The princess was tired of repeatedly walking in on hushed conversation, of which she unfailingly was the topic; tired of the alchemists her father hired on a sort of turn-by-turn basis in attempts to fix her. And some days, she felt like her parents were dangerously close to giving in. Some days, so did she.
That is, until that morning after breakfast. On her way back up to her tower, she’d received an unmarked gold-leaf envelope from the castle courier.
Dearest Lilac, the note read in scrawling, looping cursive.
I hope this letter finds you well.
My name is Ophelia, and I hold the key to what your heart desires most. I am not only able, but willing to conjure the remedy you require to return to normalcy. I offer this to you at no price but one: courage, for there is no timely way to reach my cottage in Paimpont except the direct path through Brocéliande.
Find any brook through the High Forest and follow it; this will lead to the main river. The only inn sits along the water, closer to your castle. There, you can take refuge early on in your quest if need be. Follow the river downstream, for it leads east to the village farmland. Paimpont is but a short walk south of the marsh. Your coronation draws nigh. Godspeed.
The Witch of Lupine Grotto
She snatched the crinkled parchment off her vanity and smoothed it out before stuffing it into her bag. Now, she thought smugly, I have proof of that cure.
She took one last look at herself in the mirror. A maroon tunic over an eggshell shift were the plainest clothes she owned, and it hopefully wouldn’t draw much attention, especially with her new hair.
She'd left the tower before, if only to spend time in the garden hedge maze among her mother’s roses while remaining hidden from the outside world. But this was different. She was going out, venturing off castle grounds. The next time she stood in the same spot would likely be during a flogging from her mother—if not worse.
But at least… At least she'd be free of her curse. At least she’d be normal again. Normal enough to get by.
She fastened her makeshift rope around the leg of the enormous bed frame. At her balcony railing, Lilac carefully wrapped the fabric around her right leg, imitating the silk trapeze artists that graced the ceilings at her mother’s soirées. She shut her eyes, faced the biting cold and readied herself—when a knock rapped upon her door, so muffled she barely heard it.
“A moment, please!”
The words had escaped her lips before she was able to stop herself. Lilac nearly fell over herself trying to free her limbs from the rope. Her fingers fumbled around the hardened knot of fabric wrapped around the balcony, but as she’d intended a second ago, it would not budge. Swearing under her breath, the princess shut the balcony doors and raced to answer her own. Just before gripping the doorknob, she remembered something—she quickly pulled what was left of her hair behind her, into a sleek, ribboned bun—then yanked the door in.
It was a guard—but not just any guard. Renald was head of the castle sentry, and one of her parent’s closest confidantes.
An unpleasant mixture of relief and adrenaline burned her stomach. “Hey, Ren,” she said, keeping the crack of her door tight. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Everything all right?”
Renald opened his mouth to speak, then paused, one corner of his lips drooping into a lopsided frown. “I could ask the same. What’s that ‘orrid stench?”
Lilac’s stomach flipped. Her chopped hair was still crackling in the fireplace, the smell growing more and more concentrated because she’d shut her balcony doors. “It’s—” she cleared her throat — “I’ve been wondering the same, I reckon they collected rotten firewood again.”
She watched him fan the putrid air with his palm, praying she hadn’t just cost someone their job.
But Renald only ran his hand through his greying red beard. “Sorry to bother you, Your Highness—and yes. Or erm, no. Were you about to go to bed? I only knocked because I could see the fire was on.” Squinting past her, he raised his brows. “Is that a potato sack?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she lied, giving him her best sheepish grin while shuffling her bag further over her shoulder. “And yes, I’ve just packed my leftovers.”
“As always. You children and your appetite.”
She nodded, quickly wracking her memory for any tidbit she could recall about him or his family. “How’s Emma doing? And the twins?”
“My wife’s great. Enjoying her time as a seamstress. The boys are a pain in my arse, as always.” Renald yawned widely. “Anyway, I’m here because your father had a bit to drink tonight.”
Her heart sank a little. “Ah. Again.”
“I’ve tried to bring him to bed, but he says won’t budge until he —”
Lilac nodded and squeezed herself through the door, shutting it tightly behind her. “I got it, Ren.” Then, she added, blinking as her vision adjusted to the dim hallway. “Are there a lot of you up there tonight?”
“Indeed, Your Highness. The battlement is secured.”
“Then head back up and get some sleep while your men do the work. I’ll take care of Henri the Terrible.”
“I’ll go and keep an eye out for Darklings, is what I’ll do,” he replied through another yawn. He winked at her. “Tomorrow, lass.”
“Tomorrow,” she lied through her teeth.
Down the stairs, Lilac found the king by almost tripping over him. Between the dimming hearth and baskets of fresh fruit, he leaned up against the wall with his legs sprawled. His prized horn tankard lay empty beside him.
Lilac stared at him for a second, then longingly back up the staircase. She was already tight on time as it was. Surely, she could call one of the servants to help him to his tower?
Then again, it might not be worth waking anyone else who might catch her in her escape.
She lightly covered his legs with the fur-lined ends of his cape. “Father?”
He gave a grunt and popped one eye open. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“Was it meade or wine this time?” She bent and sniffed at the tankard, but couldn’t tell. He’d emptied every last drop.
“Ale,” he burped, staring into the fire.
“Dad, you have to be careful. You’ll make yourself sick.”
“I don’t want to hear it, young lady.” The king opened the other eye and gave her a stern look before grinning. “We can both hold our liquor. Doesn’t mean we won’t get carried away on occasion.”
Of course, he remembered her love for wine as well as she. Some nights she would sneak bottles of their best reds upstairs after supper.
“Is that what’s in the bag?”
Lilac groaned inwardly. She’d forgotten she was still clutching it. “Not this time. Just pastries.” She stuck a hand in and rummaged through the fabric until she found the half loaf of bread and showed him.
“You and your scavenging. Just like that wolf.”
Lilac could only stare numbly into the hearth. Although she knew her father didn’t know what he was saying, she felt like she’d been punched in the gut. It was in this very kitchen that her Darkling tongue had been discovered, after all.
“Good night, father,” she muttered, heading toward the staircase.