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  “I leave it to you, then, because I must. Take two of my personal guard with you.” My King nodded solemnly and folded an order sealed with shiny red wax, pressing into it the gold crest from his ring. He placed it in my hand as we passed the throne room. So, he had not been completely unprepared.

  Liam and his mother were nowhere to be seen, I suppose they'd be on the next carriage out of the castle, to ride out the coming storm on the shores of some faraway luxury refuge.

  “You must depart immediately,” my father implored me. “You should take Layla as well.”

  Layla was my favorite bitch, an Afghan hound that could track half a whiff of boiled leather the whole way to hell. Like many in our household, she was imbued with magic. That, I guessed, was precisely what my father had in mind.

  I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him on his uncut cheek and sprinted up the stairs. My breath came faster as I reached the top. Would this be the last time I ever climbed these steps? The chambers of the princess were a thing to behold. My mother had spent a fortune decorating it in celebration of my birth. She'd done her duty and provided a son for my father. Once that was out of the way, she decided she wanted a daughter of her own. It had worked out perfectly, and for a while, everyone had been happy. How I wished she’d lived. I could use her counsel now.

  The door to my room was a polished wooden archway, worn at the edges where I'd kicked it open with my leather riding boots again and again. The carelessness of my youth had smoothed it out like sandpaper, making the border many shades lighter than the dark center.

  Inside, my room was exactly as mother had left it. I tried to remember the nights spent reading behind the fire and the days spent singing and dancing. Lilac and lavender—it still smelled like her.

  My bed was cherrywood with four-posters rising like the towers of a castle. Strewn between them were a pile of purple covers and pillows. There were drawers, and even a small shrine in the corner of the room erected in her memory.

  Running to my closet, I plucked out my traveling cloak first. I had no clue where I'd go. I couldn't speculate on the weather and a foretelling would suck out the rest of my remaining magic.

  I owned a thousand purses and pouches, and none of them seemed the right one. The men of the Kingdom believed I always needed more leather satchels. What do you get the Princess who has everything? Finally, on the furthest back shelf, I found it. A bag with a smooth leather strap in the shape of a soggy triangle. This was no ordinary bag. It could hold half the Treasury inside its cavernous recesses, if my shoulder could only carry the weight.

  I shoved in two sets of rough clothing that could weather most elements, then a short knife with a green-jeweled handle, a bit of tightly wound cord, and my pocketbook—which now contained more money than I'd ever needed before. This was the first time I’d ever worried about money.

  With hurried hands, I brushed back my hair, plaiting it with trembling fingers. I tried to coax them into stillness, but it was my heart that wouldn't listen. When my hair was as tamed as it was going to get, I added the golden-toothed brush my mother had given me to my bag. Lastly, I tossed in a worn flintstone, and three tiny flasks. How I wished, at that moment, I hadn't been so terrible when it came to potions. Their magic would not fade, they would not be rendered useless, and yet I had no time to find more.

  There was a building noise rising from the square. I crossed the room to the other side and peered out the window. I slid one lilac curtain a hair away from the glass panel hiding behind it. Angry morning light bisected everything in my room. The market was beginning to stir and a large crowd had formed in the square. Men and women stood in groups, shoulders touching, necks bending, all spinning rumors. I wondered how many of them were close to the truth, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out.

  The sound of so many voices joining together at once grew into a blaring wave of sound louder than a yell and more terrifying. The city had awoken, and the people would demand answers we weren't prepared to give. While suspicions spread, I flew down the hall and into the servant's passages. I took the uneven stone steps two at a time and thankfully encountered no one.

  Typically, this passage would be filled with a flurry of cooks and servers from the kitchen, but the place was still, the stoves unlit and cold. I suppose they were all in the square. I made it all the way out the back door before being caught. A tall man dressed in riding leathers was waiting for me in the shadows. It was as if he’d known I’d pass by this way. A long cloak was flung over the crook of his arm, the reins of two horses in the other. I could tell who it was by the smell of sandalwood oil in his hair.

  “Thackery,” I said, my throat drying already. “I don’t have time for this,” I sighed, reaching out for the reins inscribed with a silver W.

  Thackery lifted them above my head and out of my reach, his hollow cheeks puckered with smugness.

  “I’m coming with you,” he said, “King Henry said you would need me.”

  Damn, he’d dragged my father into it. I suppose that meant there was no getting away from him now. Thackery was my father’s favorite guard and the son of a councilman. He was just two years older than I was. Quick-witted, Thackery also had a biting tongue and a mane of blonde curls that wrapped around his head like a crown. He was the farthest thing from royalty—that was what had originally attracted me to him, along with his shining brown eyes.

  That crush had faded quickly. He was my ex-boyfriend—sort of. At the time he had seemed more tolerable than any of the suitors that had been arranged for me. With strong arms and a nice-looking chin, he was a free-thinker like myself. So much so, he hardly ever agreed with anything I said. I knew he wasn’t going to start now, but there was no point trying to argue with him where other people could catch us.

  I pushed past him and out toward the stables, whistling for Layla. We should leave before the other guard found us. One guard was better than two. I let Thackery lead the horses outside and saddle them. He had brought my favorite horse for me, a fourteen-hands-high chestnut Andalusian stallion named Juko. I had spent hours combing the tangles from his flowing mane. The tail was still tied up in a little silk ribbon from our last carefree ride. There was no other horse I would rather rely on.

  “Where is that dog?” I complained. “Layla! Come!”

  She finally appeared, bounding around the corner at the edge of the stables. Her fine, brown-and-white coat was cut short and her tail curled in a ring at the end. It wagged furiously as she greeted me with wet kisses. The dark spots over her eyes and in her long, hairy ears gave her an almost human look.

  I held out a strip of fabric I had cut from Pieter’s favorite doublet and let her sniff it.

  Thackery had chosen a powerful Friesian stallion for himself. The horse was bathed in black, save for a white diamond on the face. He was temperamental and unpredictable—much like his rider.

  “Let’s go,” Thackery demanded, “before the trail turns cold.”

  Layla bounded forward, already on the scent.

  My eyes focused on the back gate. The dawn wasn’t quite as blinding in that direction, but at least it wasn’t as bleak as the future now seemed.

  Chapter 2.

  Wren

  “You're still in your nightgown,” Thackery said, dumbly stating the obvious as if he had just noticed.

  I brushed it off. “I can change on the road.”

  He sat high on top of his taller stallion, looking down on me as I mounted Juko.

  “You're covered in blood,” he added mildly. As though, it was some mundane remark about the weather.

  I glared at him. “I know.”

  Urging our horses forward, we passed through the outer wall, earning a strange stare from the posted guard. I scowled down any challenge he was prepared to offer. Soon we left the castle behind. The tension in my shoulders lessened as the sounds of the crowd’s shouts faded in the wind. That didn't mean I could get them out of my head.

  Layla ranged ahead, staying in sight, occasiona
lly pausing while waiting for us to catch up.

  Thackery cleared his throat. “Maybe you should wash off in the river?”

  I thought back to the many times he had returned hot-blooded from a hunt, looking for a kiss and whatever else I was willing to offer. Each time, I had ordered him to bathe before so-much-as letting him lay a finger on me, let alone put those strong arms around me. In our admittedly brief relationship, he had always come back to me covered in green leaves or dark soil—and bruised. Thackery loved a good adventure, the kind that caused a rainbow of small bruises. The source of the adventure didn’t really matter, whether it was his, one of his father’s, or anyone else's. He had cared more about them than country, self—and he had certainly loved them more than me.

  I guess that's why I decided to finally put an end to it. It was one thing to be second behind the Kingdom—most things were—but I wouldn't stand for being third place. That made me sound a bit spoiled, but I merely understood who I was and what I wanted. I liked to think I kept my privilege relatively in check—not that I was humble.

  I tried to be as reasonable as possible, except for when it came to courting, and fortunately, I didn't do that anymore. A long line of spurned suitors had earned me something of a reputation as a cold-hearted bitch. If that was what the men thought of me, at least they knew to stay well away. My father had always told me that I was a princess, and a princess didn’t have to settle for just any man.

  Thackery had never bothered to learn that last lesson despite my best efforts. His eyes raked across my thinly clothed frame in barely-concealed admiration. I almost said the words, the cryptic incantation that would keep my blood from rising and prevent my cheeks from burning in a rose-colored blush.

  There once was a woman white as snow… my lips had started to move, but I’d swallowed the sound and clenched my jaw tightly shut. I surrendered to the color as it crept up my cheeks and neck, as I tried all the harder to simply ignore his wandering eyes. Thackery could come along with me on this journey. His skills might even prove useful. There was no use wasting the energy trying to stop him, but that didn’t mean I had to make things easy for him.

  I leaned over in the saddle and punched him in the shoulder.

  “Ow!” he rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” I said in a serious tone. “There’s no telling who we might come across.”

  From that moment on, Thackery’s eyes had little time to look at me and instead darted around us in a constant search for danger. I could always count on his protective instinct.

  The road began to narrow as we rode further and further from home. The light dust of the King’s Road turned to reddish mud beneath the horse’s hooves as we crossed north into the countryside. We passed an open field where my mother and I used to have picnic lunches and drink tea with all sorts of magical creatures.

  Layla cut into the field, avoiding some standing water on the road. I skirted the long white fence bordering it, avoiding a brackish puddle that had pooled across the path. The next field of rye seemed limp and sickly. I wondered if the river had overflowed in the recent rains, rising past the banks and drowning the crops. Would there be enough food for my people to make it through the winter?

  There was a well nearby that I used to visit whenever I could. I had cast a dozen small coins down its throat over the years, asking for some foolish wish or another. None of them had ever come true. I wondered if the well had gone bad as well. There was more swamp than dry ground ahead as we pushed on. Thackery trailed behind me, a silent frown set on his face.

  The next hour passed in silence until he finally pulled up next to me. “It’ll only get colder as we move up into the mountains. You should change into something warmer.”

  He was right. I should have, but it came out of his stupid plump lips like more of a command than a suggestion. I stubbornly dug my knees into Juko’s sides to press him further along.

  Thackery grabbed for my reins and moved to cut me off. “We might not have time later to stop.”

  “You want me to change here? Among the haystacks?” I shouted.

  I bet he’d love that.

  “We’re are on the brink of war,” I reminded him. “I can’t afford to waste time because of a little cold weather!”

  My anger rose high enough to drive me out of the saddle. I pressed my feet harder into the stirrups and leaned over, as though I could push his horse out of the way.

  Layla sensed my distress and bounded back, growling low in her throat at Thackery.

  “Sit girl,” I said. She obeyed, watching Thackery closely.

  “Don’t be like this, Wren,” Thackery said.

  I moved Juko to the side and went around him.

  “Don’t be like what?” I asked him over my shoulder.

  “Are we seriously talking about this now? I know you, remember? Or at least, I used to. Everything always has to be so extreme with you—all or nothing.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. My stepmother hated when I did that, it “wasn’t befitting a proper lady”, but there wasn’t anyone around for me to pretend for.

  “Wren, I am about to rip that flimsy thing off you,” Thackery growled.

  Though I’d deny it for the rest of my life, his words kindled a ball of heat that flared in my middle before flashing to my cheeks. I knew he still wanted me, but I hadn’t expected him to be so forward about it. I should have known better. Thackery was forward about everything.

  “You would, wouldn't you!” I yelled, wishing I had a riding crop to strike him across the face with.

  “If it’ll get you to put on some warmer clothes!” Thackery's voice bellowed.

  I paused at that.

  “We’re about to enter the Western Wood, Wren, do you know what that means?” He scowled.

  No one knew everything that was in the Woods, but I did know there were a lot of things that I wouldn’t want to meet on even the sunniest of days. Running into one of the rarely seen monsters that lurked in the wood’s depths would make what clothes I had on, or what weapons I carried irrelevant.

  “There are creatures that can track even the smallest drop of blood, Wren. You have it smeared over yourself like war-paint.”

  I let the reins go slack. We were at the very edge of the last field in Spellshallow proper. The ground had been mowed to stubble. Pools of water gathered in them like little lakes. Neat rows flowed into cutting rivers. This was the point of no return. I looked down at the re-opened wounds on my hands.

  Damn, I hated it when Thackery was right.

  Dismounting, my horse stood patiently as I rummaged in the saddlebags for something to change into.

  Thackery dropped back until he was again a few yards behind me. I checked to make sure he wasn’t looking—that he wasn’t too close. It always unnerved me when someone got too close.

  There was a hog pen just out of reach from the tree line. Made from roughly lashed together logs, the rickety wire gate stood open. The farmer must have taken his animals elsewhere. In the corner of the pen was a small, pale-yellow haystack, half used up. Grabbing my clothes, I approached and ducked behind it to change.

  “Stay where you are,” I commanded.

  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Wren. Honestly, you make it sound like you’ll cut my head off.” Thackery sighed, but he slowly moved his horse over to mine and held the reins. I saw him look away before crackling yellow blocked him from my sight.

  “Don’t think I wouldn’t,” I mumbled, knowing well he wouldn't be able to hear me.

  I shrugged off the thin fabric covering my shoulders, exposing my bare back to the naked wind. Layla began barking, probably worried that she couldn’t see me.

  “Wren,” Thackery hissed, and at first, I thought he had snuck back for a peek after all.

  “Wren!” he said again, with a tone of warning in his voice. Layla was still barking.

  Something was wrong. I poked my head around the side of the haystack, a
nd immediately wished I hadn't. Standing next to my empty saddle was Thackery's father, Lord Barkus, and a whole team of his men. All were holding rough-handled axes or short swords drawn from their scabbards. The Lord was a large man, with giant hands calloused from battle, a thick neck from long years of wearing heavy armor, and a graying mustache—wilting somewhat from the stress of managing his numerous lands and holdings.

  Lord Barkus was the second most powerful man in the kingdom. Wealthy beyond measure, he indulged too much in both women and wine, and the excess was beginning to show in his girth. Draped in expensive riding leathers and a shimmering cape, Thackery’s father wore a dangerous smile on his face.

  Thackery hadn't dismounted from his horse. His eyes were locked on his father’s in a contest of wills and suppressed rage. They looked like they wanted to wrestle one another in the mud.

  I pulled a forest-green tunic over my head, warm despite the fact it was too short and exposed part of my midriff. The guards turned threateningly in my direction as I slid back out into the morning, my bloody nightgown clutched tightly in my fist. My skin prickled as a group of eyes roved over me. There were five men with Lord Barkus, not one I could recall by name. They looked like hard men accustomed to doing what was needed and not asking questions. Not a good sign. Three of them held their horses, while the other two spread out to flank Thackery and me.

  If Lord Barkus had discarded his chance to seize even more power and follow us personally, it meant he knew the truth and what was really at stake.