CHAPTER 1
BRIAR
The hiss of the shower fills the bathroom like static, a steady rush that swallows the bustle of the castle beyond the door. Steam curls through the room, causing water drops to trail down the walls and my clothes to stick to my damp skin.
I haven’t stepped under the spray once in the hour I’ve been in here, instead using it as a cover so no one bothers me.
It’s not a bath I need, it’s distance from the future I don’t want shoved down my throat.
The lavender soap in the glass dish by the sink sweats in the heat of the room, its scent sharp enough to likely waft through the bottom of the door and make it appear as if I’m truly washing.
The silence and space gives me time to mull over the monumental decision before me: Go to the placement ceremony being hosted in the banquet hall of our castle this evening like the rest of my fellow graduates, or…My throat tightens at the thought of the alternative.
Can I really leave all of this behind?
The plan is ready…I just don’t want to have to use it. Not if I can make my mom and dads finally understand. I want their support and blessing, but I’m running out of time to get it.
A knock comes, quick and polite. “Princess? You’re going to be late.” The maid’s voice filters through the door, dulled by the stream of water hitting the porcelain surface behind me.
I pretend to not be able to hear Phyllis. She can’t get into trouble for not barging in here and pulling me out, so it’s better to feign ignorance and give her plausible deniability for why I’m still not ready.
Instead, I sit cross-legged on the cool marble tile, spine pressed against the side of the tub, my body aching from the hard surfaces below and behind me. An open sketchbook balances on my thighs, the edges worn from use. My pencil moves in slow, deliberate strokes as I let my thoughts drift and guide my hand. The figure taking shape is one I see every day in the mirror, but here there’s a spark etched to her that I’ll never have. Hope and excitement ooze from her, through the parted lips that take in the city, their buildings reflected in her wide eyes.
“For the world you want,”Aunt Alexandra told me as she pressed my first sketchbook and variety of mediums into my hands all those years ago. “Not the one you may be told to want, my dear.”
I pause, the pencil that’s worn to hardly more than a nub pulling back from the paper slightly. My eyes glance to the cabinet beneath the sink.
My heart flutters.
A small, black satchel sits zipped and ready if I’m brave enough to become the girl in my sketchbook. I packed it two weeks ago, after my parents cheered in delight at my final exam scores and proceeded to argue over which placement would suit me best.
None of them included what I wanted. While they smiled and talked about how proud they are of me, I sat in silence, nodding absentmindedly to whatever they said.
All I wanted in that moment was for them to see the silent scream building within me, so hard that my chest physically ached. My hand had lifted, pressing against it as I took deep, steadying breaths. No arms had wrapped around me, asking what’s wrong. No voices had broken through the haze of despair building within me, reassuring me that I could choose whatever future I wanted.
Sure, love radiated from all of their eyes as they regarded me. There was never a lack of that from them. In fact, their love and concern for me have always been wrapped around me so tightly I feel as if I’m constantly suffocating under the weight of it.
So, I packed up clothes, money, and a blank sketchbook with fresh graphite pencils. Now it sits there, waiting for me to drum up the courage to just…go.
A second knock startles me from the thought. “Princess, please. You’ll miss your–”
Phyllis cuts herself off before uttering the wordsplacement ceremony, knowing it’s a sore point after our brief conversation this morning. Somehow she sees the weight I’m carrying on my shoulders more than my own parents.
She knows I feel like this evening is a dressed-up auction. Representatives from every magical sector in Praeditus gather to extend offers to this year’s graduates. Thanks to the extra training my parents piled on top of my schooling, I scored highest in every category–political law, combat strategy, and aptitude for inter-realm conflict.
Which makes me the most valuable commodity to claim, likely giving me my choice of a few placements. Yet I want none of them.
A third knock, louder this time. “Princess Briar, the Queen is asking for you.”
My parents float through my mind at the mention of my mom.
Papa with his clipped academy speeches about honor and discipline as the co-headmaster. Father, king of Sanguis, placing me beside him at every Council meeting as if to accustom the city to the idea of me taking over after he and my mom choose to step down. And Dad, the realm’s most sought-after guard, promising me that “real work” in the field is filled with adventure.
Then there’s my mom, the Queen of Sanguis, Alina Van Helsing. The first Van Helsing vampire, who united slayers and vampires and would give me the moon…so long as it fits the sky she’s built for me to live safely under.
My brow furrows at their ideas for my future. I focus back on the drawing, darkening the shadows around the clouds behind me until the paper begins to rip under the pressure I apply.
The steam, once warm and soothing, now feels heavier, clinging in my lungs as my breath turns shallow and rapid.
