Words caught in my throat, refusing to form. I had nothing to say to the woman who raised me in my mother’s absence. Because I was not ready for goodbyes. Not now. Not like this.
Vega dipped before me in farewell, but I—just as Mother had all those years ago—pulled her into a long embrace.
“I love you, Vega,” I said in a small voice. The truest thing to my heart I could utter.
Her hand slipped into my pocket in a smooth motion, leaving a weight behind. “I love you too,PrincessElowyn.”
My heart shattered.
Snowmelt dripped from Highthorn Castle like tears, shimmering in the sunlight that shined on as if my life was not falling apart. I trailed my gaze over the castle’s towering walls that hid the king and his court. Someone needed to burn the whole damned place to the ground.
I boarded the carriage; it lurched forward, taking me with it. I couldn’t make myself watch Vega shrink with the distance, as I had my mother. That was the last I saw her, and this would not be the last I saw Vega. It couldn’t be.
The carriage wound through a stretch of beautiful hills quilted in snow. The cobblestone path was cleared by the work of diligent groundskeepers. A loud groan of wood and metal sounded as the gate relinquished me from the castle grounds. Spitting me out like the rubbish my father deemed me.
Eventually, the wheels of the carriage lost their tempo as the horses dragged them through frozen muck and rot on the road. Buildings rose around us. I didn’t miss the dilapidated shacks at the end of narrow alleys, hidden behind grand houses off the main road. They leaned against one another, their sagging shutters closed in an attempt to keep out the cold. That was where those cast aside by my father lived, overlooked.
I had read about Guardian’s Watch with wonder my whole life. The pride of my country, once one of the wealthiest cities in the world, at least when my grandsire was king. It was a place where people from all overcame to trade and barter. Now it was nothing more than a rat-infested shithole.
My father taxed everyone, except his wealthy companions, into Infernum to fund his fleet of great warships and supply his armies, all for unwinnable wars across the sea. He hoped to claim some foreign title our family possessed long ago. Yet he couldn’t even care for his own people here in Oakhaven. But to say any of that, despite all knowing it, would be treason. So instead, the books lied, claiming Guardian’s Watch still glorious and my father a great king.
This is a castle filled with illusions and lies.Cedric’s words snaked through my mind. That may have been the only truth he spoke at all. That deception seeped from the castle into the streets, slopping into the heart of Oakhaven.
I worked out a hairpin from my thick braid, an unruly curl springing with it. I stared at the gem top, marking its flat planes that winked in the sunlight. I was so easily enamored with the riches I did not even see the trap set before me. I drew open the blind and dropped the gem-laden pin onto the street. They made me sick; they were far too ornate when others starved or froze. I would no longer be a part of the lie. Maybe someone in need could pick it up and sell it.
I pulled out another one, then another, dropping each out the window until none remained and my braid unraveled.
Bubbles of giggles rippled, and footsteps loped with the pace of the carriage’s horses past the wood and velvet of the carriage window. I peeked out and smiled at the swarm of children who raced alongside. I mirrored their smiles.
Eager to give them more, I tore off my hood, plucking each pearl and garnet sewn into it, throwing them to the children. They raised up theirlittle dirty hands, reaching. Some caught them; others snapped up the ones that skipped on the ground.
Plucking more gems off the neckline of my gown, I threw another handful, drunk on the feeling of giving to them. Like a madwoman, I unraveled the lacing at my front and shrugged off the dark-crimson velvet overdress, the sleeves lined with black fur. I threw the wad of red and black out the window, reveling at the sight of it being snapped up by a boy.
I could do nothing for this city. For this country. This was all I had: the clothes on my back, given to me by a father who did not love me. So, I gave it to them. My shoes, stockings, more layers of kirtle and gown, until I stripped down to my burnt-yellow petticoat and underdress. It was improper and indecent. Surely people would know it was I who did it, but I didn’t care. My honor was already tarnished. I was born with it damaged. Let Highthorn’s courtiers talk. At least I tried to dress the people of Oakhaven.
Suddenly, the carriage halted. The children ran off. That last semblance of joy vanished in an instant.
The carriage door swung open.
“My la—oh,Guardiansabove!” The coachman shielded his eyes from my loose, wild hair and state of undress. “My lady, you must stop. The sumptuary laws forbid anyone not of noble birth from owning such finery. The children could face hanging for possessing property of the crown.”
Ice settled into my spine.
It was a law I’d never given much thought to because of my privileged blood.
Guilt washed over me as I realized this act wasn’t to ease their discomfort. It was to ease mine.
Swallowing my remorse, I snapped, “I do not take lectures from coachmen. Shut the door and ride on.”
The first hour of silence was painful. The absence of Vega, of anyone, settled into my bones, threatening to splinter them.
My hand wandered to the sewn-in pockets of my petticoat and found its way around mother’s prayer beads to Nymphaea. A bitter smile crossed my lips. Sneaky Vega must have slipped it into my pocket. Clasping it on, I ran a thumb over the beads and considered praying to Nymphaea for protection or for guidance from my mother. But didn’t. Neither would hear me.
The air shifted warmer as we neared Gyldmare, known for its ports and fishing towns. The scent of salt and sea tried its best to lift my spirits. The children’s rhyme of its bounty bobbed through my mind:Gyldmare by the sea, Nymphaea Guardian be, grant us your gifts, mother of all waters.
Each region had its own silly tune, sung by mothers—or by governesses, in my case. I’d seen little of Oakhaven through my own eyes, but through books I’d visited every corner. Explored each mountain’s peak in Ashbourne, watched over by the Guardian Aeretha, flying through the clouds. Walked the soft, rolling hills of Haverford, through miles of farmlands, laughing with its good country folk who kept us fed, drenched in the sunlight carried across the sky by Helionyx and his dragon.
I’d meandered through Thornley’s thick wooded forests where woodsmen worked in the summers felling trees with the permission of Terragos. Through books, I learned to love my country’s history. To takepride in its kings and their feats, to honor the Guardians even if I did not have faith in them, because I had faith in tradition. Or so I thought. What good had tradition ever done for me?
