She had already braced herself for the soldier’s retaliation when his gun barrel swung down, metal crushing against her eye.
CHAPTER 2
103 YEARS AGO
PRINCESS AMELIA DID not believe in true love, but her faerie godmothers thought she did.
The three of them floated behind the painter, who had been toiling over the royal family’s portrait for hours while Amelia sat with her father and stepmother. One faerie pressed her fingers to both corners of her mouth and flashed sparkling teeth.
“Think of the true love you’ll meet someday,” she said, “and how excited you’ll be to fall for him.”
Ah, yes. A handsome man to provide reason for Amelia to smile. This was the motivation to keep living, despite the curse that promised she would sleep forever when she turned eighteen. Clover had granted the gift of true love’s kiss to break the curse, so of course the godmothers believed in it. Their entire credibility depended on the cure, lest their reputation be tainted.
Amelia forced her lips into a smile. The godmothers clapped for her like she’d performed a magic trick.
Still, she felt nothing.
She possessed a face that every painter loved: bright eyes the color of sea glass, waves of golden hair rolling past delicate shoulders, porcelain skin with blushing apples on her cheeks. Her face had the symmetrical shape of a heart that pinched to the dainty point of her chin. The smile she wore highlighted the pink blooming from her lips. People compared her to roses, even though she never cared for them.
The painter could add as many shades as he wanted, but she was still a blank palette behind the face her godmothers had gifted her. Only a pastel dream of a girl to soothe people’s ideas of what beauty should look like.
If she had any ugly, gnawing thing inside her, no one would ever know.
• • •
THE PORTRAIT HUNG as a centerpiece in the castle’s grand hall. Dark oils streaked across the canvas, the paint bleeding together to make three figures.
The first thing Amelia noticed upon its undraping was the gold glittering on her father’s throne. He sat tall and broad-shouldered in his chair, casting a wide shadow on its crimson velvet and lacework. But a gold finish had been added to the crest rail, and his crown glinted under the light like a halo. Either the painter took creative liberties, or King Victor had ordered it himself, for a crown made of gold was impossible. Throughout the kingdom of Gyldan, not a single ounce of gold existed in clothing, furniture, or jewelry. The mineral had been wiped from the land for centuries, so rare it had become nearly extinct.
The only remaining gold lived in the royal family’s blood.
Amelia grew up with the story retold to her several times, a teaching tale for why her family was extraordinary. Gyldan had once been nothing more than barren land, isolated by surrounding forests, where wild faeries and creatures attacked any human that trekked through the foliage. That changed when Amelia’s great-grandfather, King Samael, found an orphaned faerie named Oleander. To display his gratitude for the king, queen, and their son, Oleander enchanted their blood with gold so that Gyldan would become prosperous for the rest of their ancestry’s rule.
Oleander was the only faerie who possessed the ability to create gold, but he limited his magic to one family so that their exclusivity would hold power. Still, rumors swirled throughout the land that he’d hidden the last treasure in a secret place within Gyldan. People climbed mountains surrounding the river valleys, traveled to other colonies for clues, even fought with wild faeries in the forests to excavate trinkets from tree hollows. They failed to discover any hidden fortune, and would never receive the answer from Oleander, who crossed death as an act of loyalty when King Samael died as well.
Amelia glanced down at her wrist. Beneath pale skin, the faintest hint of gold shimmered in her veins. The ancient magic still worked, but the bloodline wouldn’t continue with her. She was fifteen now, a ticking clock set to stop working in three more years. Her father deciding to marry was understandable. Broken parts should always be replaced, therefore King Victor needed to produce a new heir. Preferably a son, but if not, at least a girl who carried a stronger legacy than sleeping for the rest of her life.
Amelia just didn’t expect the new queen to be so young. Lilith looked more like an older sister than a stepmother. Barely eighteen years of age, the woman had married Amelia’s father only yesterday.This painting finally allowed Amelia time to observe her.
Lilith didn’t have the pretty and delicate bearing of most noblewomen. She was strong-jawed and muscular with dark olive skin and a sharp aquiline nose. Her long hair was tied into neat, knotted locks, streaming down her back like rope. A set of pearls wrapped around her throat like a choke hold.
“The pearls simply ruin the whole thing, don’t they?”
Her godmother’s voice made Amelia startle. Iris had sneaked behind her like a shadow, so quiet that even the flap of the faerie’s delicate robe barely made a sound. She gazed at the portrait and shook her head in disapproval.
“She didn’t listen when I told her they wouldn’t match the wedding theme. Some nonsense about wanting to keep a piece of home with her.”
“Which home would that be?” Clover chimed. Thick coils of blond hair bounced as she entered the hallway. Faeries were known to be lively spirits, and as the youngest sister, she embraced that reputation with a spritely voice and natural sunny glow.
Amelia couldn’t blame her godmothers for their distrust. Being fiercely protective of the royal family was their job, and having a stranger live in the castle introduced too many risks. Especially when that stranger came from disgraced nobles and carried a reputation for spending time at brothels.
“I overheard her trying to convince King Victor to set up camps,” Iris whispered. “More places to take in runaways from Zilar. Dangerous criminals who would eagerly stab the king for a fraction of his golden blood.”
“Madness!” Clover cried.
“Why he chose a woman with friends from whorehouses, I’ll never know.”
“Well, you are the company you keep—”
