘provided quarters’ within the boundaries of the castle, where they could be watched until the would-be assassin was found. They were not allowed to leave.
The working theory was that the culprit was still on the castle grounds. No one had left through the main gate since the presentation of the wine, and on the off-chance someone had made it into the woods a pack of Belarian shifters took to the forest, searching for tracks.
A coven of witches was sitting in deep discussion with the Kreo delegation, trying to devise a spell that would reveal the attacker’s identity. The kitchen staff, vendors, and all the servants had been quarantined and exhaustively interrogated. Come morning, they would be interrogated again.
Not since the dark days had such steps been taken. Not since the fateful peace summit when an arrow was fired at the crown prince and the entire realm dissolved into war.
But the princess didn’t know any of this.
While the rest of the castle braced for the worst, she was pacing in her room—wringing her hands and biting her lip. The girl was so completely absorbed she didn’t even notice the cluster of people in dark cloaks moving across the moonlit lawn, carrying a body between them.
“Was that...” She trailed off, in such a state of agitation she didn’t even realize she was speaking the words out loud. “Could that have been...”
The pacing stopped as her eyes lifted to the mirror.
...was that a prophecy?
As soon as she thought the words, she dismissed them. Of course it wasn’t. These things came down from places called ‘Mount Grace’ with mystical jewels, and immortal warriors writing them in a quilled hand. They weren’t hissed at a screaming girl in a carnival tent.
But is it really so strange? A little voice chimed in the back of her mind, refusing to let the idea go. Is it really any stranger than reaching into a hole in the wall and pulling out a mysterious box?
The princess blinked twice, then abruptly sank onto the bed.
Her mother must have thought the same thing when the necklace led her to that portrait of Adelaide Grey all those years ago. Her father must have thought it was a sick joke—that someone would have hidden a piece of parchment in some secret box. When a group of wedding rings spilled out into their hands, they must have been on the verge of giving up entirely.
And yet...
With an uncharacteristic sense of calm, the princess talked it out on the bed. Weighing each option and considering each possibility. Trying to be as rational and logical as she could.
“You know you were in the tent; Asher smelled the incense in your hair.” She paused for a moment, letting that sink in. “So the tent was real.”
The weight of just those words alone fell upon her shoulders.
“If the tent was real, then so was the woman who owned it. And if the whole thing vanished the second I stepped outside, then she was definitely a witch.”
This time, the pause was even longer.
Witches could give prophecies. Anyone technically could—whosoever the fates had selected for that particular occasion. But witches were known throughout the realm for having the sight.
While there weren’t many details about how such things were done (mostly because there hadn’t been many prophecies), Evie imagined that unearthly voices and creepy opaque eyes were probably somewhere on the list. Furthermore, the woman didn’t remember when it was done.
“Why would she have done that otherwise?” she asked aloud. “Why would she have waved me over there, given a phony prediction, then pretended like the whole thing never happened?”
The answer was simple.
“She wouldn’t. It wouldn’t make any sense. Not unless...”
In a flash the princess raced to her nightstand, pulling out a piece of parchment along with some writing supplies, before dropping to the floor where she stood. In a mess of ink drops and feathers, she hastily scribbled down the fateful words before she could forget. Though, at this point, she was hardly surprised when she remembered every single one.
At the bottom, she couldn’t help but write the words.
This is real.
She stared at it for a moment, blew on it, then hurried to her door.
They’ve got to see this. She stuffed the parchment into her pocket, hastily jamming her feet into shoes. Three shall set out—that’s got to mean the three of us.
The second she had her robe on, she yanked open the door and rushed out into the hall—only to be immediately stopped by a pair of towering men.
“Hastings, Mace,” she gasped. “What are you two doing here?”
In hindsight, it was a stupid question. The men were her regular bodyguards, and a member of the royal council had just been assassinated. Of course they were stationed outside her door.
They waited for her to catch her breath, well used to such acts of impulsivity from their restless young charge.
“We were sent to protect you, milady,” Hastings replied. The castle could be on fire and he’d still never lose that eternal calm. “We are to accompany you to Taviel in the morning.”
Her heart sank as she stared between them.
Taviel.
In the heat of the moment, she’d almost forgotten.
“Right...of course you are.” She tucked her hair nervously behind her ears, trying to compose herself. “Well, I just have to say something to Ellanden. I’ll be right back—”
Even as she said the words, she knew they wouldn’t work. The men had been charged with protecting her by royal command. Even if that wasn’t the case, they’d watched her grow up. Two separate kingdoms, but she was a princess to both. They’d uphold their oath to the bitter end.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, milady.” As was his custom, Hastings spoke for them both. Mace, a renowned shifter in the Belarian guard, spoke very rarely—maintaining a silent vigil with those dark, watchful eyes. “Our orders are for you to remain in your room.”
“Yes, but I just...” She wasn’t going to get anywhere by bargaining with them. She’d learned that lesson at about six years old. But perhaps a compromise? “What if you came with me? I only need to speak with him for a moment, and he’s right up the hall—”
“I’m afraid not, milady.”
For a split second, she considered making a break for it. Instead she dropped her shoulders with a defeated sigh, retreating into her room.
“Fine, I’ll just...talk to him in the morning.”
Hastings nodded with an apologetic smile, while Mace stared at her with that look that made her nervous. She swore the man could read minds. She waved goodnight and shut the door between them.
After that...all she had to do was wait.
An hour went by. Then another. Then another after that.
The guards would never sleep, but they knew she would. The only way to beat them was to be patient enough to play their own game. It was a gamble, but that night it paid off.
It was the early hours of the morning when Evie finally crept out of bed, slinking noiselessly to the window with a level of skill that would have made her father proud. The glass was already open. Even on cooler nights such as this, she rarely kept it shut. One hand wedged it open as the other reached up quickly to tie back her hair. Her nightgown was next—bunched into a ball at her hips to reveal her long, slender legs. She shivered a bit as she peered into the darkness, watching the endless parade of guards marching around the perimeter. She then took a breath and eased onto the ledge.
Notes for scaling a castle:
First—do it in the daytime.
Second—don’t do it barefoot.
Both were lessons Evie had yet to learn.
Her arms trembled and shook as she clung to the freezing stone. For the most part, it was smooth—offering only a thin ridge to hold on to. The footholds were even worse, but somehow she managed to move a few feet. Pressing her body so hard into the castle wall, it would be a miracle if she didn’t tear right through her dress. The thought chilled her even more as she pressed onward.
It was getting easier now. Either that, or her fingers had gotten so cold they were simply numb. With a bit of skill and a great deal of luck she skittered past three bedrooms, and was just coming up on the fourth when that luck suddenly ran out.
“What’s that?” a soldier’s voice echoed from the courtyard. “Up there by the roof!”
The princess froze dead still, half-expecting to feel the sting of a thousand arrows in her back. More soldiers were coming. Even though she was in the shadows over a hundred feet up, she hardly dared to breathe. There was a moment of terrifying silence. The princess thought all was lost.
Then the air above her exploded with a flap of wings.
“Just a bird,” the soldier murmured, returning to his post.
The rest of them followed suit as the princess let out a breath, offering up a silent prayer of thanks. A moment later she was on the move again, picking up the pace.
Ellanden’s room was only a short corridor away from her own. After navigating a tricky curve in the eastern wall she finally reached it, squinting eagerly through the glass.
He was asleep.
While the fae might have been pacing just as much as the princess, he’d finally given up the ghost—stretching out in the middle of the bed and surrendering himself to a restless sleep. A pair of suitcases was sitting by the door. His quiver and bow were placed on top of them.
Evie stared for a spellbound moment. Unable to move.
Is this really how it starts? With me tapping on his window?
She could just ignore it. She could throw away the paper, pretend like it never happened, and head off to Taviel in the morning with the others. It wouldn’t take long to pack bags of her own.
He looked so peaceful. It seemed almost a shame to wake him. A shame to cut short those charmed adolescent years and drop the weight of the world onto his shoulders.
But there was no fighting destiny.
And the princess had been waiting for hers a long time.
Here goes nothing...
Ellanden’s eyes shot open the second she touched the glass, taking a moment to focus before widening in disbelief. He was on his feet a second later, racing over to the window while simultaneously checking to make sure he was wearing pants.
“Evie?”
He only mouthed the words, like he couldn’t believe she was actually there.
Instead of answering she tapped more urgently on the window, checking over her shoulder for soldiers while struggling to maintain her grip.
The fae reached out immediately, then quickly glanced at the door. He’d been assigned a pair of guards as well. And his people were far less forgiving of childish antics than her own.
Fortunately, it wasn’t enough to stop him.
With lightning speed, he slid back the curtains and flipped up the lock. Time slowed down comically as he eased the window open, wincing nervously with every creak. Then his arm shot out and wrapped around her waist, pulling her off the ledge as easily as if she was a doll.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, setting her lightly upon the floor. “It’s bad enough they have us locked in here without you sneaking around—”
“I need to speak with you,” she said urgently, rifling around in her pocket for the piece of parchment. “It couldn’t wait.”
The paper crunched in her hands as she smoothed it flat.
“Landi, something happened at the festival—”
His hand clamped over her mouth as he froze perfectly rigid, staring at the door. A second later his face paled and he whirled around desperately, searching for somewhere to hide.
The curtains were pulled back. The closet was too far away. There was only one viable option, though it wasn’t what either of the teenagers would have preferred.
Ellanden rolled his eyes as she grimaced apologetically.
“Seven hells...just get in.”
A second later, the friends were diving into bed.
A second after that, two guards swept through the door.
“Is everything all right, Your Highness?”
Ellanden froze like a statue in half-recline, every muscle stiff as a board. A painful smile flashed across his face as he kicked the princess farther down beneath the covers.
“Yes, of course.”
It would have been a hard act to sell, even if they hadn’t heard voices whispering. Between that and the look on the prince’s face, it was downright impossible.
The guards exchanged a quick look before the older one stepped forward.
“Is someone here with you?”
The fae warriors chosen to guard the royal family were legends themselves. Each came from an impeccable bloodline and had tallied enough kills on the battlefield to earn them the honor.
That’s what Ellanden was thinking as he shook his head.
“No, of course not.”
The guard took a step closer, levelling him with a look that said titles couldn’t matter less when it came to the young man’s safety. “We heard voices. That wasn’t coming from this room?”
The prince shook his head innocently. “No.”
Evie sucked in a silent breath, pressing her forehead to the base of his ribs.
The word echoed between them as the guards exchanged another look, debating how far they could stretch royal protocol. Then, suddenly, the princess let out a forbidden sneeze.
Ellanden stiffened beneath her, closing his eyes in dismay.
...bless me.
“Can you leave now?” he asked with a bit of strain, arching his back as Evie dug her nails punishingly into the side of his leg. “I need to...get back to sleep.”
Given the heightened level of security, the guards might have ripped back the covers. But the prince had a certain reputation. And the sneeze had clearly belonged to a girl.
Instead the younger one immediately backed away to the door, fighting back a smile whilst bowing his head in respect. “Of course, Highness. My apologies.”
The other was not so forgiving.
Having guarded the prince since he was just a boy, he felt a certain level of latitude in these kinds of situations and stayed right where he was—a caustic smile playing about his lips.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to speak a while, Your Highness?” The smile deepened at the look on the young man’s face. “You must be shaken by the events of the evening.”
Ellanden tensed as Evie shifted ever so slightly on top of him. The muscles in his stomach contracted with every faltering breath. His pulse was racing beneath her cheek.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly. “But thank you, Jacien.”
“Are you sure?” Jacien was smiling openly now, folding his arms across his chest. “I could pull up a chair, you could talk out your feelings—”
“—you could get reassigned to the badlands,” Ellanden muttered under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” He shivered slightly as Evie’s hair tickled his bare sides. “Have a good night.”
“You too, Highness.” The guard was still smiling as he swept to the door, but his face grew serious as he glanced back with a warning. “You have a long day’s ride, tomorrow. Try to get some rest.”
Ellanden couldn’t nod fast enough.
He stayed perfectly still until the door had closed behind him, waiting until he once more heard the distant hum of conversation in the hall. Then he threw back the covers with a glare.
“Get. Off.”
It was all Evie could do to keep from laughing as she quickly peeled herself off the fuming princ
e, pretending not to notice the faint blush in his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“You sneezed.” He looked towards the heavens, as if they’d sent her down as a personal torment. “After all that...you actually sneezed.”
“I couldn’t help the sneeze.”
“What about that?” He glanced down to see five scratch marks running up his leg. “Was there a reason for that? Or did you just want to give me a panic attack in front of my guards?”
“You were crushing me,” she said daintily. “I did what I had to in order to survive. Besides, you’d think the guards would be pleased it was me and not some slutty nymph from the village.”
He shot her a dangerous look then pulled a shirt over his head, shaking out his hair and grumbling under his breath. “They wouldn’t be the only ones...”
She glanced up distractedly. “What was that?”
He shook his head. “Why are you here?”
With a grand flourish, she lay the paper on his bed. “Because of this.”
He stared at her for a moment, then picked it up and started to read. Twice, his eyes flashed over the words. Three times. When he looked up a second later, his handsome face was blank.
“What is this? Some ill-advised attempt at poetry?”
“I didn’t write it,” she whispered excitedly, taking it from his hand. “Ellanden, these exact words were said to me by a witch tonight at the festival. Her head snapped back, her eyes went all scary, and when she spoke—the voice was much deeper than her own.”
The prince stared at her without blinking.
“Landi...I think it’s a prophecy.”
It was quiet for a long time. Much longer than the princess would have liked.
She wanted him to have recognized it immediately. To share her excitement and immediately begin making plans. But he just stood there, staring like she’d gone a bit mad.
“Is this a joke?” he finally asked.
Her face fell as she instinctively clutched the paper tighter. “What? No—”
“Something you and Asher cooked up at dinner? Write up a bogus limerick, claim it’s some divine prophecy, then humiliate me in front of my guards?”
“Landi.” She crossed the space between them, grabbing hold of his hand. “I swear to you, this isn’t what you’re thinking. It’s real.”