Chapter 1
THE CASTLE WALLS hummed with magic. The King’s hounds ran whimpering to their kennels and the milk in the kitchens soured.
The gulls nesting in the turrets soared and dived through the sky in sudden eddies; the flowers in the gardens wilted and drooped.
The magic stretched to the very edges of the small island, where waves rolled and sucked at the rocks; even the sea drew back from the pulse that rang through the air.
The servants of the castle cast quick glances at their foreign guests.
They prayed that it would be over soon – for the Queen’s sake, of course, but mostly for their own.
It was late summer and the King should have moved to his hunting lodge in the north, but he had delayed the royal household’s departure so that his child could be born at Mont Isle.
At first, the servants had thought it an honour to welcome the long-awaited firstborn, but they had not anticipated the Queen’s strange guests, travelling from her homeland to bless the child.
They had not known there would be so much magic.
The fishermen, who lived in the stone cottages that clung to the cliffs of the mainland, tutted over such customs. All this pomp and ceremony was not the Bavaughian way.
The King’s mother – may she rest with the Great Creator – had been caught unawares by the early birth of her son.
He had been delivered without fuss by a maid in the Queen’s chambers at Mont Isle.
The next day, trumpets had sounded from the battlements and the proud King had paraded the tiny Prince through the streets of the small fishing town of Guil. That was that.
It would not be so bad if the whole thing were not taking so long.
The Queen had been confined to her chambers for almost three days and her guests had started arriving the moment she yelped and clutched her stomach with the first contraction.
Her homeland was at least a whole moon’s travel away, and no one wanted to ask how the guests had managed to arrive so punctually.
Before news that the baby was coming had even reached the mainland, cloaked figures had appeared in Guil.
They slipped through the cobbled streets, then passed across the causeway to the tidal island, the air ringing behind them.
In his chambers, the King paced back and forth.
He had been locked in these rooms for almost three days, only emerging when forced and eating sparingly.
The Kingdom of Bavaugh had waited many years for an heir and he longed to announce the arrival of his firstborn.
Surely it would be a son. Sometimes he thought he heard a scream echoing through the stone walls of the castle, but when he held his breath and listened, he could hear only the crackling of the logs on the fire.
With teeth clenched, the King continued to pace, praying and waiting.
On the other side of the castle, in the Queen’s bedchamber, the fire burnt low and the milky light of dawn seeped through the windows unnoticed.
All eyes were focused on the writhing figure in the four-poster bed.
Sheets wet with sweat were twisted around her legs and her dark hair stuck in slick coils to her cheeks.
She gasped and groaned as the birthing maids and Ladies-in-Waiting urged her to push.
They had stood vigilantly by her side these past three days, tense and fussing, but finally it was clear that the baby was coming and their relief was palpable.
‘Almost there, Your Majesty,’ they promised. ‘Almost there.’
The Queen tried to shake her head. She was exhausted and burning with agony, but there was something else.
She longed to call for one of her guests and ask if they could feel it too.
But she had heard her Ladies-in-Waiting whispering about the strange, cloaked figures in the castle and she knew such a request would upset them.
Besides, she did not have the energy to speak as pain ripped through her body.
All she could do was push with everything she had left, praying that her worries were for nothing.
‘The head is crowning!’ One of the birthmaids gasped. ‘Just a few more pushes, Your Majesty.’
The Queen clenched her fingers into fists and screamed. A moment later, there was a coo of awe from her attendants, then a sharp cry split the air.
‘A girl, Your Majesty,’ said the Chief Lady-in-Waiting. ‘A Princess.’
Fresh towels and linens were brought in, the baby was bathed and the gowns for the Blessing were readied.
‘Tell the King!’ someone called, and there was the sound of scampering feet, the slosh of warm water on the royal infant and the excited murmurings of a relieved room.
‘We are to begin the Blessing right away, Your Majesty,’ said the Chief Lady-in-Waiting. ‘Just as you ordered it.’
The Queen lay panting, her body trembling with the ordeal. Somehow she managed to nod. Exhausted though she was, she would not allow herself to rest. Her long-awaited child had been born and now she suspected they were all in great danger.