Rose whistles as I slump into the table, a massive grin spreading across her face. Rose is older in years but hasn’t lost any spark, beauty, or unbearable sass. Her white hair falls long down her back but is always tied to avoid any messes while working long kitchen hours. Rose and Lang—niece and uncle—are both strong Lumor Wielders and they’ve watched over me for years. At this point, they’ve been more like family to me than my own father.
Wooden shelves line the stone walls of the kitchen, and the single small window in the corner leaves the space dim. However, the light bursting from the two Lumor Wielders gives it a warm and inviting glow. I was five when I first met Rose and Lang. I was crying outside the kitchen in a small stone nook. Barlowe had said something that upset me, so I ran away. Langscooped me up and placed me in the same spot I occupy now, and they’ve been comforting me ever since.
“Glad to see you brushed your hair today before coming down,” Lang jokes.
His wide grin shows a row of white teeth that are almost as white as his hair. “I haven’t seen you in days. You must be starving.”
The growl in my stomach answers as a response. “Barlowe returned today. And I received a lovely note from the king that I should look presentable today—with my own flare, of course.” I wink in his direction, fluffing the wrinkles out of my lap.
“Yeah, right.” Lang chuckles. “That dress is beautiful, but those wrinkles would drive him insane. Nice way to piss him off this time of day. However, you look marvelous, Princess.”
I roll my eyes, resting my head back on the tall wooden bench. Before I know it, my nose tingles from the aroma floating around the cramped room. However, I have no appetite. So, I settle for a few apple slices and a piece of toast when Rose says, “How have you been sleeping, Briar?”
No one knows about my nightmares. It’s one thing I’ve never been able to speak about out loud with anyone since they started. “I slept a few hours last night,” I lie.
“Well, good! That’s an improvement. My little spies tell me they see you at all hours floating around the castle like a ghost.”
I smile. Next time, I’ll remember and be sure to scare a few people for entertainment. She returns to her stew, nudging Lang with her arm to chime in on the conversation. Older in all aspects, Lang’s once-blonde hair has turned a pale white. Gray whiskers pepper his wrinkled face, but his eyes show only past youth and always current joy. “Rose, didn’t something show up for Briar this morning?” he shouts over his shoulder.
Rose shuffles in my direction. “Indeed!”
She extends her calloused hand in my direction, years of working in the kitchen leaving her hands lined with scars from cooking and cutting. “Briar, this letter was delivered to the castle this morning with your name on it. I collected it for you since I assumed you’d join us in the kitchen today.”
I look up from my plate of untouched food and freeze. The handwriting on the letter is familiar and something I’ve not seen in years. I snatch the envelope from her hand, earning a huff as she spins, returning to her chores.
This is addressed to me, and without a doubt, the handwriting is my mother’s.
It reads,
“To my shadow.”
When I stand, my world spins. Shock ripples through me as I wave my goodbyes to Rose and Lang, doing my best to keep my composure.
“I’m heading out for the day! I’ll see you both later.”
“You barely touched any food,” Lang yells as I bound out of the kitchen door.
My breath is jagged as I twist through the castle hallways, knowing I’m failing horribly to keep my composure. Tripping on a few steps earns concerned looks from the staff I pass on my way back to my room. I round the last corner and slam into a wall of muscle waiting for me outside my bedroom.
Chapter 2
Barlowe stands unmoving from the hit, arms crossed as if he’s been waiting for my arrival. My ears ring from the collision. “I… thought you’d be longer,” I say, breathless.
His brow furrows. “Are you alright?”
Glancing back over my shoulder, I work to catch my breath. “I… I’m…” I trail off, unable to find the words.
“Briar? What is going on?” Barlowe grabs my arm, pulling me closer to the wall. “Are you hurt?”
His strong hold on my arm doesn’t help steady my trembling legs. He notices the letter in my hand, and our eyes meet in an immediate understanding that it’s something bigger than just a piece of paper. “What’s that?” he asks, reaching for it.
“It’s why I’m all over the place right now, Barlowe.”
“You don’t receive many letters, I take it?”
“Not letters that I think are from our dead mother,” I snap and grab his bicep, yanking him into my bedroom.
This doesn’t need to be discussed where unwanted ears lurk.
