Chapter 2
It’s evening by the time I make the long hike back to Storia. Despite the late hour, the sun lingers, casting a warm glow in the sky.
I’m still not used to the sun.
For my entire life, the Kingdom of Vernallis was under a curse that turned all the citizens into beasts during the day. Naturally, the kingdom adjusted to living most of our lives at night. Breakfast was served at dusk, shops would open by early evening, and midnight was our noontime.
A few months ago, the curse was lifted, and things in Vernallis have begun to return to normal. Except it’s not my normal. I wasn’t born yet the last time the day actually took place during the daytime. In fact, the curse was cast because I was born.
My father, Thorne, was once the king of Vernallis.
My mother was a powerful sorceress, who he chose to marry due to her powers.
I imagine he regretted that later when he got her pregnant before their wedding, then abandoned her.
She cast the curse on Vernallis in revenge, then died giving birth to me only six months later.
I was raised in secret by my mother’s lady-in-waiting, Beatrix, who had her own reasons for hating King Thorne. He banished her son, Daemon, to the most dangerous prison on the continent.
In prison, Daemon met his three best friends: Kastian, Jett, and Fox. Recently, all four of them escaped. Daemon found his bond mate, Alix, and together they killed Thorne and became the new rulers of Vernallis.
Rather than living in my father’s castle, which held so many horrible memories, Daemon and Alix set up their court on the Ashwater Estate and have begun to transform the tiny neighboring village of Storia into the capital city.
So, that’s how my entire life changed literally overnight, and my home went from a quiet, drafty mansion to a busy and bustling home filled with dozens of people.
I love having so many people around, and I’m excited to have friends for the first time in my life, but I’m finding the adjustment to daytime living difficult.
Three months ago, it would have been completely normal for me to be up all night working on my potions.
Now, suddenly, that makes me an insomniac.
I reach the enormous manor house just as the sun is setting.
Slipping unnoticed into the house, I trudge up three winding flights of stairs to my tower bedroom, and immediately make a beeline for my workbench.
The bench is covered in books, herbs, and half-full ink vials.
I’ve doodled drawings all over the surface, so now it looks like it was intentionally painted in murals of flowers, animals, and stars.
The desk matches the rest of my tower room, which has shelves upon shelves of books stretching to the ceiling, large arched windows, paintings on every available wall, and as much color as I can cram into a single space.
My bed is in a loft near the top of the tower and is only accessible by ladder.
In the corner of the room sits a huge golden birdcage, currently occupied by a small red squirrel.
Dropping my satchel and cloak on the floor, I turn to greet the squirrel, which scampers to the edge of the cage, looking for affection.
Smiling, I reach my fingers through the bars and scratch his furry head.
“Hi Eugene. Were you a good boy today?” The squirrel titters as if in answer and nips affectionately at my fingers.
“Aw, who’s a good boy? You are. Yes, you are. ”
I found Eugene several months ago during one of my many walks through the nearby woods. He must have fallen from a tree because he had two broken legs and would never have survived on his own. I healed him instantly with magic, but then brought him home to keep under observation for a few days.
Admittedly, it’s been more than a few days…several months, now, actually.
“You’re probably ready to go back out into the wild,” I say, giving the squirrel another scratch under the chin.
He looks at me with his beady black eyes and makes a chittering sound. I swear it sounds like he’s arguing with me.
“I know,” I sigh. “I’m not happy about it either, but you can’t spend your entire life in this tower. Trust me, there’s a whole world out there worth exploring.” At least, I think there is.
Eugene gives me a dubious look, as if he doesn’t believe there could be anything better outside than there is right here. I frown and draw my hand back from his cage. “Tomorrow I’ll take you back to the forest.”
Averting my gaze, I return to my workbench. I’ve already got most of the ingredients for my healing potion laid out and ready to use: fire moss, rosemary sap, various other herbs, a feather from a griffin, and wood from a weeping willow. All that I’ve been missing is the hair of the frost troll.
I open the satchel on my belt and pull out a vial which glimmers with pale blue and silver hairs. The instructions in my recipe book are clear: the hair has to go in last, or the whole batch curdles into poisonous goo.
Rolling up my sleeves and shoving my short hair behind my ears, I light a few candles to better see what I’m doing, and start a fire in the hearth to warm up my cauldron before really getting to work.
Humming softly to myself, I grind the fire moss into a translucent green powder and dump it into the cauldron with several cups of water, some willow bark, and twelve drops of rosemary sap. Steam hisses up from the cauldron, stinging my eyes as a sharp, almost minty smell fills the air.
I let the potion simmer until it foams and fizzes, then I pinch the troll hair and drop it into the bubbling mixture.
Instantly the surface seethes, shifting from clear to deep violet, then to a red so dark it’s almost black.
Using a large ladle, I scoop the finished potion into an amber bottle and hold it up to the light.
“I’ll have to wait twenty-four hours before I can test it,” I tell Eugene, who has been silently watching me for the better part of an hour, “but I think I got it right this time. I have a good feeling.”
The squirrel titters in agreement, as if he can really understand what I’m saying. I throw him an affectionate smile.
“It was definitely worth the risk to go find that troll den,” I add. “No matter what Fox thought.”
Eugene looks at me with wide, unblinking eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I frown. “I would have been completely fine on my own.”
The squirrel makes a strange, angry hissing sound, as if he’s been confronted by a real fox. He swishes his tail in agitation, as if to say: “You could have died!”
I glower. “I wasn’t going to die. My wings weren’t even out! Clearly, I never felt like I was in mortal peril.”
Eugene cocks his furry head at me and blinks his wide onyx eyes. I scowl. “I feel like you’re being way too judgmental about this. Fox’s wings weren’t out either, so he must not have been very worried about the troll.”
I frown, considering that.
All Fae have wings, but we don’t often show them.
Male Fae tend to flash their wings around more than females, but even so, there’s really only two times it would be normal to see them: when fearing for your life or around your soul-bonded mate.
Some men show their wings every time they fight, regardless of how much danger they’re really in, but Fox evidently isn’t one of those men.
“Maybe he has better control over his wings than most males because he’s a soldier,” I muse.
“And in fairness, he finished the fight so fast I didn’t really have time to think about if I might die…
if I’d been alone…” I trail off, glancing back at Eugene once more and let out a huff of breath.
“Alright, fine. Maybe I got lucky, but we’ll never know, will we? There’s no point dwelling on it.”
Eugene huffs a breath through his nose and shows me his tail. I grimace. He can be so negative sometimes.
“Well, what would you suggest I do?” I ask tersely. “It wasn’t as if I was completely unprepared. I brought my paralytic potions and my sword.”
I think back to Fox’s horrified expression when I said I didn’t really know how to use a sword. I glance over at the short sword which I dropped unceremoniously on the floor along with my belt and cloak, and an idea dawns on me.
“There’s really only one solution,” I tell Eugene. “I’ll have to learn to fight—oh, don’t look so skeptical, you don’t even know what I’m saying.”
Eugene chatters at me, swishing his tail rapidly back and forth.
“I’m choosing to take that as a sign you’re excited for me,” I tell him pointedly. “If I’m ever going to leave Storia, I need to learn to protect myself. How hard can it be?”
The following morning, I pull gown after gown from my wardrobe, each one trailing yards of fabric across the floor.
“Why can’t I find a single pair of trousers in here?” I lament to Eugene. “I’m sure I have a pair somewhere…don’t I?”
The squirrel ignores me, clearly pouting because I’m going to set him free today. I’m not happy about it either. Without him here, it will be all too obvious that I’m really just talking to myself.
I pull yet another long dress out of my wardrobe, this one a periwinkle blue with silver embroidery. The long train catches on my toe and nearly sends me sprawling. I curse, kicking it away. It would be impossible to swing a sword in any of these.
Grabbing a pair of silver scissors off my workbench, I bunch the periwinkle skirt in my fist, and hesitate for just a moment before the blades bite through. When I try it on, the rough edge falls just above my knees, and when I twirl experimentally, nothing tangles around my legs. Perfect.
Well, not perfect, but more than good enough.
I cross the room to Eugene’s cage and let him out. He titters and immediately leaps onto my shoulder.