ã€ŠLady Florence is Not Evilã€‹


 Prologue: Dreams Aflame

    A thousand screaming voices layering in a cacophony of agony, echoing in the endless abyss filled with crimson and emerald flames. Blue-white lightning crackles and spits, lighting the gaping maw just enough for the familiar forms to take shape in their neverending macabre dance¡ª

    The toad man, leering, with his small black eyes peeping through the swirling emerald flames that make up his face. "Delicious," he slurps, his long, lumpy tongue rolling toward me as if I were the juiciest fly. My shoulders start to shake as a familiar nausea rises within me.

    The claw woman, who has shiny metal claws instead of fingers, flicks them so fast in flashes of burning orange, a wicked grin slashing her gorgeous face. "Ha...ha!" she shouts, dragging the claws down her cheeks. "You did this! You! YOU!" Her hysterical laughter rises to a scream as she combusts in a cloud of sparks that I swear I can feel peppering my skin.

    The drowning child, who I can never save. His screams are always silent as his small form of rolling, indigo smoke sinks into the pit of nightmares. His hand dissolves in mine as I try to reach him, knowing all the while I''ll fail him over, and over again.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Make it stop.

    For a moment, I hear a faint roar in the distance, a single thread of sanity¡ªthe dragon. Sometimes I can find it¡ªa giant ghost-like being made of clouds and auroras. They are the only entity who can bring me a moment of peace in this hellscape. But whatever binds them to this space is weak and the clouds dissipate before long, leaving only the faintest, tiniest sparkling stars in their wake. Even those will fade.

    How long have I been here? This place crackles and spits and shrieks, so I run in the darkness with nowhere to go. Over stone and under charred branches. My bare feet have long since hardened to such abuse.

    Make it stop.

    Is this real? Is it? I try to raise my hands in front of my face, but there is nothing but shadows.

    And yet, my throat burns.

 1. The Lunatic of LaVelle

    Screams were an everyday occurrence inside the LaVelle mansion annex, where Lady Florence LaVelle has lived since she was twelve years old.

    One day she was a kind, happy child with the bright future of an intelligent, noble lady ahead of her, and the next she was screaming and shouting such horrendous things that the servants had been ordered to carry her small, writhing form out to the annex so the family could have some reprieve.

    Doctor after doctor was secretly summoned to the annex to examine Lady Florence, but not one of them could discover the cause for her sudden change.

    "Physically, there is nothing wrong with the child!" they collectively concluded. "She is not injured or ill. How can she be in this state?"

    They had scratched their heads and rubbed their beards to no avail¡ªFlorence LaVelle remained a mystery, day after day.

    "Here are sedatives to calm her, this is the best we can do for now."

    The days had stretched into months and her screams did not stop. Weariness became permanently etched into the faces of poor Florence''s mother and father, the Duke and Duchess LaVelle, who were heartbroken for their youngest child.

    Quietly, they had reached out to doctors from faraway lands, waiting even more months for the doctors and their attendants to travel the long distance to Dorandia, drawn by the promise of riches and fame should they be able to cure the child.

    However, if whatever ailed Florence was something physical, it was beyond the understanding of even the most renowned physicians in the known world. The herbs they recommended did little more than the sedatives the other doctors had prescribed, and they had been cautioned by each and every doctor not to overuse them, lest even more damage be done.

    There was no cure for poor little Florence LaVelle.

    "What else can we do, Claude?" Florence''s mother wept. He held her in his arms, privately in their shared bedchamber. It was a well-known secret that the Duke greatly loved his wife. Tenderly, he caressed her worn cheek as he gazed down into her face.

    In the past year, he had watched his beautiful wife, Adeline, fade with exhaustion and grief. She was a shadow of her former self, though the same could probably be said for him. Gone were her bright hazel eyes, her merry spirit, and her cheerful laugh. But he loved her still and would do anything for her.

    "We''ve done all he could for her, Addie," he said, offering a smile he didn''t feel, "everything within our power. We can''t do anything more, other than wait. The doctors have all said there might yet be hope for our dear Florence, in time. Hm?"

    "You''re right, I know you''re right...it''s just...I''m afraid I might go mad before then and the thought terrifies me. It''s not her fault, it''s not, but as time goes on it''s getting harder and harder, Claude. I''m so frightened." Adeline buried her face in her husband''s robe, knowing he''d understand what she meant.

    He did.

    "I''ll take care of everything," he told her, kissing the top of her head. "Florence will receive the best care while we wait for her to get better. How does that sound?"This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    Adeline didn''t even have the strength to reply. She could only nod into her husband''s chest as tears of relief soaked into his robe.

    ??

    Yesterday was Florence''s nineteenth birthday, but the occasion had not been celebrated by anyone. Her parents had not stopped by to wish her well, not that she would have noticed, nor did her caretakers offer her a special treat to celebrate. The date had come and gone only to tally the number of years it had been since Florence''s madness had begun.

    "Seven bloody years of this," Mary muttered to Jane in the annex laundry, one of the few places Florence''s screams were quietest, therefore, one of the few places the caretakers could freely gossip. "I myself would''ve gone mad by now if not for the magicked head wraps."

    "They do look so silly, though," Jane replied, wrinkling her nose. True, the fuzzy muffs that covered the maids'' ears were unlike anything either of them had ever seen, but they''d been magicked to reduce noise, so the maids wore them without issue.

    "Pish posh! I won''t complain, not when it saves my hearing and my sanity." Mary paused from stirring her load of linens. "Do you suppose they''ll want to keep her like this until she''s an old maid? Drugged half the time, force-fed disgusting porridge, unaware of her surroundings and completely dependent? All the while screaming and yelling obscenities at every opportunity?"

    She leaned to the side, swiping the damp brown curls on her forehead under her hair-wrap.

    "Well, what''s the alternative?" Jane snapped a wet sheet before hanging it up to dry. "Are you suggesting they put her down like a lame horse?" She snorted.

    Mary gasped and resumed her stirring. "Don''t you put words in my mouth, Jane! I never suggested such a thing!" Mary''s mouth hung open in horror as she frantically looked around, making sure no one else was around them. Not everyone who worked in the manor would take Jane''s words as a jest, dark as it was.

    Surely, it was a jest?

    Jane snorted again. "You don''t have to. Plenty of others already have. Why, the Lunatic of LaVelle is the talk of the town this season, haven''t you heard? Somehow the secret got out that the Duke''s youngest daughter has been holed up here the entire time. You should hear what they say! Lord! That she sneaks out at night to eat frogs from under the Black Bridge, or that she''s actually an extremely powerful mage, so powerful the LaVelle family is afraid of her and keeps her locked up for safekeeping. In a tower! If only they knew the truth about Lady Florence."

    Jane shook her head in mock contrition. A wisp of blonde hair freed itself from her wrap.

    Mary knew better than to call her out. The two of them had been working closely together with ten other women, in complete secrecy, taking care of Lady Florence since she was twelve. Well, what used to be complete secrecy.

    Duke LaVelle would not be happy when he learned that there was a rumor about his youngest going around the capital. He may not visit her any longer¡ªhe hadn''t for years¡ªbut that didn''t mean he cared nothing for the reputation of the LaVelle name. Despite everything that had happened to her, Florence was still very much a full-blooded LaVelle.

    Had she never been struck with madness, Florence would have enjoyed her debut in society the year before, but only after attending the Royal Academy for four or so years before that. As the daughter of a Duke, all of this would not just be expected, but required, as a noble member of society.

    Since the cat''s out of the bag, Jane wondered, surely they wouldn''t require the Lunatic of LaVelle to debut in her current state, would they? Surely, the King would offer some kind of exception out of pity. Right?

    Jane gnawed on her lip, excited at the prospect of something finally happening around this place.

    ??

    Now that the rumor had reached the King''s ear, he had a different kind of offer in mind for the man who had deceived him, the man he had come to trust and think of as a friend¡ªDuke Claude LaVelle.

    Friend or not, Duke LaVelle had some explaining to do. As King Roark Aurelius deh Doran¡¯s famously thick brows drew together, his aids scrambled to begin the work he¡¯d just ordered.

 2. A Secret Summons

    "What do you mean, ''Under royal authority''?" Mary had been summoned to the annex door by one of the LaVelle guards, who had been approached by two men in long, white robes, their silver hair falling neatly down their backs. Were they twins? What looked like an entire squadron of the Royal Guard was behind them. "We haven''t received notice from his lordship about this."

    She stood in the doorway, shuffling from foot to foot. As if she would be able to stop them!

    "And you don''t need to," the older of the two men replied, handing the scroll to the guard and barging his way into the annex. At least, he appeared older, judging by the slightly more rugged appearance.

    "You," Mary shouted over her shoulder to the guard, "go to the main house for his lordship at once!"

    She ran after the two men, who walked with unnatural speed towards Lady Florence''s chambers, the source of the screams and horrific yelling. Just before they yanked open the door, she threw herself in front of it.

    "Please," she heaved. "Lady Florence can''t receive any visitors at the moment. She isn''t well!"

    "We know," the same man said, narrowing his silver eyes at her, "and that''s precisely why we''ve been sent. By the King. Now move aside." With a gentle whoosh, he gestured with his hand to the left and deposited Mary a few feet away, ignoring her startled shriek.

    Truthfully, he wasn''t looking forward to finding whatever was inside this chamber, but his King had ordered them to "fix Lady Florence by any means." Perhaps the King had an idea of what was wrong with her, as the sounds she made were almost demonic. Something he and his twin were quite familiar with.

    Briefly, his eyes met his brother''s in silent agreement, then they entered the chamber together, opening the door to be greeted by a sharp, shrill scream that seemed to pierce its way down to his very soul. It was worse than they had imagined.

    The dim room was grossly unfit for a lady¡ªa smell more appropriate for a nursery filled the brothers'' nostrils as they quickly took in the shabby furnishings and dirty linens. Then there was the lady herself.

    Lady Florence was petite for her age, likely malnourished, and her clothing was soiled with food. Her shorn head was damp with sweat, spiking her fiery red hair. All four limbs were bound to the bed as she arched and thrashed, wrists and ankles an angry red where the bindings had chaffed, likely day in and day out. Probably scarred.

    She screamed again, ending in a chest-convulsing sob¡ª"Why-why-why-why-why-why-why WHHYYY!" Another scream began. She coughed and gasped for air, then coughed again. Her face turned purple.

    "Ungh, you look so delicious, so, soooo delicious, ha ha hahahahahaaaaaa, but it''s my face, my faaaaaaace, why did you do this to my face? My face? My FAAAAAACE?" Another scream.

    "Brother!" the younger man shouted, distressed.

    The other man snapped back to reality. "PAUREM!" he shouted, and the room immediately stilled. Lady Florence sighed and relaxed on her bed, red-faced and exhausted. The sudden silence felt wrong at first, it contrasted so sharply with the noise just seconds ago. "I''m sorry, Felix. I was distracted, but that does not excuse my negligence."Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    "I understand, Russo. I, too, was distracted by the sight of poor Lady Florence. How in the name of Saint Dora could this come to pass?"

    "How indeed." Russo sighed. First things first. He could not work in these conditions. "DEMAR." White, holy light swirled out from his hands.

    The dried porridge on Lady Florence''s nightgown disappeared, as did the sweat on her brow. She now appeared clean and comfortable, which would have to do for now, even though Russo would prefer to do so much more, given the state of the room. He could not fathom how things could get so bad.

    "Felix, will you tend to her wounds while I take a look at her mind?" Russo walked around the bed toward Lady Florence¡¯s head. With her face relaxed and the purplish color gone, he could see how hollow her cheeks were. Did Duke LaVelle know his daughter was being starved to death?

    "Of course." The younger-looking cleric tenderly picked up Lady Florence''s right hand. Russo knew he was leaving her corporeal form well-cared for.

    Judging by the things Lady Florence had been screaming, Russo was not looking forward to the things he was about to see, but there was no other way to help her. Besides, he would help her even if it wasn''t a direct order from the King because she was clearly suffering. He couldn''t allow someone to suffer once he knew about it.

    He placed his large, cool hand on her warm forehead, noting her delicately arched brows. Beneath her closed eyelids, her eyes darted.

    He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

    ??

    "Make it stop!" Lady Florence screamed in the distance.

    Russo had immediately descended into one of the worst hellscapes he had ever experienced. It wasn''t real¡ªnone of them were¡ªbut that didn''t mean the remaining trauma from them wasn''t.

    This had to be a curse. A nasty one. But, first things first.

    "Make it stop!" he heard her again. This was Lady Florence''s true voice. Not her screams. Not the demonic shouting. But the one crying out for help.

    First, he had to find her within the hellscape and bind her to him so she wouldn''t get lost while he finished the work. It could take a while, and sometimes a person''s subconscious would grow impatient or afraid and flee to safety. It was much better to drag them around like a dog on a lead, even if they didn''t like it.

    "Make it stop, I say!"

    Lady Florence''s voice was even louder. He had to be close!

    But why couldn''t he see her? She should be visible, her ''soul,'' for lack of a better word, glowing at least a little bit. Then again, this hellscape was a horrifying mixture of fire, smoke, lightning, darkness, and nightmares, so maybe she was simply blending in a little too well.

    "Oof!" he tripped on something and fell flat on his face, which thankfully didn''t hurt because he¡¯d left his physical body behind. But what had he¡ª"Lady Florence?"

    "Please, make it stop¡­"

    It was her! But why couldn''t she hear him? And why couldn''t he see her?

    He reached out into the darkness until he felt her form, then gently pulled her upright.

    "Oh, dear Gods above," he whispered, horrified, for he immediately noticed two things. First, someone had put a mana binding on Lady Florence, what looked like several years ago, and they had never maintained it.

    But secondly, and more importantly, Lady Florence wasn''t cursed. The reason she wasn''t glowing like she should be was because instead, she was as dark as a shadow.

    Lady Florence was the curse.

 3. A Parting Gift

    High Cleric Russo Whitebranch battled with indecision as he clung to Lady Florence in the cursed hellscape, bombarded with the demons of her consciousness. The situation was dire. How in the name of Saint Dora had Lady Florence, with a mana-binding no less, survived such a place for seven years?

    To rescue her, Russo was faced with an impossible choice¡ªleave Lady Florence and retrieve his brother, which would greatly improve their chance of success, or he could attempt to do everything on his own. The latter would likely result in at least partial destruction of the annex¡­which would endanger the lives of others¡­

    And that settled it. He could not endanger more lives, not when there was an alternative solution.

    ¡°Please, wait where I can find you,¡± he told Lady Florence, not that she could hear or understand him, but he felt compelled to try. ¡°I¡¯ll be back with help soon.¡±

    Exiting someone¡¯s mind requires immense strength and concentration. However, Russo had a built-in tether with his twin brother, which made the process substantially easier for him.

    ¡°That was fast,¡± Felix commented, his eyebrows drawn in confusion, once the whirlwind around Russo settled in Lady Florence¡¯s chambers.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t even start.¡± Immediately, their eyes met; Felix silently understood that something was terribly wrong with the situation. ¡°She has an old mana-binding on, so we need to set up an anchor for that here. Who knows how much mana will release once we free her¡­possibly enough to destroy the house if we did not place an anchor. And¡­¡±

    He averted his gaze. The sight of Lady Florence, made of shadow and crying for help, had broken a part of him. Someone had done that to a child. A child had been forced to wander a hellscape, defenseless, for seven, long years. He¡¯d¡ª

    ¡°Russo!¡± Felix called to him, jolting him out of his stupor. Russo¡¯s cheeks were wet. He was¡­crying? ¡°Tell me what else is wrong!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like nothing I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± he began. He told Felix everything in detail. While Russo talked, Felix constructed the mana anchor, so by the time Russo was done they would be able to go.

    ¡°Purify first,¡± Russo instructed, ¡°then, on our way back, we release the mana-binding. It¡¯ll be, eh, a bit chaotic.¡± He took his place on Lady Florence¡¯s left side, while his brother stood across from him. Each of them had one hand on Lady Florence¡¯s brow and the other holding one of her hands.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget to tether to the anchor.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Russo replied. He had forgotten, because Felix almost never came with him. ¡°On three. One, two, three¡­¡±

    ??

    ¡°...wait¡­¡± the glowing angel said, his voice an echo barely audible in the din, ¡°....back¡­help¡­¡±

    Then, he released me.

    ¡°Don¡¯t go!¡± I shout, but if he can hear me, he doesn¡¯t listen, and his brilliant yellow-white presence winks out, leaving me alone in the inky, swirling chaos once more.

    Ah!¡ªI sink to my haunches, curling my arms around my knees. If I make myself as small as possible, sometimes I am overlooked by the shadow creatures. If I wait in this exact spot, maybe the angel will return soon¡­

    Hope and desperation. I am so full of both, that they threaten to erupt from my mouth, so I clench my teeth and grip my knees harder. Be small, be quiet. There was an angel here, a real angel! Does this mean my time here is nearing an end?

    No, don¡¯t hope for such a thing! How devastating would it be if he never returned? I hit my forehead on my knees, curling tighter.

    ¡°Wait¡­back¡­help¡­¡± If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    He meant for me to wait here, right? For how long? It doesn¡¯t matter how long¡ªI¡¯ll wait for as long as possible. Until the shadows chase me away.

    I wait. Rocking on my feet.

    I wait. Fingernails digging into my flesh. This is real.

    This is real¡­

    And I wait. Breathe in. Breathe out.

    Finally, the odd sound¡ªthe one I heard earlier¡ªI hear it again! He came back!

    The angel. No¡­two angels? They glow so brightly as they navigate smoky swirls of darkness and flame.

    Their forms waver as if they were standing in a fire. Were they hot like fire? I reach out, but my hands go through them. Just air. Why are they here if I can¡¯t even talk to them, feel them, or interact with them in any way? Are they even here for me? Maybe they made a mistake.

    ¡°...Florence¡­¡± one of the angels says. Again, it sounds like an echo from far away and I barely hear it.

    The dragon calls to me in the distance, drowning out anything else they might say to me.

    ¡°The dragon!¡± I tell the angels, succumbing to the familiar compulsion to head towards the call. ¡°Follow me!¡±

    I turn and run toward the dragon, then stop and look behind. One of the angels follows, then the other. Good. I start to run again and do not look behind me until I find my only friend. Maybe the dragon can talk to the angels. Maybe they can help one another¡­or¡­dare I get my hopes up that they can help me?

    The iridescent cloud that makes up the dragon takes shape before me, a softly glowing being of light in the abyss. Delicate wings of mist unfurl and disappear before taking shape once more, folded along the dragon¡¯s back.

    This ancient one greets this young one, the dragon says to me. I sink to my knees in relief and reverence. To hear such a gentle voice in this hell is heavenly bliss, a balm upon my ragged mind. This ancient one would apologize for her lengthy absence¨Cah.

    The dragon extends a foot behind me. I turn and see the angels approach, just as the dragon places her leg between us. Protecting me.

    ¡°They¡¯re here to help,¡± I say, ¡°they are angels.¡±

    Angels¡­the dragon draws out the word, tasting it. I think not, but perhaps the young one is right about their intentions.

    The clouds shift and the two bright beings reappear. Then, a wind blows and it¡¯s as if a curtain is lifted, for I can see and hear them clearly. By the look of astonishment on their faces, they can see and hear me as well.

    ¡°Lady Florence!¡± one of them shouts, bowing, ¡°Ancient One. We¡¯re here to break the curse on Lady Florence and wake her from her sleep.¡±

    Curse? Sleep? Do they speak the truth, or are they not angels at all, and merely another figment of this hell? It¡¯s difficult to distinguish individual features in his face, but he looks and sounds kind enough...

    ¡°Can I trust him?¡± I whisper to the dragon, not caring if he can hear.

    That young one and his twin are mages of the light. Healers. In my time, they were sacred. That is the extent of my knowledge...

    Not angels, then, but mages. That still doesn¡¯t explain their presence here.

    ¡°Then¡­do you two know how long I¡¯ve been in this¡­place?¡±

    They exchange glances, but their features are too blurry for me to read their expressions.

    ¡°That would be better to discuss once we leave. The longer we stay, the more difficult it will be for us to extract you. Time is of the essence, Lady Florence.¡±

    ¡°I must leave now?¡± But, the dragon¡­I look over to my friend. As if she can sense my distress, she speaks to me.

    Do not grieve, young one. Slowly, her cloudy head descends until I feel a cool tingle hit my brow. A parting gift. Memories of this terrible place will fade, but you will remember me if you wish to.

    Tears prick my burning eyes as the mages take their places on either side of me. Why? I¡¯ve wanted nothing more than to leave this hell and now that I am¡­I shake my head.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I tell them.

    The two tower above me and meet each other¡¯s gaze one more time, before nodding.

    There is something they aren¡¯t telling me¡­

    But I don¡¯t have time to ask before they chant a short spell and everything turns into burning, screaming white.

 4. Seven Years

    I¡¯m back in the darkness and a creature is attacking me, wrestling with my limbs as I try to free myself from its grasp. If it¡¯s anything like the demons from that hell¡­

    ¡°Grab her!¡± I hear. It¡¯s pitch black and I jerk my head around trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

    ¡°Lady Florence, calm yourself!¡±

    Lady Florence? My arms slow. The demons had never called me that. Only the angels had.

    As soon as there is an opening, strong arms haul me up and off whatever I was wrestling, until I¡¯m standing.

    ¡°Calm yourself,¡± the voice repeats. ¡°You¡¯re safe now.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t see,¡± I tell them. ¡°Why can¡¯t I see?¡± Even I can hear the fear warbling my voice. My hoarse, broken voice. What is wrong with me?

    ¡°It¡¯s a side effect of being under for so long. We sped the process of healing, so you should regain your sight soon. Though, your eyes may be sore.¡±

    I can feel the man''s warm breath fluttering my hair as he speaks. My cheeks grow warm as his iron arms remain firmly wrapped around me. Surely, this is improper!

    ¡°You may release me, now,¡± I say. ¡°Whoever you are.¡± I am pleased¡ªI sound much older than I am.

    ¡°Forgive us,¡± one of them says, leading me to a chair so I can sit while my sight slowly returns. ¡°I am Russo Whitebranch, High Cleric to King Roark Aurelius deh Doran.¡±

    ¡°I am Felix Whitebranch, Cleric to King Roark Aurelius deh Doran.¡± Their voices sound almost identical, but Felix¡¯s is softer, a little more gentle. ¡°I¡¯ll fetch your maid now.¡±

    My maid? Not mother and father?

    An ominous hand grips my heart. I abandon the bunch of fabric I¡¯d been scrunching and unscrunching in my lap and start to examine myself with my fingers. Was there something else wrong with me besides my blindness?

    My face feels¡­bony. I guess I¡¯ve been asleep long enough to lose some weight. Perhaps it¡¯s been a few months.

    But, as my hands move down my body, I immediately notice other changes that could not have happened in a mere few months. I feel my cheeks grow warm again and quickly withdraw my hands from my chest.

    I¡¯m¡­not flat.

    Thankfully, I hear the sound of a woman entering the room. I¡¯ll ask her. Besides, she probably works here and knows more about what¡¯s been going on. Especially if I¡¯ve been asleep longer than I thought.

    Suddenly, a wave of sadness begins to crest within me, rising with a force that threatens to choke me.

    ¡°Lady Florence,¡± I hear the woman say. ¡°Oh, my! Oh, she can¡¯t see me yet? I¡¯m Mary, one of your maids. I¡¯m here to get you bathed and dressed.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± I say, my voice thick, struggling with the fast pace of everything. Isn¡¯t anyone going to tell me what happened to me? ¡°How long was I asleep?¡±

    My question silences the room¡ªfor a moment I panic, thinking my hearing is gone, as well, until I hear one of the clerics clear his throat.

    ¡°This is Russo speaking, Lady Florence,¡± he begins. I hear him walk toward me, then crouch or kneel by the chair. I jump when he grabs my hand. Is he trying to comfort me? My heart begins to race in anticipation of terrible news. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you were cursed when you were twelve years old, which put your body into a sleep-like state, while your mind wandered what us clerics refer to as a Hellscape.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Aptly named,¡± I interrupt, trying to still my shaking limbs. Russo¡¯s grip tightens.

    ¡°Lady Florence, you were asleep for seven years. You¡¯re nineteen years old this week.¡±

    My stomach drops as my skin erupts in the pins and pricks of gooseflesh.

    Seven years. Seven years!

    I attempt to stand, but Russo gently pulls me back down. ¡°Please, remain seated my lady. I know you must be shocked.¡±

    A whimper escapes, so I pull one hand free to clamp over my mouth, which is as dry as paper.

    Can I even remember what my life was like before I went to sleep? I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter, does it? None of it matters¡ªnone of it¡¯s valid if seven years have gone by.

    I have a terrible thought.

    ¡°My parents?¡± What if something happened to them? What if they''re dead?

    ¡°The Duke and Duchess are alive and well up in the mansion,¡± Mary provides. Thank goodness! I wait for her to say more, but she doesn¡¯t. ¡°And my brother, my sister?¡±

    ¡°They are also alive and well, my lady.¡± I can feel my brow furrow. Why does it feel like they aren¡¯t telling me everything? ¡°Shall we get you to your bath now, my lady?¡±

    I don¡¯t really have a choice, as Russo hauls me up and steers me toward what must be the bathing chamber.

    Then, Mary¡¯s words catch up to me¡ªthe Duke and Duchess are alive and well up in the mansion. Does that mean I am not in the mansion?

    ¡°Where are we, Mary?¡± My voice echoes.

    We¡¯re alone in the bathing chamber. I stand still as she pulls my shift over my head and guides me to the tub of warm water. I step in and sink to my neck, instantly enveloped in bliss.

    Warmth!

    I¡¯m so lost in the sensation I haven¡¯t felt in seven years that I almost miss her answer.

    ¡°We¡¯re in the East Annex, my lady.¡± What?

    ¡°Why? Are they remodeling the main house, perhaps?"

    Mary pauses while scrubbing my hair. ¡°Forgive me, but I think the rest of your questions should wait for the Duke and Duchess, my lady. I don¡¯t want to tell you something in error.¡±

    For a moment, I think it¡¯s my anger and frustration making me see red, then I realize my sight must be coming back.

    ¡°Is this chamber pink, by chance?¡±

    Mary gasps. ¡°Yes! Yes, it is, my lady! Is your sight returning?¡±

    ¡°I think it must be.¡± I smile as Mary rinses my hair with more wonderful warm water.

    Finally, something is happening as it should. Finally, I feel my brow relax.

    Once my sight is back, I¡¯ll get to the bottom of everything. It will all be just fine.

    I simply have to keep ignoring the quiet, terrified voice in the back of my mind that keeps repeating, seven years, seven years, seven years...

    ??

    Felix could no longer feel his knees, but that did not matter. He would kneel until he could no longer recall the forbidden, sinful sight he had accidentally glimpsed earlier that day. He would kneel until he could no longer recall the feel of Lady Florence writhing on top of him as they had brought her out of the hellscape. In her confusion, she had attacked him¡ªpushed him onto the bed and jumped on top of him. It was then that he had accidentally seen down her shift. Where she wore nothing beneath.

    The experience had awakened something shameful within him. For the first time, he questioned his choice as a cleric and wondered what it would be like to marry someone like Lady Florence, if not Lady Florence herself. To have children with her.

    He hissed again in agony, his cheeks aflame with shame.

    ¡°Forgive me, Saint Dora, for I have sinned greatly,¡± he cried, bowing in front of the altar until his forehead touched the stone.

    Seek forgiveness, my child, but not from me.

    His breath hitched¡ªhe heard his goddess! Tears collected in Felix¡¯s eyes and silently fell to the stone below. She had bestowed her wisdom upon him. And he would heed her.

    First, he must repent. He must pay for the impure thoughts and desires he had harbored since the afternoon.

    For as long as it took, until he forgot, he would kneel.

    He would quell the desire in his heart. He would forget.

    He would kneel.

    The pain would wash away the tempting memories so that nothing...problematic remained. Only then would he be able to face Lady Florence and beg her forgiveness.

    Then, he would kneel at her feet.

 5. Fresh Start

    My hair¡ªI stand before the mirror in awe, where I¡¯ve stood for several minutes.

    The maids screamed when they saw it this morning. I couldn¡¯t blame them. Gone were the cropped red curls of yesterday, the hair color I was born with. Today, my hair nearly reaches my waist and begins as golden blonde near my scalp, then transitions to a faded coral, then pink, then lilac. It almost¡­sparkles in the sunlight.

    Where have I seen these colors before? My initial shock does not last long¡ªthe puzzle soon nags at me far more urgently. It feels important. Significant

    The maids, however, will not be calmed. They¡¯re convinced I¡¯m still cursed, somehow.

    Yet, I slept through the night for the first time in seven years without issue. So how could I still be cursed? The best clerics in the land were here. They would not have left me had they not been confident their work was done. Would they?

    I close my eyes.

    Gold, coral, pink, lavender. The colors swirl in my mind, large and warm.

    You will remember me, if you wish¡­

    My breath catches as tears prick my eyes like needles. The dragon. How could I have forgotten her? In the darkness¡ªthe hellscape¡ªher cloud-like body had always swirled with these very colors.

    A parting gift. She had kissed my brow. My hand drifts to my forehead where her large mouth had pressed, so gently despite her ginormous size. It feels normal.

    ¡°We could cut it off,¡± Mary suggests, misinterpreting my tears.

    ¡°No!¡± I shout, startling her. She jumps and takes a step back, her arm bringing the hairbrush up in front of her as if she¡¯s wielding a knife instead. ¡°No. It¡¯s a¡­gift. Besides, I rather like the colors.¡±

    She purses her lips. ¡°As you wish, my lady.¡±

    While she brushes my hair, her disapproval obvious, my mind wanders. My sight has returned, but everything else is still strange. And what doesn¡¯t feel strange feels wrong. Nothing is familiar or comforting, not even my pillows. I¡¯m scared to ask about mother and father again, because I don¡¯t want to hear the same answer.

    The fact that they aren¡¯t here, that they haven¡¯t been here at all since I¡¯ve woken up, tells me much more than the maids ever could. If they¡¯re healthy and alive, then they should want to see their daughter, unless something terrible happened while I was asleep.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Something that nobody is willing to tell me about. Rather, they¡¯ve all been commanded not to tell me by my father, the Duke, otherwise they should¡¯ve heeded my command to tell me everything. My brow draws together while Mary braids my long hair up into a style befitting a lady.

    After breakfast, I¡¯ll simply have to go to the main house and demand to see my father and mother. Who would dare stop me?

    Perhaps this has all been one big misunderstanding. Or, perhaps the orders were outdated and the duke forgot to revoke them when they were no longer relevant. Yes, that could make sense.

    Or, you¡¯re deluding yourself.

    I dismiss the voice in the back of my mind. It wasn¡¯t the first time that morning I¡¯d heard it.

    ??

    To be honest, the thought of going to the main house filled my gut with dread, making me so nauseous I could barely keep down the meager breakfast I¡¯d barely been able to choke down in the first place. I should want to go home, shouldn¡¯t I? I should want to see my parents more than anything, right?

    Surely, it had to be nerves.

    Seven years have gone by, after all. Perhaps they were just as nervous to see me as I was to see them. That had to be it. So, I would steel myself for the visit and force myself to go. It would do me good and I would finally get the answers I needed. Desperately needed.

    How could I move on with my life not knowing what had happened? How could I move forward without any idea of where to go?

    Mother and father must have some idea of what to do with me¡­

    I can do this! I must.

    ¡°The pale blue dress,¡± I tell Mary. It goes well with the colors in my hair. It¡¯s also one of the few options I have available, none of which even fit me correctly.

    The shabby room, the lack of a wardrobe, my placement in the annex¡­all point to a truth I do not want to acknowledge without hearing from my parents first.

    There has to be a good explanation for everything, there simply must be.

    I step outside without much thought and my senses are immediately assaulted by the glare from the sun, the chill from the early spring wind, and the bouquet of scents ranging from floral to dung. Instinct kicks in and before I can stop myself, I¡¯ve left Mary behind and am running to the main house, skirts flapping annoyingly against my legs as I clutch the useless shawl around me.

    I don¡¯t stop until I run through the doors that have opened before me and see the familiar face of Gerald, our butler, who looks far older than I remember.

    ¡°Gerald!¡± I shout, belatedly remembering I¡¯m supposed to be a lady of nineteen now. ¡°Ahem. It¡¯s lovely to see you again, Gerald. It¡¯s me, Florence.¡±

    His shock is apparent, but he quickly recovers. ¡°Ah.¡±

    And that¡¯s all he says before he walks away, gesturing for me to stay put as he disappears down the hall.

 6. ...Or Not

    Time stretches, marked by the tick of the large grandfather clock in the center of the dual stairs leading to the second floor. I wait. The grand entrance looks much the same, with light marble, powder blue, silver, and crystal accents. The last time I ran down these stairs, I was a girl of twelve, playing at being a lady.

    Mary finally catches up with me in the entryway.

    ¡°Lady Florence,¡± she pauses, breathless, ¡°you mustn¡¯t run like that! What would His and her Grace think?¡±

    I¡¯ll never know if they never see me, I think.

    How long must I wait for them? How long had I been waiting already? Probably only a few minutes, but it felt like far longer due to the circumstances. Tick.

    Mary shifts from foot to foot, then announces, ¡°With your permission, I¡¯ll go to the kitchens to see if I can learn anything.¡±

    She takes my shawl and leaves. And I am alone.

    Finally, I hear footsteps as Gerald reappears. His grim face gives nothing away, and I try to keep my face just as neutral. But how could I be neutral in this case? Who could keep calm while their own mother and father were¡ª

    ¡°His Grace will see you in the Drawing Room,¡± he announces, ¡°Her Grace is unwell and will be unable to join you, I¡¯m afraid. Please, follow me.¡±

    My heart starts to pound as I follow Gerald down the familiar, yet somehow unfamiliar, hallway. I had grown up here, but why did I feel like I didn¡¯t belong? Why did I feel like a visitor in my own home?

    My heartbeat swishes in my ears, swoosh swoosh swoosh, as Gerald opens the door for me and I step in. My vision narrows.

    There he is.

    I immediately meet his watery blue eyes, eyes that had once been filled with kindness and warmth. They¡¯re tired now. Empty.

    ¡°Florence, child,¡± he calls, gesturing with a hand. He doesn¡¯t get up. He doesn''t burst into tears. He doesn¡¯t rush to embrace me.

    I grip my skirt with my hands, held rigid at my sides.

    Don¡¯t cry.

    I lift my chin and force the barest of smiles as I walk to the settee across from him and sit on the edge, back as straight as a pole.

    ¡°Father,¡± I greet him, ¡°I¡¯m awake, as you can see. It¡¯s been¡­seven¡ª¡±

    ¡°Seven years,¡± he finishes, nodding. He looks down at the carpet. ¡°Ah. I¡¯m¡­we¡¯re happy you¡¯ve woken up, child. We¡¯ve wished for nothing more this entire time.¡±

    He drifts off and I don¡¯t know what to say in reply, so the silence sits. It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t have anything to say or ask¡ªthere are plenty of words sitting in my mouth ready to burst out¡ªbut the moment isn¡¯t right for any of them.

    Thankfully, Gerald interrupts us with some tea, the clinks and clanks of the silver and china filling the silence with a familiar, comforting din.

    ¡°Ah, the tea,¡± father says, ¡°will you take a cup, my dear?¡±

    ¡°Yes, father.¡± His eyes pinch ever so slightly.

    Did he almost wince when I called him ¡®father¡¯ just now? Surely not!

    Finally, after we have our tea and everything is settled, he speaks again.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Florence,¡± he begins carefully. I¡¯m on alert. What could possibly be next? Disownment? ¡°While you were asleep, things in the family have¡­changed. You have to understand that we were not sure you would ever wake up. Your mother and I, we tried everything when you first fell asleep. Nothing worked¡ªnothing! After a few years, when nothing changed¡­we¡­it¡¯s not that we gave up on you. But it was wearing on your mother. I had to protect her.

    ¡°That is why we moved you to the annex. We, well, I, thought it was best to keep your care out of her sight. I¡¯m sorry you woke up in such a way. However¡­I think it¡¯s wise for you to keep living there for now. At least until I can be sure your mother will be able to handle your awakening. She doesn¡¯t know yet and I don¡¯t plan to tell her until she¡¯s stable enough. You don¡¯t want to hurt your mother, do you? I knew you¡¯d understand.¡±

    I found myself nodding in agreement. What other choice did I have? He was exiling me to the annex, for a valid reason, if it was true. Mother really was ill.

    ¡°If I''m to stay there, father, might I have some funds to refurbish the annex? The living conditions are not up to the standard of a Duke¡¯s daughter.¡±

    ¡°They aren¡¯t?¡± His face grows dark. Perhaps he hadn¡¯t been aware of my living conditions or the treatment I¡¯d been receiving. A kernel of hope flares within me.

    Push forward! the little voice encourages, Ask for more. He is asking much from you, after all.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome to visit if you don¡¯t believe me,¡± I reply, sipping my tea.

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary. I¡¯ll grant you some funds for refurbishment as you see fit.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll also need funds for a wardrobe¡ªthis is one of the few dresses I had available and it doesn¡¯t even fit properly. I¡¯ll also require a separate allowance. Surely all of this is within reason if I am expected to live apart from my own family for the time being?¡±

    He winces. Good. I want him to hurt as much as I hurt. I haven¡¯t seen my family in seven years. Now, waking up to find out they don¡¯t want to see me? That my waking up is problematic to them? Harming them? An icy dagger pierces my heart.

    Don¡¯t cry. I lift my chin again.

    ¡°It will only be for a few more days, Florence,¡± he says, running a hand through his gray hair¡ªit wasn¡¯t gray the last time I saw him, I realize¡ªa habit mother always chided him for. ¡°You will get everything you ask for. Just send a message to the house and Gerald will take care of it.¡±

    He gets up from the settee and puts a heavy hand on the top of my head.

    ¡°I am glad you¡¯re awake, my dear,¡± he says, ¡°I truly am. Please believe that, if nothing else.¡±

    He pats me twice, clumsily, then walks out of the room.

    I¡¯m able to wait until the sound of his footsteps disappears before I let the tears fall down my face. My sleeve will have to do as a handkerchief¡ªI don¡¯t even have one of those.

    ¡°Here, my lady,¡± Gerald says softly as I wipe my face on my arm. He holds out a pristine, white handkerchief to me. Unlike earlier, his eyes mirror my own grief, and I realize I might not be as alone as I thought. More tears fall.

    I take the handkerchief¡ªthe first gift from home¡ªand try to gather all my emotions back into myself.

    There isn¡¯t time to fall apart on the settee. Now that I have an ally and funds, I must make a plan.

    For if there was one thing that was made abundantly clear during the meeting with my father, it was that he has no interest in actually being involved in my life. He said I¡¯d only be in the annex for another few days, but for some reason, I don¡¯t believe him. Maybe I¡¯ll be wrong and I¡¯ll be welcomed back into the mansion with open arms. Or perhaps a few days will go by, and it will turn into a few more days, and a few more, until there is no end in sight.

    I take a deep breath, and have a thought¡ªis my old room still the same? Am I even allowed to go up to it?

    No. I wouldn¡¯t be allowed. I might run into my mother and that would be bad for her health.

    Me, her child, bad for her health. My stomach churns.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready to go back, Gerald,¡± I say. ¡°May I keep this? Thank you. Did His Grace inform you about the refurbishment funds and allowance?¡± I tuck the damp handkerchief into my pocket.

    ¡°Yes, my lady,¡± he says. ¡°Everything will be taken care of. Please convey your wishes to me and it shall be done as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± I pause in the entryway, where Mary was waiting for me. ¡°I¡¯ll send a letter later today with everything you¡¯ll need to know about the refurbishment.¡± Truthfully, I already had a good idea of how I wanted everything to look.

    ¡°Yes, my lady.¡± He bows deeply to us, deeper perhaps than he normally would, and we depart for the annex.

    Mary holds an umbrella for the two of us as we leave. If she was surprised that we were heading back to the annex, it didn¡¯t show on her face. Perhaps she already knew. Perhaps everyone knew that I wasn¡¯t welcome in the main house.

    I look at the annex with fresh eyes as we approach, thinking about it as my new home rather than a temporary residence. I can see myself here for a long, long time.

    The icy dagger pushes deeper into my heart.

 7. Evil Lady LaVelle

    The refurbishments are well underway. Most of the changes are cosmetic, involving new fabrics, wallpapers, and furniture, but a few areas require some remodeling. Thanks to the deep pockets of the LaVelle Duchy, mages are working alongside the designers, greatly expediting the process.

    It''s still a disruptive process, but it could be worse. I could still be cursed, for example. Or stuck in Finery Boutique all day again, like yesterday.

    Today, I itch. And not in a way that I can scratch.

    After pacing one of the few hallways not occupied by designers or mages, I finally realize what¡¯s wrong with me¡ªI¡¯m restless. I feel trapped within the walls of the annex and my body wants to move, to escape.

    In the hellscape, I was always on the run. The maids told me that I constantly thrashed about in my bed and that they had to strap me down to prevent me from harming myself and them. Whenever I moved around in my nightmares, I moved around in real life, too. The hellscape hadn''t been entirely contained within my mind.

    I was used to running and jumping and kneeling and climbing.

    I had done all that and more to try and outrun the Toad Man and the Claw Woman, two of my most frequent apparitions, not that I ever succeeded. I hid under charred branches and sooty rocks, crawled on my belly under fallen logs and debris, and even swam in water as thick as soup. I''d rolled down rocky hills, crouched in high, dry grass, and pressed myself into jagged crevices more times than I could count, all to try to escape the horrors of the hellscape.

    My shoulders twitch¡ªmy body needs to move.

    Can I sneak away from the maids? Even if I do¡­I glance down at the dress and realize how impractical it is for exercise. In the hellscape, had I worn anything? I can¡¯t recall any clothing ever snagging...it''s useless to push further, because whenever I think of myself in that place, I only ever recall shadow.

    ¡°What can I wear¡­?¡± I ask myself, wandering down the hall. I stop and glance out the window.

    Aha!

    ??

    Despite the restrictive, ostentatious dress I¡¯m wearing, I am still able to steal some of the stable boys¡¯ livery from their closet. Maybe somebody saw me, but if they did, they knew better than to blab about it.

    I change clothes in one of the smaller guest rooms that had already been refurbished, leaving my dress and underskirts behind. Unfortunately, the corset has to stay. My hair, already up in some kind of ladylike style, is shoved under a cap to the best of my ability, but some peeks out no matter how much I shove.

    ¡°It¡¯ll have to do,¡± I mutter, staring into my reflection, the restlessness rising within me. The boots, too, are not ideal, but they are better than the heeled monstrosities the maids normally try to force me into. They¡¯ll likely be ruined during my expedition, but I can always buy more with the very generous allowance father has granted me.

    Now I just had to sneak out.

    I¡¯m good at sneaking. I press my ear to the door, then open it a crack. Seeing nobody, I dash to the end of the hall to the servants'' stairs and run down, then out the back, hunched over through the garden, and to the old path my sister and I had discovered as children. I had banked on it still being there and thankfully it is. It eventually leads to a crumbled section of wall that a grown person can climb over easily.

    But once I get to the wall, I stop. This short jaunt outside already feels good, so do I need to take it further? Over this wall is LaVelle land, so I wouldn¡¯t be trespassing...but it is a forest. It isn¡¯t as protected as well as the grounds.

    If something happens to me, nobody will know. Likely, nobody would care to look for me, possibly for several days.

    ¡°Gah!¡± I shout, the anger shooting up through me. I leap over the wall and sprint along the earthen path, barely visible as it winds through the trees.

    That¡¯s right¡ªnobody would care if I disappeared. It might even be better if I did!

    Each step into the soft earth pounds that thought deeper and deeper into my brain. Gerald might care, but nobody else would.

    I thought I was done with the tears, but they start to fall again while I run, blurring my vision.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    Do I care? No. My feet must run. My legs must rid themselves of this wretched restlessness that¡¯s plagued me for days.

    ¡°Ah!¡± Something snatches at my head and I trip¡ªpain shoots through my knee as it sinks into the earth.

    ¡°What¡­?¡± I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, trying to clear my vision.

    My cap hangs from a slim tree branch, swaying from the impact.

    ¡°Is that how it is?¡± I ask the tree, snatching my cap back. A sharp, broken-off limb had ripped it down the center. ¡°Oh.¡±

    That could¡¯ve been my forehead had I been an inch or two taller.

    ¡°Darn it all,¡± I mutter, shoving the useless cap into a pocket.

    Thankfully, my knee doesn¡¯t hurt too badly. Fifteen minutes of walking is all I need to feel better, then I can continue my run. I don¡¯t care how far I must go¡ªI will go until I no longer feel like I will fly into a thousand pieces.

    The walk back will be fine, I tell myself, there is plenty of daylight left and nobody will miss me.

    I run again, listening to the rhythm of my breath and the strong beat of my heart swooshing in my ears against the backdrop of the wind shuffling through the leaves and creaking through the branches.

    There is no warning before a high pitch swoop flies past my ear followed by a thunk as the arrow hits the tree in front of me. I don¡¯t think, I just move, relying on my years of instinct in the hellscape to get low and roll off the path onto my belly in the high grass.

    Were they aiming at me? Me??

    ¡°We¡¯ve got you surrounded, intruder,¡± a voice calls out. ¡°That was a warning shot. Ye best come out with your hands up before we start poking the grass with our swords.¡±

    Intruder?? Me?!? There seems to be a horrible misunderstanding!

    My breath comes in fast pants, so I swallow several times, crouching in the grass until I¡¯m calm enough to raise my hands, hoping they won¡¯t get shot with arrows or stabbed.

    When they don¡¯t, I peek my head out to see I am, in fact, surrounded by men. Some are on horses but most are on foot.

    None of them are wearing LaVelle colors. Darn it.

    ¡°What do we have here?¡± one of them says.

    ¡°A misunderstanding,¡± I say with as much confidence as I can muster. ¡°I¡¯m Lady Florence LaVelle, so if you¡¯ll simply escort me back home, I can reward you for your efforts.¡±

    The man snorts. ¡°You? Lady Florence?¡± He looks around at his men and they all chuckle. ¡°Unlikely. That evil witch has been asleep for seven years. Besides, she¡¯s a redhead, and you¡¯re a¡­say, what are you?¡±

    I glare at him. ¡°I am Lady Florence LaVelle. I woke up last week,¡± I reply as coldly as possible. ¡°This ¡®evil witch¡¯ as you call me has been through hell the past seven years, which included losing my natural hair, and you dare to call me an ¡®evil witch¡¯ to my face? Forget a reward, you¡¯ll be lucky my father doesn¡¯t arrest you all for slander and pursue the most severe punishment once he finds out how you treated me.¡±

    The chuckles start to die down.

    ¡°At least do me the courtesy of telling me where I am,¡± I press. ¡°All I was doing was following this path from the LaVelle lands.¡± I point to the direction I came from.

    ¡°That¡¯s another thing,¡± the man says, his brows drawn in concentration. ¡°If you are a lady, then what are you doing dressed like that, all the way out here alone, running, and slithering off the road like a snake?¡±

    ¡°Unbelievable! Now I¡¯m a snake?¡± I glare at him with a bravado I do not feel. ¡°I was restless. Believe it or not, while I was ¡®asleep¡¯ for seven years, I was not actually sleeping as you would at night. In my mind, I was very much awake. I had to keep myself safe from¡­you know what, I do not owe the likes of you an explanation. Now, I demand you return me to Duke LaVelle.¡±

    The men, all much taller than me, glance at each other, then silently agree to split. Half of them watch me while the other half break off and walk away to discuss me.

    I cross my arms and try to look as unbothered as possible, but inside my heart is racing faster than when I had been running, and I feel like I might vomit.

    ¡°Does anyone have a sip of water?¡± I ask, glancing around the group.

    One of them walks over to the other group and I watch as a man with black hair hands him a waterskin. The water is warm, but it helps.

    Finally, the discussion group disperses, and a tall, blonde man from the other group walks over.

    ¡°If you¡¯ll come with me, Lady Florence, I¡¯ll take you home,¡± he says, offering a slight bow. My cheeks redden slightly because I can¡¯t tell if he¡¯s mocking me or not. He brings me to a tall horse and I stare at it with large eyes. ¡°May I help you¡­¡±

    I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He easily picks me up and places me in front, then mounts and settles in behind me.

    ¡°You¡¯re small enough, we both fit,¡± he comments as we start to move.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I ask.

    He pauses before answering. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you when we get there, my lady,¡± he says, guarded.

    So, they still don¡¯t believe I am who I say I am. I look down at my hands.

    I suppose if all they know of ¡°Evil Lady LaVelle¡± is that she has red hair and that she has been asleep for seven years (and counting), someone like me claiming to be her would be rather suspicious. Perhaps people have already claimed to be me.

    That doesn¡¯t make it sting any less.

 8. What will we do with her?

    Of all the things Trevor Rowanward thought he could possibly come across while on patrol, Lady Florence LaVelle wasn¡¯t even on the list. If she was, in fact, Lady Florence LaVelle. He hadn¡¯t seen her in over seven years, so it was hard to be sure. Her hair had been long and red back then, almost always tied back in a ridiculous mass of ringlets whenever their two families had crossed paths. He¡¯d done his best to avoid her back then.

    Whoever she was, he preferred her hair as it was now. Colorful. Daring. Glowing like a sunset and completely improper. Was he a bit jealous she was riding with Jerrome? Yes. But only because he was curious what her hair looked like up close. He¡¯d have to grill Jerrome later during his report.

    Most of the things the lady had said didn¡¯t make much sense, but they¡¯d agreed to take her to the LaVelle gates to test her words. If she happened to be telling the truth¡­well, it wouldn¡¯t be the first time Trevor would have to talk himself out of a tricky situation. He seemed to attract them, after all, as the ¡°good-for-nothing second Rowanward son.¡±

    His mind wandered as his horse made its way along the road, following behind Jerrome and a few others. If she was Florence LaVelle, that would make her about¡­nineteen this year.

    A year past when she should¡¯ve debuted.

    Yet, she¡¯d been running through the woods like a boy, and her reaction time to the warning arrow Peter had shot¡­well, it hadn¡¯t been bad at all. Her duck and roll off the path had left him speechless once he¡¯d realized she was a woman, and likely a lady at that.

    None of it added up. All of it puzzled him. Therefore, Trevor wasn¡¯t about to let this issue go any time soon, no matter what happened at the LaVelle gates.

    ???

    Despite my protest, the small convoy heads straight to the main gates.

    I¡¯m going to get in so much trouble.

    The LaVelle guards don¡¯t seem too alarmed at the sight of the men accompanying me, but one of them departs for what I can only assume is the main house. To get father.

    I gnaw on my lip. It doesn¡¯t help that I don¡¯t know any of the guards. In hindsight, it probably would¡¯ve been a good idea to familiarize myself with a few of them. Perhaps win them over with some gold. It¡¯s too late for that now, though.

    Thankfully, Mary comes running from the annex.

    ¡°Lady Florence!¡± she shouts as soon as she¡¯s within earshot.

    I look over my shoulder at Jerrome, then move to slide down the horse. He stops me, then dismounts and helps me down before I have time to protest.

    ¡°Lady Florence,¡± Mary says again, and she reaches out to me. Instinctively, I return her half-embrace, suddenly realizing she¡¯s a half-head taller than me. Why is everyone so darn tall? ¡°We¡¯ve been looking everywhere for you. What happened to you? Did these ruffians kidnap you?¡±

    ¡°Ruffians?¡± Jerrome retorts. I can feel him bristle behind me. ¡°We are Rowanward knights, who happened upon Lady Florence during a routine patrol of the Rowanward borders.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Mary pales. She lets go of my arms and instantly curtsies low. ¡°My apologies, my lord. I didn¡¯t recognize your station, given your attire.¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°All is forgiven,¡± another man says. I spin around to see who had spoken, but his face is covered with a hood. ¡°It seems Lady Florence spoke the truth and it is we who owe her our most sincere apologies. Please, allow us to make our way to Duke LaVelle so that we might offer compensation for our error.¡±

    Before I can speak, unspoken arrangements between the LaVelle staff and the Rowanward knights have Mary whisking me away to the annex and our guards leading the knights to the main house.

    Who spoke? Was he the one actually in charge of the knights, not Jerrome?

    I glance over my shoulder, but still cannot see the hooded man¡¯s face.

    ???

    Duke Claude LaVelle sat at his large, antique goldwood desk. It had survived nearly three hundred years of LaVelles.

    Would it survive another three hundred? he wondered, running his finger along one of the flames of woodgrain, his head resting in his other hand.

    Florence hadn¡¯t even been awake for a fortnight and she was already causing problems. Thankfully, Marquess Rowanward¡¯s youngest, Lord Trevor, had been more interested in apologizing for not believing Florence than taking advantage of the situation. How easily he could¡¯ve used this to his advantage¡­yet, he hadn¡¯t.

    At least, not yet.

    Claude hadn¡¯t seen the boy in a few years, but he recognized him straightaway. His unruly black hair was always in need of a trim, and his green eyes never failed to sparkle with mischief. This time, however, the young lord had acted as such, apologizing for his and his men¡¯s conduct and offering recompense. The Duke waved them away. What was a minor misunderstanding between neighbors?

    Ultimately, no harm was done and Florence was returned home safely (though she should¡¯ve never been there to begin with). In fact, he ought to thank them for escorting her through the woods. Who knows what she might have come across?

    Finally, Lord Trevor and the Rowanward knights made their farewells and departed, leaving the Duke drained and anxious. What in the name of Saint Dora was Florence doing on Rowanward land?!

    Claude sighed and rubbed both temples, his gaze focused far away. An open letter, the Royal Seal cracked down the middle, sat in front of him. It had arrived shortly before Lord Trevor.

    His daughter must debut and she must debut soon. Claude knew the law¡ªhe¡¯d been through the process for his two eldest children. All noble children of Dorandia must debut into high society, unless exempted by the King himself, during their eighteenth year. The LaVelle family was not so lucky when it came to Florence. It seems that the King, since having found out about Florence and her sleeping curse, was intent on seeing her debut into society so that he could meet her as soon as possible.

    They were only given one month to plan for the debut. Most families, especially for their daughters, would ordinarily plan for a year or more.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be a farce,¡± the Duke said quietly to himself. His wife could not help plan the debut¡ªshe was ill, so he would not trouble her about it. His eldest daughter would not help¡ªever since Florence¡¯s presence and the curse became known, her engagement to the Mercado boy was threatened. She blamed Florence for it.

    Therefore, people who didn¡¯t know Florence well would be the ones planning her debut.

    The Duke had a vague idea of everything that went into such an event, for he¡¯d been to several, including two for his eldest children. There was just no way Florence¡¯s would be anything close to Mile¡¯s or Elaine¡¯s.

    But Florence won¡¯t know that, he suddenly thought. His head snapped up. That¡¯s right! She¡¯d been sleeping during her siblings¡¯ debuts! Unless they bragged to her about it, she wouldn¡¯t know that hers wasn¡¯t as grand.

    Then, perhaps they could keep the attendance small, as well¡­to help minimize gossip. Because there would definitely be gossip.

    ¡°Gerald!¡± Claude shouted. A moment later, the butler appeared.

    ¡°Yes, Your Grace?¡± Gerald¡¯d face was passive, as always.

    ¡°We must prepare for Florence¡¯s debut,¡± the Duke nearly shouted across the desk, punching the air with the letter. ¡°We only have one month. Take care of everything, will you? No matter the cost. We mustn¡¯t tarnish the LaVelle name.¡±

    ¡°Certainly, Your Grace. It would be my pleasure.¡±

 9. A Debut Decision

    ¡°What?¡± I couldn¡¯t have possibly heard her correctly.

    ¡°Your debut is to occur in one month, my lady,¡± Mary says again. ¡°Your mother¡¯s very own lady-in-waiting will arrive shortly to go over things. We must hurry and get you ready.¡±

    I had heard correctly. My stomach sinks, making me wish I hadn¡¯t just eaten.

    ¡°Send for some tea. Make sure everything is ready for her arrival.¡±

    Out of all the maids in the annex, Mary has been the most kind and competent; therefore, I have adopted her as my personal maid. She helps me into one of my new dresses¡ªa dozen have already been made, with a few more in the works¡ªalong with all the necessary undergarments and accessories I was missing.

    Just as she finishes tying my hair back with a ribbon, a knock on the door summons me to the sitting room. The annex, while considerably smaller than the mansion, still boasts a library, a sitting room, a drawing room, a formal dining room, and a small ballroom.

    Madam Rosanna rises from the settee when I enter from the sitting room and dips a shallow curtsy, craning her neck at a perfectly arched angle of elegance.

    ¡°Good morning, Madam,¡± I greet her. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if you remember me, since the last time you would¡¯ve seen me, I was but a child. I¡¯m Florence LaVelle.¡±

    ¡°Greetings, Lady Florence,¡± she replies. ¡°Indeed, I do remember you with fondness. I am Rosanna Windsor. You may call me Madam Rosanna.¡±

    We sit and chat about the tea while preparing our cups. She recalls a story about me from when I was very young¡ªsomething I have no memory of. I smile and nod along, pretending I can recall the odd encounter she describes. Why has she brought it up?

    Finally, we get to the purpose of her presence. Madam Rosanna sets down her teacup.

    ¡°Lady Florence,¡± she says, shifting her tone. ¡°We have but one month to accomplish many things. Please, correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but you will need instructions on dancing, etiquette, high society, current events, and politics, not to mention a custom debut gown and ensemble.¡±

    She looks at me expectantly, one white-blonde brow raised delicately.

    Darn, that¡¯s a lot! Too much. Far too much.

    ¡°If that is what you were told, then that is correct,¡± I say.

    ¡°We will have our work cut out for us, then,¡± she replies. ¡°It will be intense, but I believe it will be possible. You will have lessons every day. Myself and Gerald will arrange everything¡ªyour tutors, your practice partners, the seamstresses¡ªeverything.¡±

    I stare at her as her words sink in. Every day? Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°Now,¡± she says, looking at my hair with a sour expression. ¡°Let¡¯s discuss how we will take care of that.¡±

    ???

    The lessons start immediately after lunch. Madam Rosanna herself is a master of etiquette, so that is where my lessons begin.

    ¡°Tell me,¡± she says, standing in a ray of sunlight coming in through the library window, ¡°what do you remember from your lessons when you were a child?¡±

    Her question should be answered easily, but it¡¯s not. Since waking up, I¡¯ve realized that my perception of time passing while I was in the hellscape versus the actual time passing was off substantially. Years had passed in my mind, yet when I woke up, it only felt like a long nightmare.

    When you¡¯re asleep, you don¡¯t know how long you¡¯re asleep. Therefore, one might assume my memories as a twelve-year-old should be fresh. But most of them weren¡¯t.

    Still, etiquette is something children are taught starting at a young age, so much of what I learned was ingrained in my brain. I¡¯m just clumsy about it.

    ¡°May I demonstrate?¡±

    She nods.

    I find it easier to pantomime various encounters, playing both parts of the interaction.

    ¡°Enough!¡± she says after a few minutes. ¡°I have seen all I need to. You may sit.¡±

    She arches a brow at how I take my seat, so I adjust until I am in the correct position.

    This is so uncomfortable! Why do people put up with this?

    ¡°You seem to have most of the correct language memorized, but your delivery, your carriage, and your tone are unacceptable.

    ¡°First¡­

    And so the afternoon goes, with Madam Rosanna criticizing everything I do.

    It¡¯s only my first day of lessons and I already feel defeated

    ???

    ¡°Report,¡± Duke LaVelle commanded from behind his desk.

    Madam Rosanna rose from her curtsy.

    ¡°I do not want to mislead you, Your Grace, and say she is promising. Truthfully, I will be surprised if we can polish her in one month. She behaves like a child¡ªthe way she speaks and moves lack the grace and refinement necessary to persevere in society.¡±

    The Duke pinched the bridge of his nose. It¡¯s not as if he expected any better news than this, but it was disappointing all the same. His youngest daughter was a runt at age nineteen, through no fault of her own. The circumstances were beyond their control. At the end of the month, they must debut Florence, whether she was ready or not.

    ¡°I appreciate your candor, Madam. You have my permission to work Florence as hard as you need to to prepare her. If she needs punishment to motivate her progress, so be it. I expect your best effort, do you understand? The LaVelle reputation is at stake during this debut.¡±

    ¡°I understand, Your Grace,¡± Madam Rosanna replied, dipping another curtsy.

    ¡°You¡¯re dismissed,¡± he said, then sniffed. From his desk drawer, he pulled out a Kirvan cigar and lit it.

    Florence, he thought, leaning his head back in his chair and blowing smoke up toward the ceiling. Pity and anger warred within him whenever he thought of his youngest daughter. There might have been a little affection had he thought a little more deeply about it, but he never did. Florence, damn it all, the LaVelle name is in your hands.

    Across the grounds, soaking in a tub of warm water, Florence felt a sudden chill.

 10. Snip, snip

    Screams were once again heard in the LaVelle east annex. But this time, Florence was wide awake.

    ¡°No!¡± she screamed, ¡°It was a gift! Stop! Stop it! Don¡¯t! Noooo!¡±

    ¡°Hold her DOWN!¡± shouted Madam Rosanna. ¡°She¡¯s the size of a child¡ªyou¡¯re knights, how hard can it be?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t wanna hurt her, m''lady,¡± one of them bellowed over the din.

    ¡°Duke LaVelle gave his permission," she shouted back, "now HOLD HER DOWN!¡±

    ¡°Stop it! No! Please don¡¯t! Don¡¯t! DON''T!¡± Florence¡¯s screams were ignored as the three knights held her down¡ªone at her legs and feet, one at her middle and arms, and one at her shoulders and neck, holding her head still with one huge hand. Her shouts grew muffled as he squeezed her jaw. He looked away as the tears ran down her face.

    ¡°Begin!¡± Madam Rosanna commanded, staring down at Florence with a satisfied smile.

    The stylist began to snip off Florence¡¯s hair in quick, sure snips, leaving only the golden shade that grew near the top of her head down to her ears and chin. As her long coral, pink, and lavender locks hit the marble tile, they turned silver in color, then slowly crumbled like ash beneath their feet.

    Madam Rosanna''s smile twisted downward in disgust.

    Snip! Snip! Snip-snip-snip!

    Florence¡¯s slight body shook with sobs beneath the heavy weight of the knights. None of them looked at her, or at each other.

    ¡°All done with the first stage, Madam,¡± the stylist announced, her face passive. ¡°It would be best for her to sit up for me to¡­clean up the ends. If you think she will cooperate.¡±

    ¡°Well, Florence?¡± Madam Rosanna stood over her. ¡°Will you cooperate now?¡±

    The knight released Florence¡¯s face, leaving deep red marks where he had pinched around her jaw to hold her still. His face reddened in shame¡ªhe knew there would be bruises.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she whispered, her voice low and hoarse.

    Her eyes looked vacant. Internally, Madan Rosanna grinned. Florence had needed breaking, and she¡¯d also needed her horrible hair gone, so this had accomplished two things at once. Efficient and satisfying.

    Florence sat still, her body battered and bruised from being held down, as the stylist did her best to salvage Florence¡¯s short, golden hair.

    ???

    This is a dream. I know this is a dream.

    I see the dragon from the hellscape, made of the pink and lavender clouds, brighter than they¡¯ve ever been¡ªas if the sun shines behind them like a sunset. My eyes prick with more tears.

    How are my eyes not empty? I had cried so much earlier today, then cried myself to sleep, and now¡­

    This ancient one greets this heartbroken one, the dragon says to me.

    ¡°I¡¯ve missed you so much,¡± I say, wishing with all my might that I could hug her.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    To my surprise, when I walk up to her fluffy pink leg, I can wrap my arms around it. Soft, warm, and solid, just as my old stuffed rabbit would feel.

    There¡¯s no holding back my sobs now.

    Little heartbroken one, the dragon says to me, do not despair. The gift I bestowed upon you is not so easily destroyed.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask her. I let go of her leg and walk forward so I can see her head, which she dips low for me.

    Though I am ancient, I am¡­ she presses her head to mine and I see an image of a young dragon, the colors of my hair, hiding and pouncing on another, then jumping with delight.

    ¡°You are mischievous,¡± I say with surprise, grinning wide, a laugh hiccupping its way out between my uneven breaths.

    Yes, she says, and it has been far too long since I have amused myself in such a way. You will understand when you wake, young one. Do not despair. My gift will always be with you, for as long as you wish it to be.

    ???

    When I wake up, I immediately feel my long hair spread around me, unbound. It grew back!

    ¡°Impossible!¡±

    I run to the mirror and see the same long-haired Florence as yesterday, with only the bruises on my face as evidence that the horrible event had happened at all.

    My dream¡­the dragon! It was true.

    I clasp my hands to my sore cheeks and dance around my room in joy. Madam Rosanna won¡¯t be pleased, but what can she do? It will grow back no matter what she does. Again and again!

    ¡°Ha!¡± I shout. ¡°Ha, ha!¡±

    I hear a gasp behind me. ¡°My lady!¡± Mary exclaims. ¡°Your hair!¡±

    ¡°I know!¡± I shout, then tell her what happened. I trust her not to share everything with everyone else, but it¡¯ll be impossible to hide my hair growing back, so I might as well offer some kind of explanation.

    As expected, Madam Rosanna is more than displeased. She presses her mouth in a firm line as I explain that my hair will always grow back to this state due to a spell from a dragon¡ªit¡¯s obviously out of my control.

    ¡°A wig,¡± she states crisply. ¡°You shall wear a wig during your debut.¡±

    I wrinkle my nose, but stay quiet. I learned the hard way that I cannot go against what Madam Rosanna orders. My sore, bruised body is a testament to this fact.

    Over the next few weeks, my dance lessons intensify, and no hour of the day is sacred. Even lunch and dinner are combined with etiquette, social, and political lessons. My mind constantly spins¡ªa dizzying whirlwind of information.

    The seamstress stops by the week before my debut with an ensemble that is...not to my taste, to put it politely. As one must.

    Again, I stay quiet.

    Madam Rosanna has ordered a curly, red wig that I am to wear during my debut. I have to admit that it goes better with the ensemble than my current hair colors. With everything on, I certainly look like a debutante, even if I do not feel like one in the slightest.

    Parts of my body are still black with bruises, but they are well hidden beneath the ornate dress. My mind has nearly been broken with the amount of information Madam Rosanna and the instructors have crammed into it during the past month. My feet¡ªwell, if I pretend I don¡¯t have any, then it¡¯s not so bad. Dancing, dancing, dancing, and dancing in the horrible debutante shoes was almost more torturous than being beaten.

    "You''ll get used to the shoes," Madam Rosanna had assured me. Lies! My raw, blistered feet are proof.

    Each night, I count one day less in the secret journal I''ve been keeping, the one I''ve been using to practice my terrible penmanship by writing mean things about Madam Rosanna.

    Madam Rosanna is a darn harpy. She is ugly, too.

    Madam Rosanna can go to HELL and BURN for ALL ETERNITY!

    Madam Rosanna should eat rocks, but only with the correct spoon.

    It''s one small way for me to release some of the pent-up frustration I feel. Otherwise, I would''ve gone mad all over again. We can''t have that¡ªnot so close to my debut¡ªbecause soon enough, there are only a few days left.

    It¡¯s almost over, I tell myself. In a few days, it will all be over.

 11. A Disastrous Debut

    As soon as my eyes open, my stomach fills with dread. Today is my debut. There is absolutely no way to cancel it¡ªinvitations had gone out as soon as father had learned of the king¡¯s command. Whether I was ready or not, my debut into high society would happen tonight.

    I rub my eyes with my hands, but my hands begin to tingle.

    Mary enters my chambers full of cheer and brings me a basin of steaming water to wash my face. The warm water makes the tingles go away.

    Strange.

    ¡°I¡¯m so excited for you, my lady,¡± she says, her cheeks flushed. ¡°I wish I could see you all dressed up¡­¡±

    But she won¡¯t.

    For the first time in seven years, I will move to my old chambers in the main house, where a new set of maids will wait on me. There, Madam Rosanna will oversee my transformation into a debutante throughout a day of what I¡¯ve been told consists of skin treatments, manicures, hair styling, cosmetics, and "whatever else might be necessary."

    After my debut, Madam Rosanna informed me, I will be allowed to stay in the main house.

    ¡°Once our guests see that there is nothing behind the rumors about you,¡± she had said, ¡°His Grace plans to reinstate you into the household.¡±

    Why do I feel like this is just another carrot being dangled in front of my nose? And I''m the stupid donkey trying over and over to reach it.

    Part of me wants to tell Mary, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll see you later tonight,¡± because I know father¡¯s words are too good to be true. But the other part of me doesn¡¯t want to voice those doubts aloud, giving them power.

    There¡¯s no time to tell her anything¡ªonce I¡¯m dressed, I¡¯m escorted to the main house by two guards, as if I am a prisoner on my way to the guillotine. They take me all the way to my old chambers, giving me no time to prepare my mind before handing me over to the maids, who bustle me inside the space that had once been mine¡ªit clearly no longer is.

    Everything has been redone. The chamber''s location within the mansion might be the same, but nothing else is. All the furniture is new. All the colors are different. There is a sitting area and a sleeping area, divided by a partial wall¡ªthat¡¯s new.

    The bathing chamber is also completely renovated, with a large, sunken tub as the main feature, with relaxing pale blue and ivory tile instead of the pink I had adored as a girl.

    Had they made all these remodels with me in mind? Or did my chambers now serve as a guest room? The tingliness in my hands returns. Maybe all the stress is affecting my body, now, too.

    I press my lips together while the maids strip me. If they¡¯re surprised by the number of bruises and welts hidden under my shift, they do not mention it. They¡¯re better trained than Mary, it seems. She could never stop herself from gasping at a fresh mark, or grumbling her disapproval as she washed me.

    It¡¯s difficult to enjoy the large, lavish bath when I know what waits for me throughout the rest of the day. Besides, the maids¡¯ touch is not Mary¡¯s¡ªtheir fingers do not know my preferences for pressures and speeds as they scrub and rinse, and I do not have the wherewithal to mention this to them now. What¡¯s the point?

    They let me soak in the scented water for a short while after they complete their scrubbing, so I close my eyes and try to imagine that the day is over.

    No such luck.

    ¡°It¡¯s time to get out now, Lady Florence,¡± one of them says, shattering my fantasy.

    The rest of the day passes quickly as a flurry of women poke and prod my body with various instruments, applying more products than I can keep track of. The tingliness in my hands comes and goes, so I figure it''s not worth mentioning.

    I¡¯m given sips of tea and small bites of food throughout the day, but no lunch. The steady flow of comments about ¡°staying trim¡± and ¡°keeping the dreaded puffiness at bay¡± tells me starvation is a normal part of the debutante preparation process. How barbaric!

    By the time the emerald green ensemble is installed on my body, with the curly red wig viciously pinned to my head, I¡¯m ravenous.

    ¡°May I please have a bite to eat,¡± I beg. ¡°Even a biscuit would do. Anything, please?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll survive,¡± Madam Rosanna says, glancing over me with a critical eye. ¡°Once the debut starts, you¡¯ll forget all about your stomach. Now, come along.¡±

    She pulls my wrist, heavy with an emerald bracelet, and we depart my chambers. The noise hits me immediately¡ªI hadn¡¯t realized the guests had arrived.

    It''s already time? My heart pounds faster in my chest, echoing against my hollow stomach below. My vision blurs and I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s from nerves or because I haven¡¯t eaten, but Madam¡¯s pull is strong and she leads me to the end of the hall, where I can see my family gathered on the platform at the top of the joint stairs, looking out over the grand entrance. The strange tingling I''ve been feeling in my hands all day intensifies for a moment.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Mama, Miles, Elaine¡ª

    ¡°Chin up, shoulders back, waist in,¡± Madam Rosanna whispers sharply in my ear from behind, surprising me. The tingliness fades. Then, she gives me a gentle shove, and suddenly my feet begin to move me toward my family, most of whom I haven¡¯t seen in seven years.

    Keep it together, Florence, I tell myself. It¡¯s not your fault they didn¡¯t want to meet with you before this. Smile. Smile and act happy. Happy and mature. Happy, mature, and calm. Chin up, shoulders back, waist in.

    ¡°And now,¡± my father announces, his deep baritone carrying throughout the entrance, ¡°I have the great honor and pleasure of introducing my youngest daughter, Lady Florence Ophelia Renata LaVelle!¡±

    Polite applause buzzes in my ears as I carefully descend the few steps to the platform, reaching for my father¡¯s outstretched hand. I do not look at my mother, brother, or sister.

    I already know they aren''t looking at me.

    ¡°You look beautiful,¡± my father says quietly. ¡°Madam Rosanna did well.¡±

    Madam Rosanna? I manage to keep the smile frozen on my face as my father announces the beginning of the festivities in the ballroom, which I do not hear. Madam Rosanna is the one who did well?

    Father and I descend the left staircase while the rest of the family takes the right.

    Was Madam Rosanna beaten black and blue until she could correctly recite the complete royal family lineage, dating back to Dorandia''s founding? Was Madam Rosanna forbidden from taking a single bite until she was judged to have flawless table manners? Was Madam Rosanna shouted at and her feet stepped upon until she could perform the dance steps correctly?

    No, I am the one who suffered through all of that!

    My inner monologue is so loud, it drowns out whatever father was saying to me.

    He looks at me, expectantly.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, father, but might I have a glass of punch before anything else? I¡¯m terribly thirsty.¡±

    He narrows his eyes but nods to the nearest servant, who rushes off to get it.

    ¡°As I was saying,¡± father continues, pointedly, ¡°who you dance with is of utmost importance. I¡¯ll dance with you first, of course, but after that, you must seek out the Windsor boy, he should be here. Dance with him as soon as you can and be charming. He¡¯s Madam Rosanna¡¯s nephew.¡±

    Oh, well we can¡¯t disappoint her, can we? I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes.

    ¡°Then there¡¯s the Tyrell boy. He should be here, too, somewhere. Dance with him sometime tonight as well.¡±

    ¡°Yes, father,¡± I say, taking the glass of punch the servant finally brings. It takes everything in me not to gulp it down immediately.

    ¡°The Rowanward boys are here somewhere, too,¡± father mumbles, raising his head to scan the crowd. ¡°Dance with the eldest, though it wouldn¡¯t be the end of the world if you paired up with the younger¡­¡± He trails off, distracted.

    I don¡¯t know what any of these men look like. Everyone in the crowd is faceless¡ªjust one part of a gigantic, writhing monster. It reminds me of the hellscape.

    A chill viciously crawls up my back, as if I''m overtaken by a swarm of frozen insects, each of them pecking at the hairs on the back of my neck and arms until they stand on end. The tingliness in my hands almost feels like stabs from a tiny knife now, and I can feel the fear start to¡ª

    ¡°Florence.¡± Father looks at me, then holds out his arm.

    The insects instantly fall away. I take a few deep breaths, as deep as I can in the corset, and smile widely at my father. The tingliness fades once again.

    It is time for us to dance.

    ???

    She looked nothing like the woman from the forest. Then again, he probably didn¡¯t look much like he did that day, either. At least his hair was the same, though.

    Did they dye her hair? Or make her wear a wig?

    ¡°A wig?¡± Tyrell asked, handing him a glass of punch, then pouring a healthy splash from his flask into each of their glasses. ¡°Who, the LaVelle wench?¡± He belched.

    Trevor hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d spoken his thoughts out loud. Shit.

    ¡°Forget about it,¡± Trevor said, floundering for a distraction. ¡°You probably shouldn¡¯t call her a wench in her own home, mate. I heard they have a full dungeon in the basement.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d love to see that,¡± Tyrell replied, sipping his drink, his eyes somewhat glazed.

    Trevor did not consider Vester Tyrell to be one of his friends, yet they often found themselves in one another¡¯s company at functions like these, simply because they were not typically the ladies¡¯ first choice of partners when it came to dancing. Trevor because he was a second son and not entitled to much of an inheritance, and Tyrell because he was, in short, an ass.

    Especially when drunk.

    Trevor eyed Tyrell¡¯s suddenly empty glass warily. Surely, he wasn¡¯t drunk so soon, was he? Lady LaVelle¡¯s debut was already the talk of the town¡ªthe last thing the LaVelle¡¯s needed was a drunk Tyrell making a scene.

    Trevor moved to set his glass down on a side table, but when he turned around, Tyrell had disappeared into the crowd.

    ¡°Shit,¡± Trevor mumbled under his breath.

    Thankfully, Trevor was tall, so he was able to see above most of the ladies¡¯ heads in the ballroom. He found Lady Florence easily¡ªher unsightly emerald green ensemble was garish in comparison to the sea of soft lavenders, creams, and pinks.

    Tyrell reached for Lady LaVelle, grasping her elbows. She froze, listening to whatever he had to say, then wrenched her arms free to hold onto her hair.

    But it was no use.

    Tyrell, eyes wild and grinning wide, grabbed onto her hair with both of his large hands and ripped the red wig off of Lady Florence¡¯s head, freeing the wild mass of sunset tresses contained beneath.

    The crowd gasped¡ªwomen screamed.

    Lady Florence stood very still for a moment, her mouth open in shock.

    The only warning Trevor had was the sensation of his hair rising on his arms and the nape of his neck, and then Lady Florence disappeared.

 12. Into the Thicket

    My skull has split.

    Surely, that must be the cause of the blinding pain that brings me to my knees, crunching the gem-encrusted skirt. I reach out with one hand, flailing in the blackness, until I collide with something rough. Whatever it is, I lean on it until the pain subsides enough for me to breathe.

    My fingers pick at the texture¡ªridged, uneven grooves.

    I focus on what I feel, forcing myself to draw in air.

    Inhale, one, two, three, four.

    Exhale, one, two, three, four.

    Eventually, my eyes adjust and I realize the pain might not have been completely blinding at all, that it¡¯s simply dark because I¡¯m outside with only a sliver of a moon to light the thicket I¡¯ve landed in.

    Landed in.

    My knees give out beneath me and I awkwardly fall the rest of the way to the side, constrained by the tight dress.

    ¡°The debut!¡± I gasp. What happened? How did I get here? Where is¡­here?

    An owl hoots and I jump, my heart jabbing into my throat.

    Think! Remember! What happened?

    My long hair surrounds me like a cape, tickling my arms¡­long and loose¡­loose¡­

    Ah.

    That horrible man with awful breath came up to me and ripped off the wig. It had hurt so much! How did my real hair not come off with it? I shake my head, attempting to settle the jumbled thoughts. My hair slides over my shoulders as if to comfort me.

    After that¡­my ears started to buzz, right? Like my head was full of bees. And¡­

    ¡°Lightning,¡± I whisper. Lightning had shot down my arms toward my hands, raising every single hair on the way down. ¡°Bees.¡±

    I look at my hands.

    It had felt and sounded like being pushed through a thick swarm of bees, a wall of bees, only to drop out of the other side. No¡­more like that feeling of falling while you¡¯re asleep, only to jerk violently awake. That was what it felt like to land in the thicket, followed by the skull-splitting head pain.

    Am I a mage, then? Is that what this is?

    As far as I know, nobody in the LaVelle family has ever had enough power to be able to claim the title of ¡®mage.¡¯ But¡­why now? I¡¯m nineteen! Surely, there would¡¯ve been some sign of this before now?

    Wouldn''t there?

    I shake my head and roll onto my back in the slim space between trunks and bramble branches, which scratch at my arms and tug at my hair. I¡¯m beyond caring.

    ¡°Why?!¡± I yell, carefully letting my arms splay where they will between the roots and twigs that litter the ground.  ¡°Ouch, darn you!¡±

    I look to the left to see a faint metallic glint, caught in the bramble so that my hand had hit its point. Using the surrounding growth, I grunt as I pull myself to my elbows so I can drag myself over to grab the shaft of the arrow. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    It¡¯s a battle to pull it free, and my head grows dizzy as I pant for breath, trying to breathe while wearing a device designed to prevent me from doing that very thing.

    Rest, I tell myself. There¡¯s no rush here. Just rest.

    So I let myself fall back and do just that, the leaves and twigs beneath me scraping my bare shoulders and arms as I lie there, trying to steady my breath, holding my prize close to my chest.

    When I no longer feel faint, I use a young treetrunk to pull myself to my feet, unable to bend at the waist thanks to the costume. All I can see are trees, but to my left there is an open space beyond them, where I should have a little more moonlight to use the arrow.

    It turns out to be a large, rustic practice yard of some sort, with a packed dirt floor my high-heeled shoes don¡¯t sink into. It seems to be in the middle of nowhere, for I cannot see the lit guard towers of any mansion or castle above the trees.

    I had been lying in the thicket behind the archery targets, human-shaped straw sacks mounted on stakes and peppered with holes.

    Now that I can see the seams, I use the sharp tip of the arrow to slice at the seam of my bodice, using my fingers to guide the arrow until the threads are shredded enough for me to rip it off, launching tiny crystal beads and gems everywhere. The sight of hundreds of shining, sparkling specks in the dirt brings a smile to my face, and I can¡¯t help but laugh¡ªnot the ladylike titter Madam Rosanna had me perfect, but a throaty cackle summoned from somewhere deep within me.

    But not for long. The corset needs to go. Now.

    I have to work carefully on this one so as not to slice my skin beneath, since only my shift is under it, but the material is so tight that I don¡¯t have to work at it long before the corset pops off from the side, literally bursting at the seams.

    ¡°Phew!¡± I breathe deeply for several minutes, enjoying the full lungfuls of air. My eyes tear up as my chest fully expands for the first time in hours.

    Now I can rework the rest of the costume into something practical for my situation. I might be able to fashion a tunic of sorts from one of the skirts. Regardless of what happens next, I am not wearing this monstrosity for hours upon hours while I try to figure out where I am. As is, it¡¯s far too uncomfortable and impractical.

    With the bodice and corset removed, I can remove the heavy, stiff overskirt, which likely has enough gems sewn into it to buy a small house. And finally, finally, I can remove my darn shoes!

    It is in this state, with my chemise exposed above my skirt, wearing my stockings on the dirt, that I am discovered.

    ???

    Duke LaVelle made his way to the spot Florence had been a moment before, but there was no trace of her. Guests were openly gawking, giving him a wide berth as he paced around the Tyrell idiot, who stood there with Florence¡¯s wig gripped tightly in his hand, as if he held a recent kill.

    ¡°You,¡± seethed the Duke, pointing his finger into Vester Tyrell¡¯s chest, ¡°will go nowhere.¡±

    His son, Miles, pushed through the crowd to join him.

    ¡°Father,¡± he said, grabbing his elbow. ¡°Mother has fainted. She¡¯s been taken to her chambers. Elaine went with her.¡±

    Duke LaVelle pinched the bridge of his nose, his cheeks an alarming shade of crimson.

    ¡°The debut is over!¡± he bellowed, ¡°And if any of you speak of what transpired here tonight, you will wish you hadn¡¯t!¡±

    More shrieks peppered the air as the ladies, guided by their partners, attempted to make themselves scarce. Not only had they witnessed two horrifying events this evening, but now they were being threatened on top of it! Being such gentle ladies of high society, prolonged exposure to the location where it had all happened would surely only hinder their recovery.

    Duke LaVelle stood as still as a statue, eyes glued to the marble floor, as the young men and women fled around him. Miles looked on, his brows drawn in concern¡ªconcern for his father, for the LaVelle name, and perhaps a bit of concern for his youngest sister. What business did she have suddenly manifesting as a mage in the middle of her debut, and where the hell did she go?

    Florence was a problem they could deal with later, whenever she reappeared. Now, they had to salvage the situation as best they could. They needed to ensure the silence of those who had witnessed Florence¡¯s display of power, and they needed to obtain information from Tyrell.

    How had he known she was wearing a wig? Why had he felt the need to rip it off her head? Had he been paid to? Ordered to? Who was he working for?

    Was someone out to sabotage the LaVelle Duchy using Florence?

    They needed answers.

    And they would get them, one way or another.

    Vester Tyrell, to his credit, had sobered enough to realize the gravity of his situation as the LaVelle guards led him away. His face blanched as he hazily recalled the words Trevor Rowanward had spoken just minutes ago¡­

    ¡°I heard they have a full dungeon in the basement.¡±

 Special Episode: Q&A

    Hi! Kitty_blush here :-)

    As you can tell, this episode is a little different! I decided to take a break from writing to answer some questions. Let us begin!

    Q1. WHERE DID YOU GET THE IDEA FOR LADY FLORENCE IS NOT EVIL?

    I read a LOT of manhwa, webtoons, manga...and while I enjoy my ??tropes??, one day I just got REALLY FRUSTRATED with plots that rely on a stupid amount of miscommunication, "strong" FMC''s who still manage to trip on air, and reading the same storyline over and over (and over and over...). Being a writer (of books), I thought, "I should just write my own webnovel with everything I want to see in a story!"

    (So simple, right? Famous last words!!)

    Q2. HOW LONG WILL "LFINE" BE?

    Right now I have it panned and plotted out to about 100 chapters. I don''t think it will deviate too much from that. (More famous last words?)

    Q3. WHO IS YOUR ARTIST? DO YOU EVER SEE "LFINE" BECOMING A WEB-COMIC?

    I hired an artist for the original cover and my avatars, but all other art you see is by me. If "LFINE" EVER DOES get a comic adaptation, it won''t be drawn by me! I''m far too unskilled and slow. So, I would need a lot of money to make that happen ;-)

    Q4. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTER?

    ~Florence! She''s never boring to write about!

    Q5. A COMMON CONCERN READERS HAVE IS AUTHORS ABANDONING THEIR STORIES. HOW WILL YOU PREVENT THIS FROM HAPPENING?

    Nothing in life is certain, but I try to "set myself up for success" by planning ahead as much as possible. For "LFINE," I wrote a full, detailed outline all the way to the end, and I try to keep a buffer of 5-10 episodes. Things like detailed character sheets (there are many more people to meet!), my #index, and background lore help with consistency and make it easier for me to write.

    Q6. LAST ONE. WHAT ELSE ARE YOU WORKING ON?

    As I mentioned, I also write books! I''ve been hard at work on a new series, The Blackmeare Bastards, which is about nine half-brother Sylmancers, who manipulate ''syl,'' a mana-like force, and their (mis)adventures in love. (Written by: Kitty Caldwell.) I also have TWO more webnovels panned! A "reverse" isekai and a "second chance" romantasy mystery told primarily from the ML''s POV. :-) BUT- neither of those will be out anytime soon, and they are also somewhat contingent on the success of "LFINE"...This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Happy New Year! May 2025 bring you joy, rest, comfort, and fun.

    Thank you for reading!

    xo??kb

    <hr>

    EDITED TO ADD: BONUS QUESTIONS!

    Q7. I may have missed it originally (or did you rewrite your blurb?) but I noticed this story is listed as harem which I found interesting! Is the dragon character one of the potential love interests, or am I reaching a bit there?

    I use "harem" in the loosest sense possible: all four of the male leads are romantically interested in Florence at some point, simultaneously, but they do not engage in a polyamorous relationship. Florence will (probably? possibly? wink, wink) end up with only one of them... And yes! The dragon character is one of the love interests :-)

    Q8. Do you have an ending in mind already, or are you still tweaking the plot as you go?

    I do, BUT I am open to tweaking it as/if the story evolves. So far we''ve stayed pretty much on track, but sometimes those plot bunnies pop up out of nowhere...

    Q9. Were there any real-world inspirations for you in formulating this plot? Or are there any real-world topics you wanted to explore through this story in a fictionalised lens?

    I touched on this a little in question #1, but that was mostly the REASON I decided to write "LFINE," and not so much the inspiration for the plot. I thought of many of the webtoons, webnovels, manhwa, and manga etc. I read and what emotionally engages me in my favorite stories. Then, I thought about what frustrates me the most. If I was going to write a webnovel, I wanted to write a story I would both personally enjoy AND be proud of. I needed an actually strong FMC, not a twig with no muscle who still trips on air, who doesn''t need to rely on snarky or boss bitch dialogue to instill respect (and fear...) in others. I needed realistic levels of miscommunication and believable explanations for changed behavior (though, the jury might still be out on Florence''s family at this point in time, wink, wink). And, I needed an emotional journey with lots of room for growth as our main character figures out who she wants to be, where she fits in, and what she wants to do with her life in a situation that looks quite different than most of her peers.

    I mentioned earlier that I do love my tropes, but that''s when I voluntarily sign up for them. I don''t enjoy them when a story has to fall back on them to "progress." The interesting thing I''ve discovered I struggle with when writing from Florence''s perspective is, she may have the appearance of a young woman, but right now she has two warring worldviews inside her. One is a 12-year old who doesn''t know much of anything about romance, high society, and the accomplishments expected of her, and the other is someone who only knows survival- running, hiding, staying quiet. So, putting on a mask every day and doing what Madam Rosanna tells her to do, I think many of us can relate to that. We''ll definitely explore more about expectations (especially those of women in this kind of setting), feminism, abuse, privilege, classism, and sexism, to name a few that I already have planned.

    Q10. (This is a little self-indulgent a question so feel free to disregard) Since this is a harem story, will there potentially be a queer route? Even if it stays platonic, I think it''d be nice if Florence had another woman to bond with.

    Great question! The dragon could be considered bi, and there will definitely be a lot more about that at a later time :-) While there are no women in the harem, Florence does form some strong bonds with women as the story progresses.

    Thanks so much for the extra questions!

    xo??kb

 13. Thorne

    ¡°Can you repeat that,¡± Trevor asked of his manservant, Carl. He¡¯d only just arrived home after leaving the chaos at the LaVelle mansion, and his mind was still in a whirl. Seeing them lead Tyrell away filled him with dread¡­but there was nothing he could do about it. He¡¯d warned him, and he¡¯d gone and done something foolish anyway.

    ¡°Peter is in the far yard with Lady Florence LaVelle. He requests your presence most urgently,¡± Carl repeated, standing erect, face placid, hands behind his back.

    So he had heard correctly. Shit. Shit!

    ¡°I need my gear,¡± he told Carl, who nodded and headed into the wardrobe.

    Trevor stared across his chamber toward the dark window, opening and closing his fist in a practiced rhythm that was meant to calm his anxiety. In truth, it did little to help, but the habit was long ingrained as part of him.

    To speed the process, Trevor stripped himself, which he did about half the time anyway, throwing his finery in a pile onto the bed. If he came back in the middle of the night from one of his secret jaunts, he didn¡¯t feel it was fair to wake Carl, not when he was perfectly capable of taking off his own clothes and putting on others.

    Still, Carl was more efficient at dressing Trevor in his gear than Trevor was, a fact which was always appreciated. Particularly when time was of the essence...such as now.

    As a final touch, he rubbed some ashy powder around his eyes, making them look more sunken than usual. It wasn''t a masterful disguise, but combined with the cowl and the darkness, he should look different enough. Especially since the two of them hadn''t officially met yet.

    Trevor planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.

    Trevor hopped off his balcony onto his path down to the ground and went around the back of the Rowanward mansion to the far yard, which was located a good distance from the mansion. He had claimed it after discovering the abandoned yard as a child, roaming the Rowanward land¡ªhis father was aware he preferred to use the far yard, but was not aware of how, exactly, he used it.

    He slowed his jog to a walk, then paused to catch his breath. He wouldn¡¯t be ¡°Lord Trevor¡± now.

    In the time he¡¯d heard from Carl until this moment, Trevor had concocted a plan. If Lady Florence had truly disappeared from her debut earlier tonight, that meant she was a powerful mage. Only the most powerful mages could move through space as if from one room to another. And it just so happened he needed someone powerful like her on his side.

    Perhaps there was something he could offer her in exchange for her assistance¡­

    Please, he silently prayed, please, Saint Dora, grant me luck. Not that she ever listened, but she would someday, wouldn¡¯t she? Maybe that day would be today.

    Peter had lit a fire in the brazier, illuminating him and the small woman beside him, who must be Lady Florence. Gone was the green gown, or most of it, anyway. She now wore the same coarse brown cloak that his men wore, over the remains of¡­by the Saints, were those her underskirts?!

    Trevor¡¯s cheeks reddened.

    Her hood was down and the firelight played across her face and hair¡­her long, loose hair. Why did Trevor¡¯s fingers itch to run through the wild locks tumbling over her shoulders?

    He swallowed.

    ¡°My¡ª¡± Peter began, but Trevor quickly cut him off before he could finish with ¡®lord.¡¯

    ¡°Lord Trevor sent me,¡± Trevor said, instantly clueing Peter in. From now on, he¡¯d be known as Thorne. He couldn¡¯t let Lady Florence know who he was yet. If she found out and let it slip that it was Trevor organizing the work he did, and not Thorne, that would cause a lot of trouble for him. He didn¡¯t want trouble¡ªhe just wanted to secure a future. His own future. And Lady Florence could help him do that.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Peter said, nodding. ¡°Lady Florence, allow me to introduce Lord Trevor¡¯s most trusted right-hand man, Thorne. He will be the one making the arrangements to get you home tonight, discreetly.¡±

    ¡°How do you do, Sir Thorne?¡± Lady Florence greeted him, giving him a slight curtsy.

    Trevor used all his willpower to keep a straight face at the sight of her, Lady Florence, debutante, wearing rags and a coarse brown cloak, curtsying as if she were still in the ballroom she hadn¡¯t disappeared from an hour ago.

    ¡°Quite well, m¡¯lady,¡± he bowed deeply in return. ¡°With your permission, I need to debrief with Peter.¡±

    ¡°By all means.¡± She pulled the cloak tightly around herself and moved closer to the fire.

    Peter, one of the oldest in Trevor¡¯s semi-secret band made up of his most loyal knights, filled him in. Florence had landed near the yard. Peter had come to retrieve something he¡¯d left earlier that day and found her in a...vulnerable state. Evidently, she¡¯d used an arrow to cut herself out of her gown, and no, she did not want to be taken to the Rowanward mansion.

    Trevor grinned. ''Evil'' Lady LaVelle? he mused. More like ''Mad'' Lady LaVelle. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    And he liked it.

    ¡°Get us a horse,¡± he told Peter. ¡°Midnight, if you can.¡±

    Midnight was all black and would blend in with the night better. Peter left.

    Now, Trevor was alone with Lady Florence. She stood by the brazier, hands out. He could see they were covered in scratches, scratches that trailed up her arms as far as he could see.

    ¡°M¡¯lady,¡± he said, dipping his head as he came to stand beside her, holding out his hands to the brazier to warm them as an excuse to be near. ¡°You must be a very powerful mage.¡±

    Lady Florence snorted. ¡°What do you mean? Can¡¯t all mages do...that? Whatever it was.¡±

    Trevor couldn¡¯t help turning his head to look at her. Rather, look down at her. She was at least a head shorter than him. He shook his head.

    ¡°Not at all, m¡¯lady. Only the most powerful can appear out of nowhere like that.¡±

    She turned her head to look up at him, meeting his gaze. Fire reflected in her eyes¡ªgreen-blue and orange. ¡°Then, how do I control it? How do I use it?¡±

    He looked back to the fire.

    ¡°May I speak plainly, m¡¯lady?¡±

    ¡°Please do.¡±

    Trevor splayed his fingers over the flames, thinking a moment. ¡°Have you had no training, then?¡± Florence shook her head ¡®no.¡¯ ¡°I see. Well, you¡¯ll need to enroll in the Academy for the book training¡­.but¡­¡± He hesitated in bringing up his idea.

    ¡°Just say it!¡± Lady Florence snapped, out of nowhere. Trevor¡¯s eyebrows shot up. Lady Florence sighed. ¡°I apologize. I haven¡¯t eaten decently since breakfast and I hurt terribly all over. Continue, please.¡±

    Trevor stared down at her.

    ¡°Just a moment, m¡¯lady.¡±

    He walked over to the communication stone embedded in one of the trees and told Carl, Peter, or whoever was listening to pack some sandwiches, lemonade, and a tonic to bring along with the horse. Lady Florence watched him from across the yard, her brows drawn. Did she not know about communication stones? Maybe not. They were a rather recent development.

    ¡°Along with the book training,¡± he said, walking back over to her, ¡°you should train your body. Most mages neglect that part and end up physically weak, which¡ª¡±

    ¡°You can train me.¡± She pulled the cloak closed in front of her chest and turned toward him.

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    Lady Florence sighed, as if trying to hold in her anger. ¡°Were you there that day, in the woods? When I was found on Rowanward land?¡± Trevor nodded. ¡°Then you already know I have an¡­interest¡­in exercise. However, all I¡¯ve ever done was out of instinct. I''ve never trained. But I want to be strong. I want to be able to fight off¡­¡± her eyes grew dark ¡°...someone your size, for example.¡±

    His size? Trevor shivered. Did something happen to her? He wanted to both take a step toward her and away from her at the same time.

    Why?

    He blinked to clear his contradictory thoughts.

    Just as he was about to speak, a soft whinny and the sound of hooves on dirt drew his attention.

    ¡°We will speak of this again soon, my lady,¡± he told her, turning to take over from Peter.

    She raised a brow at him. Shit. He''d sounded like Lord Trevor just then, hadn''t he?

    ???

    The sandwich is the best thing I''ve ever eaten, even though it''s only thinly sliced meat and cheese layered between fresh bread. It''s something I would never be served otherwise, but I find I prefer it greatly over the dainty bits I''m usually served at tea and lunch.

    This is substance. This is filling.

    The lemonade is sweet and tart, if a little warm, but it is the second best thing I have ever drank before, second only to the tonic. Coupled with the sandwich, I have to hold in a moan as the knife''s edge of my hunger is finally dulled, and the pain from weeks of mistreatment and a full day of agony releases its grip. Finally.

    Thorne had led me to a worn tree stump so I could sit while I ate, apologizing for the inadequate accommodations.

    I couldn¡¯t stop a laugh from escaping.

    ¡°I''ve been through so much worse,¡± I told him without thinking, remembering the hellscape.

    ¡°I¡¯d love to hear that tale,¡± he had replied.

    I hadn¡¯t said anything in response. Should I have? Should I tell people about the hellscape? The clerics know about them, but that doesn¡¯t mean everybody does. What if¡­people don¡¯t believe me? They¡¯ll think I truly am a lunatic. Cursed.

    Evil.

    Besides, I couldn¡¯t tell if he was serious, or simply being polite.

    The two men stand by the black horse, checking its tack while I finish my meal in silence. Supposedly, this Thorne fellow is close to Lord Trevor, the youngest Rowanward son. Father had mentioned him briefly at the debut, but that was all I knew about him.

    I knew a little more about Thorne from talking to him. His clothes seem like something a knight would wear, though he also wears a cowl covering his head, which keeps most of his face in shadow. Perhaps he has an embarrassing scar or is required to wear it to keep his identity as Lord Trevor¡¯s trusted man a secret.

    Regardless, I find him a bit suspicious.

    Yet, at the same time, I get the feeling he might help me.

    I never want to be held down against my will ever again. I never want to be forced to submit to anyone ever again. And if what he says about my abilities as a mage is true, then I need all the training I can get to become strong, mentally and physically.

    It can¡¯t be from someone on LaVelle land. Word would get back to my father and he would put a stop to it, for the sake of the family''s reputation if nothing else. If I can¡¯t figure out how to control the¡­the traveling¡­then I¡¯ll need to use my feet or a horse, and Rowanward land is the closest to ours. Thorne is probably the closest person, geographically, who can teach me.

    My meal finished and my belly finally full, I head over to the men.

    ¡°Are you ready to return home, my lady?¡± Thorne asks.

    Suddenly, the sandwich feels like a lump in my stomach.

    ¡°I suppose so,¡± I say, trying not to sound as reluctant as I feel.

 14. No Second Chances

    He¡¯s so close. No closer than Jerrome had been the other time I¡¯d been escorted home, but for some reason, my cheeks are warm as Thorne guides Midnight to the LaVelle Duchy in the dark.

    He said it will take us about an hour.

    Perhaps it¡¯s my state of undress this time, or the way his arms press into my sides as he holds the reigns, or it could be because we¡¯re alone in the darkness, with only the occasional breeze whispering through the leaves overhead.

    Regardless, I feel every breath of his in my hair and I wish I¡¯d had the sense to put the hood of the cloak up earlier, because to do so now would mean letting go of it around my chest and that¡¯s the only thing keeping my chemise covered. Not that he could see, being behind me, but¡­I just can¡¯t do it.

    I sigh.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be there soon, m¡¯lady,¡± he says, misinterpreting, his voice low in my ear. He startles me, which startles the horse, so Thorne¡¯s hold tightens momentarily until Midnight calms. I start to feel warm in other places around my body¡°Apologies, m¡¯lady.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I say, trying to sound calmer than I feel, ¡°I¡¯m the one who got us all in this mess to begin with.¡±

    It''s a simple truth that if I hadn''t accidentally used my mage powers and landed in a thicket, we wouldn''t be here.

    ¡°If I may,¡± he says, slowly, ¡°this is hardly your fault, so please don¡¯t let it weigh on you, m¡¯lady.¡±

    Due to my lack of footwear, Thorne guides us as close to the crumbled section of the wall as he dares, then ties Midnight to a tree.

    ¡°Be good, boy,¡± he tells him with a pat on the nose.

    I expect him to help me down and let me walk, but he slides me into his arms and keeps me there, easily hopping over the wall and crouching us down in the garden.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I whisper, holding the cloak shut with iron fingers. ¡°Put me down!¡±

    ¡°The path is gravel,¡± he whispers back. ¡°It will shred your feet in a matter of seconds.¡±

    I note the lack of m¡¯lady with ire, but he does have a point.

    ¡°Where to?¡± he asks.

    And so, I guide us through the garden using the path I had taken to sneak out to sneak us in. After we give the mansion a wide berth, Thorne asks if that¡¯s not our destination, and I shake my head. He doesn¡¯t pry.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe the grounds aren¡¯t swarming with people looking for you,¡± he comments.

    ¡°I can,¡± I say. He glances sharply at me upon hearing the contempt in my voice. I probably shouldn¡¯t have said that. ¡°Regardless, thank you for bringing me back.¡±

    ¡°My pleasure, m¡¯lady,¡± he says, finally putting me down. ¡°Here.¡± He pulls a pen out of his pocket that''s engraved with a ¡®T,¡¯ as well as a small, leatherbound journal. ¡°Anything you write with this pen will appear for me in my book. The same goes for you with my pen and this book, so find a good hiding place for it. This is how we¡¯ll communicate about that training we agreed upon.¡±

    Training. ¡°Right.¡± That was another thing that had happened tonight. ¡°Our deal.¡±

    He nods. ¡°I better go.¡± He gives me a short, awkward bow crouched in the shrubbery. ¡°Farewell, m¡¯lady.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye, Sir Thorne.¡±

    He disappears and I wait a few minutes before darting out of the garden across the gravel¡ªouch ouch ouch ouch ouch¡ªto the servant¡¯s entrance of the annex, where I sneak in. Thankfully, it¡¯s noisy inside, so I¡¯m able to sneak all the way to my room, where I scare the soul out of Mary.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Please,¡± I beg her, ¡°don¡¯t ask any questions. I¡¯m fine. Just send a message to the mansion that I¡¯ve returned and that I¡¯ll speak to father in the morning, then draw me a steaming hot bath.¡±

    Mary curtsies, her mouth agape, then turns to do my bidding.

    ???

    The morning dawns gray and misty, quiet in a way that makes me nervous. I wake up early, despite the late night before, full of energy.

    But I do not summon Mary. Rather, I lie there and review everything that had happened the previous day. It almost escapes my memory that I had seen my mother for the first time in seven years.

    Why don¡¯t I feel¡­more?

    I stay in bed, mulling things over in my mind, until Mary comes in to get me ready. As expected, I¡¯ve been summoned to the mansion.

    Father is furious, as I knew he would be. No amount of preparation could¡¯ve shielded me against the instant verbal assault as soon as the study door had closed behind me.

    "Last night was your one, single opportunity to make a good impression upon society...and you destroyed it marvelously," he says, slapping me with each word.

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°I am not done speaking, Florence!¡± he shouts. ¡°How did Vester Tyrell know you were wearing a wig? Hmm? And why the hell did you need one to begin with? It doesn¡¯t make sense to me! Did you¡­did you set this up to make us look bad? Is this revenge for how you were treated?¡±

    ¡°Father, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°How long have you known you are a mage? Why didn¡¯t you tell anyone? Disappearing like that in the middle of your debut¡­you couldn¡¯t have caused a bigger scene!¡±

    By this time, his voice is so loud, that I¡¯m afraid the ceiling lights will start to crash down around us.

    ¡°Well?¡± he looks at me expectantly. ¡°Explain yourself! And don¡¯t you dare lie to me.¡±

    He leans against the outside edge of his desk, arms crossed in front of him. I¡¯ve never seen him so angry. Never.

    And it¡¯s at me. He thinks this is all my fault. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink until they disappear.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that I¡¯m a mage,¡± I begin, ¡°I started to feel a strange tingling in my hands yesterday, but I didn¡¯t know what it was. How would I know to tell anyone about it? And I don¡¯t know how that man knew about the wig¡ªI¡¯d never seen him before last night. Besides, my hair color is not my fault. Personally, I like it¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s unconventional,¡± father interrupts. ¡°It draws unnecessary attention to you when you hardly need more. Fix it, or hide it.¡±

    Hide it? My disbelief must show on my face.

    ¡°So, this was all a tantrum?¡± father asks. ¡°You were angry about how Madam Rosanna treated you and decided to act out?¡±

    ¡°What? No!¡± Well¡­I¡¯m not happy about how she treated me, but I didn¡¯t retaliate in any way! Where did he come up with these ideas? ¡°Father, it¡¯s as I said: I didn¡¯t know I was a mage, and I don''t know the man who ripped the wig off my head. I don¡¯t know what happened to me after he did that¡ªall I know is I felt like I needed to hide¡­and then I disappeared. Aren¡¯t you at all concerned about where I went? Or about what happened to me?¡±

    Father huffs and shakes his head. ¡°Aren¡¯t you concerned about the fallout of your actions? You are the youngest daughter of the LaVelle Duchy. Your position holds weight in society. Your brother and I had to spend all night mitigating the damage.¡±

    So, no, he doesn''t care about what happened to me. Just as well, since now I wouldn¡¯t have to explain about the Rowenwards and Thorne, and get them involved, too.

    ¡°I see,¡± I say in reply.

    Father sighs heavily. For a moment, I can feel the weight of the duchy on his shoulders. It¡¯s bigger than me and bigger than him¡­but that doesn¡¯t excuse his willingness to pin this all on me.

    I¡¯m so tired of feeling like I''m the personal curse of the LaVelle household.

    ¡°We¡¯ll get to the bottom of this,¡± father declares. ¡°In the meantime, you must prepare for your introduction to the King and Queen. For whatever reason, they are most anxious to meet you.¡±

    Father tosses an open letter toward me and it lands on the table in front of the settee.

    <blockquote>

    ¡­within two weeks of her Debut, Duke Claude LaVellle must present his Daughter, Lady Florence LaVelle, to His Royal Majesty Roark Aurelius deh Doran and Her Royal Majesty  Genevieve Constan?ia at the Royal Palace¡­

    </blockquote>

    ¡°It was the King who sent the clerics to heal you, Florence,¡± father says. ¡°Please. You must make the LaVelle name proud when you present yourself. We cannot afford another embarrassment. There are no second chances.¡±

 15. A Curious Curse

    A few days later, Mary delivers a book to me.

    ¡°The Path of the Mage: a Beginner¡¯s Course?¡± I read. ¡°Where did this come from?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not certain, my lady,¡± she says, averting her gaze. ¡°It was found with the deliveries this morning with an anonymous note saying to pass it along to you. Do you want to keep it? Or¡­I could take it away, my lady, if you¡¯d prefer.¡±

    I flip through the book, noting sections on history, fundamentals, and basic practice. It¡¯s better than what I currently have, which is nothing. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it.¡± Mary curtsies and leaves.

    Who would¡¯ve sent it? Not father, surely. Miles?

    I bite my bottom lip. It could be Thorne, too. I belatedly remember the enchanted pen and journal he gave me. So much had happened that night and the following morning that it had slipped entirely from my mind.

    When I had ordered the renovations to the room, I made a secret request to the designers and mages¡ªa small hiding space. As the lady in charge of the project, they could not deny or question me, though I do worry if it was ever reported to my father¡­

    The large window in my room now has a lovely window seat, perfect for reading. Beneath it, one of the panels presses in, then swings open to reveal a space behind large enough for a small jewelry box, a stack of letters, and a few other odds and ends. The journal and pen sit on top of everything else.

    I¡¯m surprised to see Thorne has already written to me¡ª

    <blockquote>

    Dear Lady Florence,

    By now I hope you have received the book. It is my sincere wish it helps you in the meantime, before you enroll in the Academy. You must do everything you can to enroll. It will be impossible to learn how to control your abilities without a mentor. As for your other training, I am in the process of setting things up and will need a little more time. Please allow me to request your patience in this matter.

    I await your reply¡ª

    T

    </blockquote>

    ¡°Huh,¡± I say. ¡°A bit cheeky, isn¡¯t he? Perhaps being his lord¡¯s right-hand man has given him airs.¡±

    <blockquote>

    Dear Sir Thorne, I reply,

    I did receive the book, and I thank you kindly for thinking of me. Indeed, it should prove helpful while I make arrangements. while I wait to enroll. You may take your time in your preparations. As far as I know, there are no other pressing matters looming in my future. At the moment, time seems to be on our side.

    Should I adopt a pseudonym?

    -F

    </blockquote>

    Smiling, I return the journal to my hiding spot.

    Smiling.

    I touch my face as the smile slides from it. Was this the first time I¡¯ve smiled in days?

    I scoff. There is no time to dwell on that¡ªThe Path of the Mage awaits.

    ???

    I thought the debut costume had been terrible, but the thing I''m forced to wear to the palace is even worse. Not in terms of gaudiness, but in terms of complexity. The dress code for the palace is not to be taken lightly¡ªthose found to be in violation are, at a minimum, barred from entering, and at a maximum, imprisoned.

    Madam Rosanna, to my immense displeasure, was tasked with outfitting me for my summons. Since my mother cannot come with us due to her illness, it is Madam Rosanna who accompanies me as my female chaperone, along with my father, to the Royal Palace.

    At first glance, the Royal Palace appears a drab gray, but in bright sunlight, the gray gives way to a breathtaking luminescence, unlike anything I¡¯ve ever seen. But I am not given long to admire it¡ªall too soon I am bustled inside by father and Madam Rosanna, as well as the retinue of guards that accompany us, to keep us on a strict schedule.

    Inside, however, takes my breath completely away. The luminescence created by the exterior windows combines to make a writhing, sparkling shimmer, undulating on the arched ceiling of the throne room. I have to force my eyes to the ground, to the red carpet in front of me, but I can¡¯t help but notice that nobody in the room seems interested in the miraculous display above their heads. Perhaps they see it every day.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    I had been drilled relentlessly about how to act and what, exactly, to say. Despite this, I¡¯m still so nervous as we approach the daises, I can feel the sweat drip down the back of my neck and legs.

    ¡°We greet His Royal Majesty, the Highest Mountain of Dorandia, and Her Royal Majesty, the Sky Only He Touches,¡± I say, my voice only shaking a little towards the end as it rings out in the Grand Hall. I curtsy deeply as I was taught, dipping my veiled head low to show my respect to the Father and Mother of our country.

    I grip my gem-encrusted navy skirt to prevent myself from swiping at the cream-colored veil as it slips over one shoulder¡ªwhile technically within the bounds of the dress code, it is somewhat of an antiquated fashion. Neither father nor Madam Rosanna could be convinced that my natural hair would be fine. They both insisted I cover it when presenting myself to the King and Queen.

    ¡°So you¡¯re the one all the fuss has been about,¡± the King drawls.

    I raise my head and only then notice that all three of his children are also present: Crown Prince Lancelot sits to the right of his father, while Princess Aurelia and Prince Andrelandros sit to the left of their mother, Queen Genevieve. Their eyes stare down at me, bored but¡­curious, perhaps?

    ¡°You¡¯ll remember Russo and Felix, yes? The ones who saved you?¡± the King says, drawing my attention back.

    The two clerics in their pristine white robes step forward from the side¡ªI hadn¡¯t noticed them. When I make eye contact with Felix, his cheeks flush and he looks down.

    ¡°So, where is this famous hair of yours, the thing that caused such a scandal? Hm? Show us.¡±

    King Roark sits forward on his throne and looks at me expectantly.

    I freeze. What?!

    Madam Rosanna hisses behind me, ¡°Take off your veil!¡±

    I carefully remove the veil, conscious of all the pins beneath. The maids had been instructed to pin up my hair in such a way as to hide most of the color by rolling it in on itself, until the golden color near my scalp covered the colorful ends.

    ¡°Is that all?¡± the King asks, famous eyebrow raised.

    ¡°N-n-no, Your Majesty,¡± I say, and move my fingers to my scalp to begin removing the remaining pins, but I can immediately tell I¡¯m going too slow. Madam Rosanna steps forward and starts ripping them out of my hair¡ªI bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out, but I can¡¯t stop my eyes from watering.

    Finally, my famous¡ªor infamous, if you ask my father¡ªhair is free and tumbling down my back in perfect waves, all the way to my waist.

    ¡°Ha! Now that is a sight!¡± the King shouts with a laugh. ¡°And I¡¯m told it happened the day after you woke up from your cursed sleep.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±

    He stares at me, hand rubbing his bearded chin. The back of my neck and cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny.

    ¡°The twins tell me it was quite the curious curse,¡± he says. I can feel his eyes crawl over me, but my attention is on his words¡ªthe twins know more about the curse? ¡°Curious, indeed. Tell me, Duke, has she enrolled in the Academy?¡±

    ¡°No, Your Majesty,¡± my father says. I hear his unspoken words: and she won¡¯t be.

    ¡°Correct that immediately.¡± Oh.

    I hear Madam Rosanna gasp behind me and a soft ripple of confusion throughout the room.

    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.¡± My father¡¯s voice is tight. Clipped.

    Inside, I smile. He can¡¯t defy an order from the King, can he?

    ¡°Girl,¡± he addresses me. In surprise, I raise my face to meet his gaze¡ªlight blue eyes, kind but firm¡ªand quickly look down when I realize my mistake. ¡°You are to graduate the Academy at an advanced pace. Two years at most. You¡¯ll study year-round to accomplish this. Understood?¡±

    ¡°Y-y-¡± my voice comes out as a squeak. I hurridly clear it. ¡°Yes! Yes, Your Majesty.¡± Two years? How in the name¡ª

    ¡°Duke.¡±

    I freeze, feeling the instant change in the King¡¯s tone. My father steps in front of me.

    ¡°You do realize hiding a noble daughter from high society is a crime, do you not?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty,¡± my father says. From the corner of my eye, I see him lower his head.

    ¡°Ordinarily, I¡¯d have you whipped.¡± Madam Rosanna isn¡¯t the only person who gasps in the crowd. It takes a moment for everyone to quiet down, so I use this moment to study the king discreetly: he has wavy, graying golden hair that curls beneath his ears, hair his daughter and youngest son share. His face is stern at the moment, but is etched with the permanent lines of someone who frequently smiles. ¡°Luckily for you, given the unique circumstances, as well as your complete cooperation, I will waive your due punishment.

    ¡°However,¡± he continues, ¡°this does not mean there are no repercussions for your actions. The LaVelle Duchy is now under my scrutiny. You will no longer enjoy the favor you have received these past years. Not only have you deceived your King by hiding your daughter, but you have deceived your friend. A friend who would have helped sooner had he known of your plight.

    ¡°Let this be a lesson to all!¡± he announces, ¡°In the Kingdom of Dorandia, not only do we share in the happiness and riches our sacred land bestows upon us¡ªwe share in the pain and sorrow that befalls one another. Only fools choose to suffer alone.¡±

    My father¡¯s ears grow red.

    The King just called my father a fool.

 16. In Need of A Plan

    Prince Andrelandros had expected another boring audience. After all, how many noble ladies of Dorandian high society had been paraded in front of him now? Far too many to count. He expected this was just another ploy to sneak another one in front of him and his brother.

    Lance took it better than he did, the bastard, but both of them would still complain about it together over a goblet of wine every now and then.

    Those thoughts were far from Landros'' mind as the young woman in front of him was first stripped of her veil, then, the pins rather viciously pulled from the clever styling, revealing the most unique hair Landros had ever seen. And he¡¯d seen quite a range in his romps.

    This woman, Frances or whoever, now had his attention.

    What was father saying? The Academy?

    Landros smiled, already plotting their first meeting.

    ????

    I knew it would be bad getting back in the carriage.

    ¡°He called me a fool!¡± my father shouts, sitting so far forward in his seat, he¡¯s barely on it.

    ¡°Now, now,¡± Madam Rosanna says, patting his arm. They¡¯re both across from me.

    For some reason, the sight of her hand on his arm irks me. Does it linger a little too long? Is that it? I look away before she can catch me staring.

    ¡°You could¡¯ve been whipped,¡± I say, trying to give him some perspective.

    ¡°That would¡¯ve been preferable to the king naming Duke LaVelle a fool in front of the entire kingdom!¡± He drops his flushed face into his splayed hands.

    I decide to stay silent. It doesn¡¯t matter, anyway. What matters is I will be going to the Academy!

    Thank you, Saint Dora! I will not waste this opportunity.

    Although, it is strange that the king wants me to graduate so quickly. Four years of study to be completed in two years? Is it even possible? Skipping the long summer breaks and the short winter breaks would help, but it will still be¡­I gnaw on my lip, contemplating the odds.

    What¡¯s the rush?

    Perhaps I¡¯ll ask Thorne when I share the news about the Academy. He might know something.

    ????

    The king sat with his two trusted mages in his favorite, private study. Back here, when it was just the three of them, all pretense disappeared.

    ¡°She¡¯s beautiful,¡± the king said. ¡°You failed to mention that in your report, Russo. She¡¯s as beautiful as she is spirited. She didn¡¯t even flinch when I ordered her to graduate in two years.¡±

    Russo smiled, but it was somewhat sad as he remembered his first encounter with Lady Florence. ¡°Her beauty was the last thing on my mind that day, Your Majesty. But, I will not argue with your assessment¡ªthe young lady is certainly very, er, pleasing to the eye.¡±

    ¡°Ha. Clerics,¡± mumbled the king with a low chuckle. Russo especially showed no interest in romance or women, not since the time-trap incident involving his twin, Felix. He''d lost interest in many things since then.

    The king shook his head. That was over and done with. Today, they were here to puzzle out a new conundrum: Lady Florence LaVelle.

    The three of them had gathered to look at a portrait¡ªan odd, old portrait. In it, the king and queen at the time were in the foreground, their profiles on opposite sides of the painting, facing one another. Between them was a landscape, with some artistic liberties taken, but the three men gathered today were hopeful that the contents of the painting were accurate, if not the placement of them.

    Dorandia Castle, where the three of them were now, sat at the base of Mount Doran in the distance, rather than its true home of Doran City. At the peak of Mount Doran, a dragon was perched, her tail curved around and down the mountain peak, her head bowed gracefully toward the King and Queen. A guardian at peace.

    Her colors¡ªgold, coral, pink, and lilac¡ªwere a reminder of the setting sun.

    ¡°Her name was Aurora,¡± the king said, his voice almost reverent. ¡°She was the last to hold a covenant with the deh Doran line. It¡¯s said her bones rest within Mount Doran, but that cannot be confirmed.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    As if coming to his senses, he turned around to face the clerics.

    ¡°What of the Hellscape? Can you confirm it was Aurora¡¯s shade?¡±

    The twins looked at one another.

    ¡°Confirm?¡± Russo repeated. ¡°No. But, it is our opinion¡­¡±

    ¡°Our belief,¡± Felix interrupted.

    ¡°Our belief that Lady Florence was blessed by Aurora¡¯s shade. What Aurora¡¯s shade was doing in the Hellscape is another matter¡­¡±

    ¡°Or perhaps not.¡± Felix looked pointedly at Russo, then toward His Majesty. ¡°We cannot rule out that everything is related. The curse, the mana-binding placed on Lady Florence, Aurora¡¯s presence and gift, Lady Florence¡¯s similar hair color and newly awakened mage powers¡­¡±

    ¡°That is why you will keep a close eye on her,¡± the kind said, staring down at them. ¡°Russo, I want you to keep researching the curse. Find out why Florence LaVelle was targeted¡ªif she was the target. Felix, you will be the one to watch her. Befriend her if you must. Provide her counsel when she seeks it. Report everything to me.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±

    If the king noticed a rosy flush creep down Felix¡¯s cheekbones, he did not mention it.

    ????

    <blockquote>

    Dear Ren,

    Do you like your pseudonym? We should use it during training, too, rather than your real name¡­I would ask you to please consider allowing me to refrain from using ¡°Lady¡± while we train, to further conceal your identity. I apologize for my impertinence.

    I expect we can begin your training in about two weeks. This is a delicate manner¡ªI again apologize for my impertinence, but in order to train properly, you need appropriate garments. May I send my trusted seamstress to you for measurements?

    -T

    </blockquote>

    My cheeks flush at him mentioning new clothing. Why? I didn¡¯t think I would be training in dresses¡­but it hadn¡¯t occurred to me how I would obtain the proper garments. It¡¯s not like he¡¯ll be the one measuring me.

    Now my cheeks feel hot. What is wrong with me? Am I ill? Could it be all the stress from earlier in the day?

    I splash some cold water from the basin onto my face until I feel normal.

    <blockquote>

    Dear T,

    Yes, my pseudonym is perfect and I agree with abstaining from using my title while we¡¯re training. It wasn¡¯t impertinent to ask. In fact, I appreciate how thorough you are being to arrange things for me. Please send the seamstress at your earliest convenience.

    I had an audience with His Royal Majesty earlier today, to be formally introduced now that I have debuted. He has ordered that I attend the Academy as soon as possible. But¡­he has also ordered that I graduate in two years or sooner! Do you know why he would order that? I do not mean to question his command, I just worry I won¡¯t be able to fulfill it. I think I remember being a good student as a girl, but there will be so much to catch up on, and so much I don¡¯t know¡­

    Oh, I did not mean to air my grievances to you. There is no need to respond to my rambling.

    Thank you for making the arrangements.

    -Ren

    </blockquote>

    Satisfied, I return the journal and pen to my hiding spot and take out The Path of the Mage.

    Two years. Everything needs to happen in two years. I need to graduate, I need to learn how to use my powers well enough to get by¡ªit¡¯s unrealistic to assume I¡¯ll be a master mage by then, and I need to get stronger. I also need money.

    It¡¯s the last part of my plan that makes me furrow my brow. I need money. I can save my allowance as much as possible, but I still need to make purchases from it, so I can¡¯t rely on it fully. It¡¯s also not going to be enough to live off of after I graduate from the Academy.

    Maybe Thorne would have some ideas. Surely he has connections, being close to Lord Trevor?

    My brow relaxes. He probably would. He is turning out to be quite the dependable fellow¡ªbut that doesn¡¯t mean I shouldn¡¯t still be wary of him. He¡¯s bending and breaking rules for me, which means he likely bends and breaks rules for others. Still, as long as he can help me, I want to use him.

    I need him.

    Decided, I turn my attention to the book and use my newly learned power to open the cover and turn the page to the place I have marked. At first, reading was difficult, especially a book like this. But I''ve had so much time to practice, now I can breeze through the text and exercises, easily learning another few maneuvers that I practice around my room.

    I worry about it being so easy for me. Shouldn¡¯t it be more difficult for a beginner? Especially for someone teaching herself?

    But it is awfully convenient, I think to myself as I launch the book across the room with my power, hide it away, and lock the hiding spot all without leaving my bed¡­just seconds before Mary enters the room.

    My mind wanders back to the loose plan I''ve outlined. It''s a good start, but it''s far from perfect. For the first time, I can relax knowing a future outside of the LaVelle Duchy is possible. I just need to work hard and have patience.

    If there''s one thing I learned in the hellscape, aside from running and hiding, it was patience.

 17. Brother Dearest

    Florence

    The seamstress arrives the next morning. I hadn¡¯t expected her so soon, but I find that I am pleased things are moving along so quickly. Outwardly, there is nothing to suggest she is anything other than an ordinary seamstress. Her appearance is neat and tidy, her dress is plain and in fashion, and the tools she brings are high quality. Is she truly an accomplice of Sir Thorne?

    When Mary leaves us alone to take the laundry away, I decide to risk it and ask her some questions.

    ¡°How do you know Sir Thorne?¡±

    ¡°Sir Thorne?¡± she repeats, a grin spreading across her face, breaking the mask of politeness. ¡°He recruited me from down on Gallows Street. It¡¯s a nasty place, m¡¯lady. In a way, you could say he rescued me.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± I say, though I don¡¯t see at all. Why would Sir Thorne be in a place called Gallows Street, seeking the services of a seamstress? And¡­where exactly is Gallows Street?

    ¡°If you want the proper story, you¡¯ll need to ask him. I¡¯m not at liberty to say, m¡¯lady.¡± Her mass of thick black curls is pinned back in a mess of a bun, and a thick band of russet ribbon that matches her dress wraps around her head like a headband. She glances up from measuring my ankle. ¡°I owe him my life.¡±

    ¡°Hm.¡± Well, he did seem the chivalrous sort, escorting me back home and all. I decide to switch topics. ¡°Do you make this kind of clothing often? What you¡¯ll be making for me?¡±

    ¡°No, not too often,¡± she replies. ¡°Please raise your arms, m¡¯lady. Thank you. But I always enjoy it because it means there¡¯s another one of us in the making.¡±

    I glance at her and she looks down, her cheeks rosy. Is she embarrassed? Or perhaps...ah. Proud.

    ¡°Do you know what you¡¯ll be wielding yet?¡± she asks.

    Wielding? Wouldn¡¯t that be a sword? But¡­I think of all the large, heavy swords I¡¯ve come across. I don¡¯t think a sword will be an option for me.

    I shake my head.

    ¡°Not to worry, I can always make alterations later on, if need be. Thorne knows where to find me.¡±

    It¡¯s only after she leaves that I realize I didn¡¯t ask her name. Not that it matters¡­I won¡¯t be the one dealing with her, will I?

    ¡°Is something the matter, Lady Florence?¡± Mary asks. ¡°You seem upset.¡±

    Do I? Perhaps I am. But¡­why? ¡°Send for some tea and biscuits, will you?¡± I say, then take a deep breath to try and relax the muscles in my face¡ªI can feel the tension of the scowl.

    ¡°Yes, my lady.¡± Mary dips a curtsy and leaves.

    What in the Saint¡¯s name is bothering me?

    I sink onto the edge of my bed, then throw myself backward onto the soft mattress. As the thoughts drift through my head like patchy clouds, I chew on my lip, frustrated that I can''t figure out what it is I''m feeling, let alone what''s causing it.

    My time for self-reflection, however, is cut short when Mary returns and announces Miles has summoned me to the main house. I immediately lose my appetite for the delicious-looking jam-filled biscuits she brought¡ªwhat could my brother possibly want with me?

    ????

    Miles

    Miles sat at the desk in his study, staring off into the distance, thinking about what his father had told him not even an hour ago¡ªEnsure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°Florence is to attend the Academy under the King¡¯s command¡­and not only that, but she must graduate within two years!¡±

    Duke LaVelle had been drinking, a habit he did not often indulge, when he had called for Miles. He recounted what had happened at the Royal Palace, and Miles¡¯ heart sank deeper and deeper the longer his father spoke.

    The situation was dire¡­and the LaVelle family''s reputation was in a perilous position.

    ¡°This is not Florence¡¯s fault,¡± he reminded himself. Yet, it was hard to find someone else to blame. For so long, she was the one asleep in the annex, oblivious to the heartache she caused their parents. She had no idea what all of them had gone through, especially the first few years after she¡¯d suddenly fallen asleep¡­and started screaming as if she was being murdered. She had slept through it all.

    But the rest of them¡ªmother¡¯s heart had broken long ago, her health along with it, Elaine¡¯s engagement was broken due to the recent scandal, the Duke¡¯s now been labeled the Fool of the Kingdom, and Miles, well¡­out of everyone, he supposed he¡¯d suffered the least. Now that his friends knew, they tormented him relentlessly, but the gossip hadn¡¯t impacted his social standing in any real way.

    Now, any moment¡ª

    ¡°You called for me, broth¡ªer, Miles?¡± Florence stood in the open doorway, timid. Small.

    He kept forgetting how small she was, compared to their sister¡ªtall, regal Elaine.

    Starved. The word hissed through his mind, the ensuing guilt clearing away any remaining blame he held for Florence at that moment.

    His face relaxed and his shoulders dropped. It¡¯s not her fault.

    ¡°Yes, come in, Florence,¡± he said, raising a hand and gesturing for her to come forward. ¡°Have a seat.¡±

    Miles took a moment to study her face in the afternoon light. He had gotten somewhat used to her new hair, though it was still a shock every time they crossed paths. Her aqua eyes¡ªhe¡¯d called them ¡°little tidepools¡± when she was younger¡ªwere still the same color, a clear blue-green, but they no longer held the inquisitive innocence of her youth.

    This puzzled him, but he had to tuck it away to mull over later; now, there was something important to discuss.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re to enroll in the Academy,¡± he said, resting his hands on the desk.

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s correct,¡± Florence replied, offering no further explanation. Her hands rested neatly in her lap.

    Was she frightened of him?

    ¡°Ahem. Well, then. You must do well, both to live up to the LaVelle reputation and to meet His Royal Majesty¡¯s command to graduate within two years.¡± He peered at her, blue eyes beneath a wave of auburn hair. ¡°Tell me honestly, Florence: do you think you can manage it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to,¡± Florence shot back. Then, she sighed, sinking back into the chair. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to sound impudent, Miles. I understand the gravity of the situation, believe me. But I¡¯ve always been a good student, you know that. I¡¯m sure the king will be more than happy to let me skip a few unnecessary classes in order to meet his deadline, don¡¯t you think? Which¡­by the way, have you ever heard of anyone graduating in two years?¡±

    ¡°Three years, yes,¡± Miles replied. ¡°Two years¡­no.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Now it was Miles¡¯ turn to sigh. Next to his desk, he had a pile of books, which he now lifted and placed in front of him. ¡°Since you have a few weeks before you start, you should read as many of these as you can. You might be able to test out of a few classes straightaway.¡±

    Florence stared at him, her dainty, angular brow drawn in confusion.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­helping me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a LaVelle, aren¡¯t you?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I¡­supposed so.¡± Her downcast expression irked him.

    ¡°You are. And your debut still counts, even if that bast¡ªahem, I mean, idiot ruined it for you. So no matter what the king wants you for after you graduate, you need to do the LaVelle name proud in the meantime. Is that clear?¡±

    ¡°Yes, brother.¡±

    ¡°Good. You can leave now. I¡¯ll have a servant deliver the books for you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Miles.¡± Her voice was warm, pleased.

    For a moment, he was transported back in time to when a younger Florence had said those same words, in that same, soft voice. She always thanked him whenever he did anything for her, no matter how small.

    But that little girl was long gone. There was a hardness in her eyes that reminded him of some of his friends¡ªcomrades of his who have seen battle.

    He nodded, sure he wouldn¡¯t be able to speak past the lump in his throat.

    Then, she was gone, leaving Miles alone to pick at his tangled knot of emotions.

 18. The Iron Knight

    ~Florence

    My eyeballs. I press the palms of my hands into my eyes as I lie on my bed. It¡¯s mid-afternoon one week after Miles gave me the stack of books to read¡­and read is all I¡¯ve done since.

    I¡¯d had to meet with him a couple of times to ask him some questions, since there are gaps in my general knowledge. Thankfully, he took the time to explain. He also informed me that our mother¡¯s sister is a mage of some renown, but she left the country as soon as she married, only sending letters every few years. Miles wrote to her as soon as he realized I was a mage, but he said not to expect a reply anytime soon.

    Still, for the first time since waking up, it feels like someone in my family is on my side. Despite the pain in my eyes, there has been a warm lump inside my chest, doing its best to thaw the ice surrounding my heart.

    ¡°A cool cloth, my lady,¡± Mary says, placing the cloth on my face. ¡°The seamstress will arrive shortly. Shall I send her up straightaway?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please do.¡±

    She is the reason I¡¯m not reading at the moment¡ªI have to take a break to try on the special garments she finished for me.

    The cool cloth helps the pain. By the time she arrives, I can look around my room without wincing. Who knew one could read too much?

    ¡°Good afternoon, m¡¯lady,¡± she says, bringing in a couple of large boxes and one smaller box. She looks to the left, at Mary. I get the message.

    ¡°Mary, you may leave us,¡± I say. She curtsies and takes her leave. ¡°Before I forget again, may I ask your name?¡±

    ¡°Natalia Shaw, m¡¯lady,¡± she says, dipping a curtsy, ¡°but you may call me Tali if you prefer.¡±

    ¡°Only if you call me Ren,¡± I reply, suddenly feeling shy. Not only would it be practical to get closer to Tali, but it would be nice to have a confidant.

    Her eyes widen and her mouth opens in shock¡ª ¡°Oh, I couldn¡¯t, I¡¯m not supposed¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright if I tell you it¡¯s alright¡­Tali,¡± I say to her. ¡°I don¡¯t have anyone else who¡­who knows about all this, except Sir Thorne. Please?¡±

    Reluctantly, she nods, then briskly sets herself to work unpacking the boxes.

    ¡°Boots.¡± She holds up a pair of sturdy, yet soft, leather boots that reach to mid-calf. The soles are flat. ¡°Leather breeches. Tunic. Bracers. Gloves. Leather corset. Proper undergarments. Hair covering. Cloak. Shall we get you dressed, m¡¯lady?¡±

    ¡°Just a moment.¡±

    I go over everything, picking up each piece and studying it¡ªasking questions as they come to mind¡ªuntil my curiosity is satisfied. The materials are so different than what I''m used to! Only then do I allow Tali to dress me.

    The woman in the mirror is a stranger. She doesn¡¯t look like a girl wearing boys¡¯ clothing. She looks like a woman, a warrior come to life. Or at least, one in training.

    The undergarments feel odd, but the rest of the clothing feels so¡­freeing. I feel like I could run forever in these boots! The corset isn¡¯t too tight. In fact, I feel like it¡¯s protecting me. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    At first, the idea of a hair covering does not please me, but I learned that Sir Thorne ordered Tali to make one¡ªmy hair is so unique that I would be identified immediately if anyone saw me. It is a practical wrap that gathers my hair up to the back of my head, then the ends wrap around to be tied on top. No pins are needed, and I can do it all on my own. Only my golden roots peep out, and that looks normal enough.

    ¡°How does it look, m¡¯lady? How do you feel?¡±

    I can see Tali smiling shyly behind me in the mirror.

    ¡°I¡­wish I could wear this all the time, Tali,¡± I tell her. She beams. ¡°You¡¯ve thought of everything.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not quite true,¡± she admits. ¡°Sir Thorne helped me.¡± He did?

    ¡°But you made it, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I did, yes.¡±

    I smile at her, feeling the best I have in weeks. I can¡¯t wait to start working with Sir Thorne, which can happen any day now that I have my clothes. The Academy starts next week, too, meaning my life will finally start getting back on track.

    ¡°Thank you, Tali.¡± The gratitude I feel is deep and genuine. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ????

    ~Trevor

    <blockquote>

    Thorne¡ª

    She¡¯s ready.

    -N.S.

    </blockquote>

    Trevor read the note and a tendril of excitement shot through him. He could finally get to work training his mage. Not only that, but she would be starting at the Academy in the next week!

    How long had he been waiting for a breakthrough like this in his plan? Over a year now. Granted, his plan was still a few years away from completion, and now it was also contingent on the abilities of his new mage, but the fact was he now had a mage.

    For all intents and purposes, Lady Florence was his.

    Was he a bit of a bastard for taking advantage of her like this? Maybe.

    But it wasn¡¯t like she wasn¡¯t getting anything out of the deal. She was going to get training from a knight¡ªand not just any knight. Lady Florence wouldn¡¯t know this, since he was masquerading as regular knight Sir Thorne, but Lord Trevor Rowanward was known as the Iron Knight, or Trevor the Unbreakable. This was thanks to a battle early on in his career where he had made the stupid decision to stand his ground.

    Luckily, he had been able to hold his position, which allowed the rest of the unit to move forward, then double back, ultimately winning the battle. He had been young and stupid, arguably he still was, and it was honestly a miracle that he wasn¡¯t a flattened smear of flesh and blood beneath the enemy¡¯s feet instead of sitting here in his room, planning a training session for the Lady in the neighboring Duchy.

    He held the note to the candle flame and watched it burn. Perhaps Lady Florence wasn¡¯t getting the best deal, receiving training from a reckless fool like him, but at least she¡¯d learn a thing or two. And put some muscle on that pitiful frame of hers.

    What was it she had said?

    ¡°...I want to be strong. I want to be able to fight off¡­someone your size, for example.¡±

    Her eyes. They¡¯d gone so distant when she¡¯d said that, as if she knew exactly what it felt like to be helpless. But she was a lady of a noble house! Who on earth would dare lay a finger on her, knowing their life would be forfeit?

    Trevor¡¯s brow furrowed. Lady Florence wasn¡¯t exactly a normal lady. Maybe the time they¡¯d caught her on Rowanward land hadn¡¯t been the first time she¡¯d gone out on her own?

    Oh.

    Trevor suddenly remembered where he had taken her the night of her debut. She hadn¡¯t returned to the manor, but to the annex. Did her family force her to live in the annex? Was it her choice? Was there some reason for it?

    He remembered the state she¡¯d been in, the way Peter had described seeing Lady Florence in the training yard, surrounded by hundreds of sparkling gems on the ground, her gown ruined.

    She¡¯d utterly destroyed it.

    Why had she done that?

    Why was she staying in the annex, away from her family...and how long had she been doing so?

    Most importantly, why did he even care?

 19. The Royal Academy

    ~Florence

    I decide to do some last-minute shopping before starting at the Academy, just to make sure I have everything I need. There is a dress code for the Academy, but no uniform. Thankfully, most of my new wardrobe already falls within the requirements, but the other reason I want to take a look at the Capital Square shops is to make sure I am on track with the latest trends.

    Miles¡¯ words still linger in my ears, as do father¡¯s, and Madam Rosanna¡¯s¡ªthe LaVelle reputation depends on my performance at the Academy, as well as my appearance and how I conduct my behavior.

    Yet, even if I hadn¡¯t heard a dozen warnings about how dire our family situation was, I would still want to look and do my best. Pride? Ambition? Tenacity?

    Did the reason matter?

    I have to succeed, to fulfill the king¡¯s command, but I also desperately want to.

    For me.

    Capital Square is the best place in the city, and probably all of Dorandia, to see the latest fashions and trends. Therefore, it¡¯s always busy. I remember that from shopping as a child with Elain and our mother.

    But the business then had seemed a happy, bustling sort of chaos, the kind a child would go home from and immediately go to bed, exhausted and content.

    As soon as we step out of the carriage, however, the sheer number of people overwhelm me. The swarm of ladies and their servants down the promenade, delicate parasols in hand, soon takes the form of a breathing, writhing beast, similar to the one I¡¯d imagined at my debut. The heat from the sun beats down on me¡ªmy own lacy parasol doing its best to combat the relentless rays¡ªand my heart races as my vision narrows and darkens. The pale, smoky beast grows larger while my vision dims.

    If I let go of myself, I think, gripping the parasol tightly enough to feel pain, if I let myself succumb to this encroaching blackness, will I sink into the hellscape once more?

    I know I will. I know it in my bones.

    ¡°Let¡¯s start with the Academy instead,¡± I tell Mary, forcing my voice to sound cheerful.

    She¡¯s not fooled, immediately looking at me with alarm.

    ¡°You¡¯re quite pale, my lady,¡± she says. ¡°Let¡¯s get you out of the heat.¡±

    We make it back into the carriage, where a cool cloth awaits.

    My mind quiets and the remnants of the imagined hellscape crumble away like ash, until all is quiet. I breathe deeply in relief. I had imagined it...right?

    ¡°It was quite crowded today, wasn¡¯t it, my lady?¡± Mary offers, handing me a small glass of water from the basket in the carriage.

    Ah. Perhaps that¡¯s all it had been¡ªat the debut, too. Perhaps I¡¯m simply not used to being around so many people.

    I can tell that to myself, but I know it isn¡¯t completely true.

    ????

    ~Florence

    I had studied a map of the Royal Academy campus ahead of time, making sure to memorize the locations and instructional purposes of all the buildings surrounding the campus commons, which is located in the center. This is where I was instructed to go on my first day, which is to be the first day of summer.

    It had felt so far away¡­and now it¡¯s right around the corner.

    Not many students stay over the summer¡ªmostly students who need to repeat classes, or those who are working on special projects. Therefore the admissions office is nearly empty, but there is one person to greet me since they were told someone was coming today.

    ¡°Florence La¡­Velle,¡± the secretary reads from my admissions paperwork, stunned to see my name. I sigh¡ªthey¡¯ve heard about me, then.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Yes. Er, yes.¡± She adjusts her glasses. ¡°We received some special orders regarding you. From the, er¡­¡± she lowers her voice, ¡°king.¡±

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    ¡°That¡¯s¡­right,¡± I say, not sure what else I should.

    ¡°Here is your schedule,¡± she hands me a piece of paper with the times, classes, and locations laid out. ¡°The introductory mage course is only offered during the fall semester, so a special instructor has been assigned to you for an independent study. You¡¯re incredibly lucky to have this opportunity, especially as a first-year.¡±

    The rest of my classes include writing, mathematics, history, and, ¡°Ladies¡¯ Studies?¡± I read aloud.

    I wrinkle my nose involuntarily. Oops. I shouldn''t sneer.

    ¡°Of course!¡± chimes the secretary, beaming. ¡°All young ladies are expected to attend, and pass, their Ladies¡¯ Studies courses, if they are nobility. There are four courses in total.¡±

    Four?! What on earth could they have to talk about, to spread out over that many semesters?

    ¡°It¡¯s also a great opportunity to meet other young ladies¡­though, I suppose you¡¯ll be much old¡ªoh, I mean, pardon me. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll make some lovely acquaintances in your Ladies¡¯ Studies courses.¡±

    I force a smile at her. ¡°Thank you, Miss. If that¡¯s everything, we¡¯ll take our leave now.¡±

    ¡°Uh, yes! Yes. That should be all. Please feel free to stop back at any time if you need assistance with anything. We¡¯re always happy to help.¡±

    I bet they are.

    I barely make it outside before a groan escapes me. Why hadn¡¯t Miles mentioned the Ladies¡¯ Course? Does he not know about it? It seems like such a waste of time, especially since I''m short on time to begin with!

    ¡°Shall we walk around and find all the locations for your classes, my lady?¡± Mary asks me.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, drawing a deep breath to steel my nerves. It¡¯s not even the first day of classes and I¡¯m already feeling defeated. ¡°Let¡¯s do that.¡±

    The campus is guarded and secure, since many noble children attend, so there is no need for each student to bring their own attendant or guard every day. Mary is only accompanying me today at Miles¡¯ suggestion, since class is not yet in session.

    I am thankful for the company.

    Of course, each of my classes is in a different building, so by the time we are done walking around I am wishing for the flat boots that belong to my practice outfit. Perhaps I could have some fancier ones made¡­though, they would make me even shorter. The benefit of the heeled shoes I wear now is the added inches, however few.

    We exit via the north gate and intend to head back to the Duchy, but my thirst becomes unbearable, so we stop for some fruit spritz and biscuits at a nearby cafe.

    ¡°You seem to be feeling better now, my lady,¡± Mary comments.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I agree. ¡°The campus looked much smaller on the map. I¡¯m thankful there is ample time between classes to travel to and from, and take a short rest for some refreshments.¡±

    Each of the buildings had a sign for a "Tea Room," and we also passed a few small cafes on campus, so there would be plenty of places to get some lunch or tea between classes.

    ¡°Indeed. It¡¯s a pity I cannot accompany you¡ªhow dare they make the ladies fetch their own refreshments and necessities?¡±

    I smile despite myself, though I can feel the fatigue on my face. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Mary. They must have a good reason for it. Perhaps the campus is too crowded with that many extra people?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± she grumbles.

    Her annoyed face is endearing, making my heart warm. I had forgotten how nice it feels to have someone angry on my behalf.

    But someone past Mary, across the street, draws my attention. A group of someones.

    I casually stare harder, pretending to look at Mary. It¡¯s a trio of noblewomen, young ladies who have debuted, according to their clothing and hair. They¡¯re blatantly staring at me and whispering behind their fans, then start arguing amongst themselves.

    What in the Saint¡¯s name?

    Finally, one of them crosses the street towards us and I hastily avert my gaze, raising my glass to take a sip of the sweet and fizzy peach spritz.

    ¡°Pardon me,¡± the lady asks, standing by our table, ¡°but are you Lady Florence LaVelle?¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± I reply. ¡°And who might you be?¡±

    She titters and holds her fan close to her chest. ¡°You probably don¡¯t remember, but I was at your debut. I¡¯m Lady Charlotte Liptoff, and my friends there are Lady Pearl and Lady Ruby Bloodwell. We¡¯d like to invite you to tea sometime soon. May we call upon you?¡±

    I peer into her face. Her violet eyes show interest in me, but the rest of her expression is a polite mask. Her soft-looking brown hair is perfectly styled away from her face.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I say, deciding it¡¯s better to face society head-on. ¡°I¡¯ll look forward to it.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful!¡± She beams, displaying a beautiful, brilliant smile. ¡°We¡¯ll call on you soon.¡±

    She curtsies and crosses the street back to her friends, who curtsy to me before continuing down the promenade.

    Liptoff and Bloodwell¡­

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have agreed, my lady,¡± Mary gently chides. ¡°Liptoff is only a barony! And the Bloodwells are not much better.¡±

    ¡°I forgot.¡± I rub my brow. Truly, I had forgotten.

    Does it really matter all that much?

    Darn it. I know it does.

    Liptoff and Bloodwell¡­Hmm. I''ll have to do some research before they call upon me.

    Sipping the last of my spritz, I also swallow the feeling of impending regret.

 20. Class is in Session

    ~Florence

    The class I¡¯m most excited for, my first mage class, is the last one of the day. It¡¯s a challenge to sit through all the other classes, where I am the oldest by far, but somehow I finally find myself outside an odd-looking door with symbols carved in it on the third floor of the modest Mage Tower on campus. Modest meaning, only seven floors instead of the usual thirteen. My teacher, Professor Elwyn Windemere, looks as if he should be enjoying retirement, not forced to teach a single student the basics of magic.

    He¡¯s a small man¡ªshorter than Elaine¡ªwith a large head of frizzy gray-white hair, casually tied back with a leather strip, dressed simply in a wine-colored tunic and dark gray robes. His long, frizzy beard is gathered in a carved metal bead that sits a few inches below his chin.

    He looks exactly how I would expect a professor of magic to look.

    ¡°LaVelle, hm?¡± he asks as I walk in the door. ¡°Not a big family for mages these days, are you?¡±

    The room is dark due to the lack of windows. There is a large area in the front of the room between the professor¡¯s desk and the students¡¯ desks, which are arranged in an ascending semi-circle.

    ¡°What do you mean, sir?¡± I only know of the aunt my brother mentioned. Ursula Feiknagandr, living in Kirva and married to a "prince" of sorts there named H¨¢gan Feiknagandr.

    ¡°I mean, according to this¡ª¡± he heaves an ancient tome up on top of his desk ¡°¡ªthe LaVelle family used to produce several mages a generation. I don¡¯t suppose you know what happened, do you?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t.¡± But now I wish I did. I had never wondered about anyone other than my parents and two siblings, but there should have been grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins¡­unless father is an only child. And I don''t know if he is or not. Looking back, it is rather odd that no extended family was ever brought up.

    ¡°Ah, no matter.¡± He puts the book away with a whoosh and it disappears. ¡°Now, put your things down and we¡¯ll test your aptitude.¡±

    My stomach sinks¡ªalready? My heart starts thudding away at a rapid pace.

    ¡°Right away? But, I don¡¯t know anything, sir!¡± That wasn¡¯t quite true¡ªI had learned a few tricks from the books, but probably not near what I should know for someone my age.

    ¡°That part doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he waves away my protests with a wrinkled hand. ¡°Especially in your case.¡±

    In my case?

    ¡°What does that mean, sir?¡± I place my books, The Path of the Mage and Theorems for Beginning Mages, on the nearest student desk and stand before him, arms clasped in front of me. I get the feeling I might ask this question a lot in the future.

    ¡°I mean,¡± he heaves himself up so he¡¯s sitting on the front of his desk, ¡°those twin clerics the king has stopped by and talked to me, told me about that mana-binding you had on you in the hellscape. Nasty business, that. Now, to begin with, you wouldn¡¯t have needed a mana-binding if you didn¡¯t have any mana, right? Right! Most mages manifest around adolescence¡ªer, puberty, to be precise. However, you were¡­"

    ¡°Cursed,¡± I provide.

    ¡°Cursed,¡± he agrees, ¡°and trapped in the hellscape, and whoever or whatever did that likely sensed your mana developing. They put the binding on you to prevent you from breaking the curse and getting yourself out of the hellscape.¡±

    ¡°So this is why I had no idea I was a mage.¡± I narrow my eyes, frustrated at my ignorance. I might¡¯ve been able to free myself¡ªsaving myself from years of agony! ¡°The clerics could have mentioned something about it after they had freed me.¡±

    ¡°They thought you already knew,¡± the professor tells me, his kind, sage green eyes softening the anger I feel. ¡°To be fair, most child mages exhibit at least some signs before manifestation, but not all do. Now, shall we see what you¡¯re capable of?¡±

    Professor Windemere raises his hands and I immediately break out into familiar pins and needles down my arms, all the way to my fingertips. The debut!

    ¡°Sir!" I shout, "I think I ought to mention that I accidentally, I think it¡¯s called teleported, at my debut¡­in case it happens again." Dread starts to creep into my stomach.

    ¡°Oh.¡± He lowers his hands and cocks his head to the side. ¡°I don¡¯t get one of you very often...hmm...hmmm!¡±

    My hands buzz briefly, then stop.

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    He hops off the desk and stands before me, only a few inches taller. Bringing up one hand to his face, he begins to stroke his beard as he looks at me, critically, then slowly walks a circle around me. Then, I feel a gentle tingle surrounding me, like the charged air of an electrical storm. A hum of static instead of the swarm of angry, buzzing bees.

    ¡°Ah. Yes,¡± he finally says, standing in front of me once more. ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me, child¡ªI was already keen to teach someone as interesting as you, but to find out you¡¯re also Battle Class potential¡­hm, this is exciting.¡± He continues to stroke his beard as he looks at me. ¡°Exciting, indeed¡­!¡±

    ¡°Battle¡­Class?¡± I ask. Battle Class? Me!? I hope it doesn''t mean what I think it means.

    ¡°Ho ho ho,¡± Professor Windemere grabs my shoulders and gently rocks me back and forth. This time, I do feel a buzz where his hands touch me. ¡°Child, you should be excited, too! What say you to throwing out the curriculum and focusing on what¡¯s really important? Hm?¡±

    Throw out the curriculum!? But¡­

    ¡°But won¡¯t I be tested on the curriculum?¡± Isn¡¯t that why I¡¯m here? To learn what I can in class and then pass the exams as quickly as possible?

    ¡°My dear child, who do you think will be the one testing you?¡± his eyes twinkle. ¡°That would be me. You pass! Ho ho, this is so exciting. Ah! Ah¡­ We¡¯ll need a different classroom¡­hmm¡­¡±

    Parchment and a pen pop out of the air and Professor Windemere begins writing a letter.

    Battle Class.

    My mind wanders as the scritch of the quill continues, as the professor mutters to himself about ¡°practice dummies¡± and ¡°levitation¡± and ¡°containment¡±...

    Did the king know this about me? Did the mages tell him?

    Anger flares within me, followed by a deeper wound of betrayal. Why would they keep such a thing from me if they knew? And if the king knows¡­he probably wants to use me. But he doesn¡¯t know I already have a contract in place with another person. Then again, that probably doesn¡¯t matter¡ªI¡¯m guessing any Order of the King would supersede the agreement I have with Sir Thorne.

    I sigh and bury my head in my arms on the desk. It has been a long day and it feels like¡­it feels like I am drifting helplessly along a powerful current. I knew things would change quickly, especially once my own plans were put into motion, but now they are drifting out of my control.

    The name ¡°Battle Mage¡± obviously makes it sound like they would be sent into battle. Will I be sent off to war, too? Will I be made to kill the king¡¯s enemies?

    I shiver.

    I¡¯ve only ever wanted to learn how to defend myself. Learning how to kill others for the sake of winning a battle¡­that isn¡¯t at all why I¡¯m here.

    Please, I beg, squeezing my eyes shut, please let me live my life in peace.

    I don¡¯t know to whom I¡¯m begging¡ªSaint Dora, the King, or even my enthusiastic professor¡ªI have only just started getting my life back. The very last thing I want is to see it wrested out of my control again.

    Professor Windemere seems kind enough. Perhaps he will take my wishes into account.

    And¡­maybe it wouldn¡¯t be such a bad idea to learn how to fight with my mana while learning to fight with my fists.

    With the frustrating realization that I will have to tread just as carefully here as every other area of my life, my first day of classes comes to an end.

    ????

    ~Lady Charlotte Liptoff

    ¡°I have the best idea, Lady Charlotte!¡± Lady Ruby contributed excitedly in their parlor. They were planning the same tea party that they had asked Lady Florence LaVelle to attend. ¡°We should invite Sir Vester Tyrell!¡±

    The two other ladies present, Lady Charlotte and Lady Pearl, gasped¡ªPearl because she was shocked at the suggestion and Charlotte because she couldn''t believe she hadn''t thought of that herself.

    ¡°Why, Ruby,¡± her sister Pearl admonished playfully, ¡°that¡¯s awfully¡­considerate of you to propose providing him an opportunity to apologize to Lady Florence. I¡¯m surprised we didn¡¯t think of it sooner! What do you say, Lady Charlotte?¡±

    Lady Charlotte Liptoff made a point of looking thoughtful, as if she were actually considering the implications, when in reality she¡¯d immediately decided it was an excellent idea, as if it were her own. The potential for drama was high...and everybody loved a little drama. It was practically expected as part of the entertainment, honestly.

    ¡°I agree,¡± she said, taking a sip of tea. ¡°It¡¯s only right we provide an opportunity for them to reconcile.¡±

    And what better way than with the love and support of all their dear friends?

    Her mind wandered back to the scene at Lady Florence''s debut that had been all anyone could talk about for weeks¡ªa drunk Sir Vester Tyrell (as if he were ever anything but drunk at the parties he attended...) shamelessly walking up to Lady Florence, a lady to whom he had never formally been introduced, and ripping off her wig with all the vulgarity of a rogue. It had happened right in front of Lady Charlotte.

    She''d screamed, obviously, mostly from it being completely unexpected. But after recovering from the initial shock, she''d seen everything else unfold.

    Needless to say, if anyone had needed details of what had happened that night, they knew who to turn to¡ªdiscreetly, of course. Duke LaVelle''s threat was not without merit, but she doubted very much that he could actually prove any rumors might have originated from her, specifically.

    It would be terribly unfortunate if some new scandal were to erupt at her tea party, especially when she was putting so much thought into the atmosphere and guest list. Alas, there is only so much a lady can do.

 21. Unjust Imprisonment

    ~Ursula Feiknagandr, Kirva (North of Dorandia)

    ¡°H¨¢gan,¡± Ursula whispered, counting down the minutes in the small window she had to check on her husband. ¡°H¨¢gan, please. If you¡¯re awake, if you¡¯re alive, please say something, my love.¡±

    It was impossible to see him in the dim light, with only one torch at the end of the hall. Forever dark, forever damp. The chill had sunk into Ursula''s bones the night they were thrown down here and it had never left.

    Finally, a groan. Tears pricked Ursula¡¯s eyes, despite her dehydration. At best, they got two cups of water and half a loaf of stale bread a day, for the past two, maybe three, years. That is all she and her husband have had to sustain themselves in the Belly of the Serpent¡ªthe prison beneath the very castle they had regularly visited as family to the Crown.

    ¡°H¨¢gan,¡± she whispered, knowing the guards would resume their patrol soon and her opportunity for communication would be lost for another full day. ¡°I dreamt of her. I dreamt the curse was broken and she woke up. If that¡¯s true¡­they¡¯ll be looking for her! Do you think they¡¯ll find her?¡±

    ¡°I think¡­¡± H¨¢gan¡¯s voice sounded like tumbling rocks from the cell across the stone hallway. ¡°I think ve should assume the vorst, my love. I don¡¯t think¡­ve vill get out ov here alive¡­and¡­ve are still in here¡­vecause novody knows vhere ve are. I am ¡­sorry¡­Ursula...¡±

    Footsteps stomped from the far end of the hall, accompanied by shadows in the torchlight.

    ¡°I love you, H¨¢gan,¡± Ursula whispered. How she wished she could see his face! But it was far too dark.

    ¡°I, too¡­¡± he whispered back, his voice barely audible above the boots.

    Ursula sat back against the wall in her favored spot, where the stone floor was smoothest and the stone wall the least bumpy. Here, she could rest her arms, heavy with the mana-binding manacles, and think. Despite the block the manacles had on her from using her mana, she had discovered early on that she still often had prophetic dreams.

    She¡¯d had such dreams since childhood¡ªin fact, they had been the first sign that she was becoming a mage. If the dream about Florence was true (she had dared not say her name aloud), then Florence was in danger. Ursula was supposed to be there when the curse broke! But everything had gone so very wrong.

    Wrong, wrong, wrong!

    She had trusted the wrong people and not trusted who she should have. Now, she and her beloved husband had been trapped in the Belly for so long, with no end in sight, and the eclipse was still approaching. Ursula did not know when, exactly. She had tried to keep track of the days when they had first entered the Belly, but since there was no sunlight, it was only possible to go by the rotation of the guards¡­which they soon found out was far from regular.

    However, since there had been no mention of an eclipse by any of the new prisoners or any gossip amongst the guards, she doubted it had happened yet.

    They had been betrayed, yes, but it was Ursula¡¯s negligence and arrogance that had opened the door to that opportunity. The worst part about everything was that she had known¡ªshe had seen¡ªeverything in her dreams, so they''d even had the upper hand. Perhaps that was why Ursula was so sure nothing would go wrong in her plan.

    She should¡¯ve gone back to Dorandia the moment she knew.

    But she hadn¡¯t wanted to leave the life she had built in Kirva with H¨¢gan, even if it was only temporary. She thought she could manage it all by biding most of the time here at home, sending instructions when the time came, and only visiting when she had to, at the end¡­

    Now¡­now it was far too late to do anything but hope somebody good would protect Florence. That was all they could hope for¡ªeverything else was locked away in their house. Even if someone got the idea to go back through their house, which had already been ransacked for evidence of a murder they had not planned or committed, would they be able to make sense of what they found?

    It wasn¡¯t likely.

    Besides, who in Dorandia would think to come here?

    Ursula¡¯s face twisted. She loved her sister, Addie, truly she did, but she had to admit she¡¯d made a terrible correspondent to her. Ursula would let a year or two go by before writing back a huge letter with all the news that had added up, accompanied by years¡¯ worth of gifts for her nephew and nieces. No...the LaVelles not hearing anything from her the past few years was not unusual in the slightest. They wouldn¡¯t think to check on Ursula and H¨¢gan, not for a few years, anyway.

    So, there was very little to hope for.

    Please, protect Florence in my stead, she pleaded, her manacled hands gripped tightly together. Please, do not let the Liutan?ians discover her.

    Saint Dora, Goddess Freja, anyone¡­please¡­

    ????

    ~Emperor Rafeal, Liutan?ia (South of Dorandia)

    ¡°Go on,¡± Emperor Rafael, Fourteenth Son of Luitan?ia, commanded the informant at his feet. ¡°Hesitation only makes me suspicious.¡±

    ¡°It is just that I am not sure of the validity of everything in the report, Your Greatness,¡± he replied, eyes to the ground. ¡°I am happy to share with you all of what I learned. The team has thus been successful in maintaining their disguises as Dorandian researchers. They have reportedly felt a large presence of some kind within the mountain, with what might be an egg, but have not been able to identify it beyond that. They are still looking for an entrance that can accommodate the team and the necessary equipment, which¡ª¡±

    "I don¡¯t understand why this is all taking so long,¡± the Emperor interrupted. ¡°I want that dragon. Therefore, I need that dragon egg. Before it hatches.¡±

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°Yes, Your Greatness, we all understand and are doing our best to grant your wish, but we must be careful in some respect¡ª¡±

    ¡°You are dismissed,¡± the Emperor drawled. ¡°Come back when you have something worth my time.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Your Greatness.¡±

    The informant bobbed his head, bouncing the burgundy knot on top, before walking briskly from the throne room.

    Emperor Rafael lounged to the side, two fingers pressed into his temple. All this talking gave him a headache¡­and it wasn¡¯t even good news. They were no closer to getting his dragon than they were a week ago. Or the week before that.

    The logical side of him knew why it must take so long if he wanted to avoid an all-out war with Dorandia, which he absolutely did¡ªwar was expensive. But the part that wanted the egg now wanted the team to do anything necessary to get it, despite the risks of exposing their identities or endangering their lives.

    The Emperor motioned to the woman standing in the shadows behind his throne, dressed entirely in black. Only her bright amber eyes were visible. She was a Viper, one of the Emperor¡¯s elite assassins and most valued spies.

    ¡°Your Greatness?¡± she asked, bowing deeply.

    ¡°Is that house in Kirva still under surveillance? The one that had the sorceress?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Your Greatness,¡± she replied. ¡°The sorceress and her husband are still imprisoned in the Belly of Kirvnagandr Castle. There has been no activity at the house since their arrest.¡±

    ¡°Ha!¡± The Emperor picked up a lock of his steel-colored hair and rubbed it between his fingers. ¡°No letters? Really? How sad nobody has missed their presence.¡±

    ¡°None, Your Greatness,¡± the Viper said.

    ¡°Hm,¡± he mused, yellow eyes staring off into the distance. ¡°Send the one stationed in Kirva to Dorandia to aid in the search for the Dragon-Speaker. If she wakes before we find her¡­¡±

    ¡°Understood, Your Greatness.¡±

    The Viper bowed low and disappeared behind the Emperor¡¯s throne.

    If the Dragon-Speaker wakes before we find her, he continued thinking, then everything will have been for naught. She must be found and killed before she wakes up.

    ????

    ~Picco, Emperor¡¯s Viper, Kirva

    Picco was playing a game¡ªone of his favorite games. In this game, he had to figure out who in the tavern was telling lies at the very moment. Not only was it entertaining, but it kept his skills sharp¡­and if he happened to learn a few things that might be of interest to someone in exchange for a few coins, well, he¡¯d be a fool to ignore such an opportunity.

    Everyone has ears. If people didn¡¯t want their secrets to be discovered, then they shouldn¡¯t be talking about them in taverns, should they?

    It was while Picco was playing this game that the stone in his hidden breast pocket began to rumble.

    At first, he froze. It had been so long since the damned thing had been used, he wasn¡¯t sure if it even still worked. But he couldn¡¯t answer it now, not in the full tavern. He finished his meal quickly and paid his tab.

    ¡°See you later, Pikko,¡± the barkeep said, as he always did, unable to pronounce Picco¡¯s name correctly with the odd tch sound in the middle, foreign to the Kirvans.

    ¡°Later, Cl?s,¡± Picco replied.

    He went out into the cold, windy night and hurried to his little room above the bakery.

    ¡°It¡¯ll alvays be varm,¡± they¡¯d warned him when he¡¯d enquired about renting the room, as if that was a bad thing, ¡°vecause ov the ovens. You¡¯re sure?¡±

    He¡¯d never been more certain about any decision in his life than renting a perpetually warm room in the perpetually cold north. How he missed the sun-warmed sands of Liutan?ia¡­

    Picco had just taken off his overcoat when the stone rumbled again.

    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Picco murmured, ¡°patience, Commander. Patience. Ah! Ahem.¡± He stroked the sigil on the stone and Commander Nenier¡¯s voice came through.

    ¡°He who strikes first¡­¡± she began.

    ¡°...gets to eat hot soup,¡± he replied, ending their code phrase. ¡°It¡¯s good to hear your voice, Commander. It¡¯s been so long¡­¡±

    ¡°Has it?¡± she cut in. ¡°You¡¯ll be heading south soon, but not home quite yet. The Emperor has commanded you to join the Vipers in Dorandia to search for the Dragon-Speaker. Has there been any movement at the house since we last spoke?¡±

    ¡°None, Commander.¡± Per his routine, he checked last night, just like he did every night, but it was exactly the same as the night before. A house for ghosts. No! Do not think of ghosts.

    ¡°Then, get a good night of rest and head south early tomorrow morning. There is no need to check the house again¡ªyou are relieved from that duty as of now.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Commander.¡± Picco meant it with all his heart. Three years of surveilling an empty house had¡­weighed on him. He would¡¯ve gone crazy if not for the locals and the fun they''d given him.

    ¡°Report to the Doran City safehouse when you arrive and await further instructions.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Commander,¡± he replied. ¡°I will.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Then she was gone.

    Nenier was always like that. Efficient, brisk, but not unkind.

    Picco put the stone away and looked around the room. Was this truly his last night here? Slowly, a smile stretched across his face. He sank down onto his messy bed, heaped with unwashed blankets, and rocked back and forth.

    Finally, he could leave it all behind.

    The monotony, the biting cold, and the ghost that haunted him¡­surely it wouldn¡¯t follow him to Dorandia.

    As an assassin, death was his job. The sorceress and her husband needed to be detained indefinitely, but not killed, so the Emperor had ordered them to be blamed for a death. ¡°The brother of the Kirvan Queen¡± had been much younger than Picco had imagined him to be. Picco had expected a young man, not a boy. But orders were orders¡ªthe death was done and the two were blamed and still in the Belly, where they would be for the rest of their lives.

    The boy, though. Picco felt his presence. A chilly spot. Cold, wet hands. The sensation of being watched. Sometimes he even saw the boy¡¯s face out of the corner of his eye, round eyes eerily stoic.

    Picco was keen to leave it all behind.

    ????

    The next morning, Picco boarded an outbound carriage that an inbound courier had just unloaded. He was tempted to ask if anything had arrived for Ursula or H¨¢gan Feiknagandr, but then he remembered he was officially relieved from that duty. Even if there happened to be a letter in there, the first letter in three years, it wouldn¡¯t be his responsibility to do anything about it.

    Feeling the happiest he had in years, Picco boarded the carriage to Dorandia and leaned his head back, intending to get as much rest as possible on his way south.

 22. Ill Make a Man Out of You

    ~Florence

    I thought there would be more people around, but it¡¯s just Sir Thorne and myself in the practice yard.

    The first week of my lessons is over and my mind is exhausted, but my body is burning with the need to move, especially after sitting for hours at a time, day after day.

    But Sir Thorne is more interested in hearing about my mage classes than beginning our lessons.

    ¡°How did it go, m¡¯lady?¡± he asks, arms crossed in front of his chest. In the evening light, I can barely make out his features beneath the cowl he wears.

    ¡°I have nothing to compare it to, so how am I supposed to know?¡± I¡¯m not as polite as I could be¡ªthe crankiness I feel is hard to bury beneath pleasantries. ¡°He says I¡¯m promising. And, since I¡¯m the only one he¡¯s teaching, he wants to forgo the curriculum and teach me what he called, ¡®more useful things.¡¯¡±

    Sir Thorne smiles. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind my asking, m¡¯lady, who is your professor?¡±

    ¡°Sir Elwyn Windemere.¡±

    Sir Thorne gasps¡ªthe most uncomposed I¡¯ve seen him since meeting him. ¡°The Elwyn Windemere? The Wind Rider?¡±

    I shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about him, honestly.¡±

    ¡°Lady Florence, he¡¯s a legendary Battle Mage! Every single knight in the kingdom has heard of him.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not a knight, am I?¡± I point out. ¡°Can we begin now? I don¡¯t have much time before I¡¯ll be missed. Also, I thought you were going to call me ¡®Ren.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Right, right. Of course¡­R-Ren,¡± Sir Thorne clears his throat and shifts his feet on the packed earth. ¡°First of all, I need to gauge how strong you are¡­do you want to run laps first, or do strength testing?¡±

    I smile. This is the kind of thing I was hoping for tonight. ¡°Strength testing.¡±

    He nods. ¡°See that bar over there, mounted between two trees? Try to pull yourself up like this¡ª¡± he jogs over and demonstrates, hanging from the bar and easily pulling his head above it ¡°¡ªas many times as you can.¡±

    I stand below the bar and immediately notice a problem: I won¡¯t be able to reach it, even if I jump. I glance at Sir Thorne just as he seems to realize the same issue.

    ¡°Ah,¡± he walks over to me, ¡°with your permission¡­¡±

    I nod, and he holds me around the waist and lifts me to the bar. The metal is smooth and cold in my hands, an unfamiliar sensation. I grip it tightly and try to mimic the maneuver, immediately feeling a burn in my arms as they try to lift my dead weight. They start to tremble as I pull my chin closer and closer to the bar, and I start to doubt I¡¯ll be able to do it.

    Am I really this weak?

    No. No! I refuse to be.

    Sweat breaks out on my brow and my body shakes, but I finally pull my chin above the bar. I fall limp and let go, knowing I won¡¯t be able to do another one, but Sir Thorne catches me around the waist before I hit the ground and eases me down to it.

    ¡°Well done,¡± he says, his gravelly voice too close to my ear. ¡°Are you steady?¡±

    He still has his hands around my waist! Am I? Am I lightheaded?

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I say, though I do feel a bit flushed. He lets go.

    ¡°Good. You can rest for a bit, then we¡¯ll move on. By the way, not even all the new pages can do that when they first start their training.¡±

    Is he trying to praise me? I try to find his eyes beneath the hood, but I can¡¯t see them.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t they about ten when they start?¡±

    Half my age.

    ¡°Around that, yes,¡± he chuckles softly, ¡°but¡­forgive me, m¡¯lady, you¡¯re about the same size as some of them.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault,¡± I retort, grabbing a waterskin hanging nearby and heading for a tree stump.

    My palms burn from the effort of pulling myself up. I stare at them, red and raw from rubbing on the metal.

    He must sense something in my tone, for his next question is, ¡°Do you want to talk about it, m''la¡ªuh, Ren?¡±

    Sir Thorne takes a seat nearby while I rest. Do I? It dawns on me that nobody has ever asked me that before. Nobody!

    ¡°We have¡ª¡± what did the book call it again? ¡°¡ªconfidentiality in our agreement, correct?¡±

    At one point, I had taken a book from the LaVelle library on agreements, contracts, and obligations, so I could be better prepared to deal with Sir Thorne. Sometime soon, we really should write down our terms¡­

    ¡°Yes,¡± he says. ¡°Whatever you share is safe with me and I expect the same from you.¡±

    I take another sip. It would probably be good for him to know. Someone should.

    ¡°Alright, then. When I was under the sleeping curse, I wasn¡¯t actually ¡®sleeping,¡¯ like you would at night. The clerics told me that my soul was in a hellscape, mana-bound with a collar around my neck. All I knew how to do in that place was run. Run away, I mean.¡± The hellscape comes alive in my mind, crackling fire with emerald and crimson flames. Sapphire lightning splits the inky sky. ¡°It is a place filled with demons and shades, shadows and apparitions. There were a few who would plague me more than others¡­but¡­it didn¡¯t matter what they looked like. I ran away from them all. That is how I know how to climb, and crouch, and run, and swim, and¡­slither like a snake.¡±

    Stolen novel; please report.

    The toad man and the knife woman leer at me in the shadows, their glowing eyes growing closer. I look away. I look into Sir Thorne''s hood and see the flash of a smile in the shadows¡ªhe remembers me being compared to a snake the first time I got caught on the Rowanward March.

    ¡°Apparently, while I was busy doing all of that with my soul, my body would thrash about on the bed. They told me they tied me down so I wouldn¡¯t hurt myself. But¡­I have scars from the ties rubbing my wrists and ankles. I think I might¡¯ve been tied up so as not to hurt them. Anyway...

    ¡°While I was tied up, Mary, my maid, says it was difficult to feed me. She says that I was ¡®uncooperative¡¯ and that I would choke on anything I had to chew. So, I was fed mush. This,¡± I gesture to my small frame, ¡°is the result of seven years of mush. I know I do not look...grown. But, I also know it isn''t my fault." I breathe out a sigh, finding I feel better having told someone my horrible secret, even if that someone is still mostly a stranger to me. "I expect you not to repeat any of this to anybody, Sir Thorne, including Lord Trevor.¡±

    Sir Thorne is quiet for a moment before he responds. ¡°You have my word, my lady.¡±

    There¡¯s an edge to his voice that hasn¡¯t been there before, but I can¡¯t place it. Almost like anger, but who would he be angry at? Not me, surely, I know that much.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready to run now,¡± I tell him. More than ready¡ªI¡¯m eager to burn away that distasteful confession.

    ¡°Very well.¡± He gets to his feet. ¡°I¡¯ll run the first lap with you to show you the course, then run as many more as you can after that, Lady Florence¡­Ren¡±

    We set off on a faint track outside the boundary of the yard, that also circles the thicket I had landed in a few weeks prior. Sir Thorne points out the markers that denote the start and midway points. True to his word, he stops after just one lap.

    The boots that Tali crafted for me feel infinitely better than the ones I had stolen¡ªthey are shaped well to my feet and supportive. My lungs begin to burn by lap three, but I push through, enjoying the sensation of stretching my legs, using my legs.

    Lost in the burn, I lose track of the number of laps and Sir Thorne eventually rejoins me, running alongside me.

    ¡°You¡¯ve run for over two miles, m¡¯lady,¡± he says. ¡°You can stop now. I can see this is not an area you need to improve much upon.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± I heave a breath, slowing to a walk. Sir Thorne walks with me.

    ¡°Have you ever shot an arrow?¡± he asks after a few moments, while we walk.

    I shake my head ¡®no,¡¯ still catching my breath.

    ¡°Drawn a sword?¡±

    No.

    ¡°Used a knife?¡±

    No.

    ¡°Thrown your fists?¡±

    I smile, but still shake my head, ¡®no.¡¯

    When we get back to the yard, he has me punch into his hand, try to lift a few different swords and blades (eyeing each attempt critically), and try to draw a bow, all of which I fail to do.

    The frustration I feel must be obvious, since Thorne says, ¡°This is normal, Lady Flor¡ªI mean, Ren. Have some faith in yourself, and me. It¡¯s only the first day, after all.¡±

    ¡°But all I can do is run,¡± I say, feeling like a petulant child. "And lift myself once."

    ¡°Which is more than some can do when they first begin. You¡¯d be surprised how spoiled and lazy some of those little noble brats can be¡­ah, I mean¡­I shouldn¡¯t have said that.¡±

    I find myself smiling, whether it was his intention or not, and I do feel better about myself. Besides, it¡¯s true¡ªeveryone has to start somewhere. The fact that he¡¯s not giving up on me tells me he still thinks I¡¯m trainable, which means he thinks I can learn something. Maybe not a sword or a bow, but there were a lot of weapons, more than I knew existed. Surely, there is something I can work with.

    As if hearing my thoughts, Sir Thorne says, ¡°With some training, I think I have the right weapons for you. But you¡¯ll need to be patient with yourself Page Ren¡ªit takes time to build muscle.¡±

    I nod, trying to look serious, but then a laugh escapes. ¡°Page Ren? Really?¡±

    ¡°Maybe you¡¯d be more of a squire, to be honest¡­¡±

    ¡°Are you serious?¡± He has to be making fun of me.

    ¡°If you were knighted, you¡¯d be Dame Florence,¡± he spreads his hands out in the air majestically. ¡°Yes, ''Dame Florence,'' that has a nice ring to it. However, it takes about seven years to be knighted and you¡¯re what, nineteen? Hmm¡­¡±

    He strokes the stubble on his chin.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to be knighted,¡± I say, trying my best to sound serious, but I can¡¯t help but be pulled into his musings. ¡®Dame Florence¡¯ really does sound nice, now that I¡¯ve heard it.

    ¡°But if you could, would you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I say without thinking. I put my hands over my mouth.

    Sir Thorne looks down at me for a moment, as if studying me, then nods and says, ¡°Duly noted, my lady. Ren. Squire Ren.¡±

    I heave a sigh before I can laugh again. ¡°Goodbye, Sir Thorne. I should go now.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I suppose it¡¯s time.¡±

    ¡°Until next time,¡± I say, then run to the trail that will take me home.

    ????

    ~Trevor

    As soon as Lady Florence was out of sight, Trevor turned to a raven that had been sitting silently on a high branch nearby.

    ¡°Go,¡± he commanded.

    Lady Florence insisted she did not need an escort to and from the training grounds, arguing that the Rowanward March was regularly patrolled, and therefore safe.

    It was true that Trevor¡¯s men patrolled the perimeter of the march. It was also true that Trevor prided himself on keeping it relatively safe.

    But it was impossible to keep out every single danger.

    Therefore, he surveilled her through Bergamot. Then he¡¯d know if something happened to her. Trevor knew she wasn¡¯t helpless, especially now that her mage lessons had started, but if bandits or wolves attacked...

    He sighed. Florence''s words, "I know I do not look...grown," echoed in his mind. Objectively, she was small. But he wouldn''t say she didn''t look grown. Was she not aware of her appearance? She certainly didn''t look like a boy in the clothes Tali had crafted for her. If a bandit got his hands on her...would she be able to fight him off?

    The thought of another man laying his hands on Lady Florence filled Trevor with a strange feeling. Surely, it was his sworn duty as a knight to protect a noblewoman such as Lady Florence, but was it more than that?

    No. No, it couldn''t be anything more than disgust at the possibility of such an attack happening. Maybe...maybe he would simply have to insist on accompanying her. Even with Bergamot watching, his unease was simply too great.

 23. Time to Wake Up

    ~Florence

    Heat. Hot¡­breath, or it might be steam. I feel cramped. Trapped¡ªpowerless. At the same time, I know it is not me. I long to  s t r e t c h  my back and arms¡­and my¡­wings?!

    I am myself once more and see¡­my dragon. I¡¯ve missed her! Gold, coral, pink, and lavender. She is giant, then she is¡­not. I do not understand, but it feels normal¡ªI do not panic. I am happy to see her. She is more substantial than a fluffy cloud, so I am able to hug her snout. She rumbles softly, reminding me of a cat''s purr.

    Young one, she calls to me, young one, take heed¡ªyou must remember Raius. That one will need you.

    Raius? I do not know the name, but I tell myself in my dream to remember¡ªI can only hope I will.

    Young one, she says, danger approaches. This ancient one cannot protect Raius in the physical¡­world. Raius is the last of this ancient one''s kind.

    ¡°I thought you were the last?¡± I speak to her, but not with my tongue. Though strange, it feels natural to do so.

    She shakes her wispy head. No, young one. Long ago, with the last sliver of this ancient one''s life, a precious egg was made. But this ancient one had to abandon it to join the ?ther, where this lonely one has walked since. Waiting. The egg rests in this ancient one''s bones, waiting.

    ¡°The ?ther? Is that the hellscape?¡±

    No, young one. The ?ther is like a river. She pauses, then draws a river made of shimmery vapor in the air, with small branches leading off of it. There are¡­tunnels to other planes, such as the hellscape this young one inhabited. Ah¡­I must go.

    ¡°No! So soon¡­¡± Already, she fades, back to the familiar fluffy cloud I clung to for so many years.

    Remember Raius, young one, she calls to me, her voice growing softer.

    As if sensing my will slipping away, she trumpets loudly, as she used to.

    I gasp, waking in a cold sweat and breathing hard.

    ¡°Raius!¡± I say to myself. ¡°Raius¡­Raius¡­I need¡­write it down¡­¡±

    With my mana, I summon the first notebook that comes to mind and write down the name¡ª

    Raius.

    As soon as the pen leaves the page, exhaustion consumes me, as if I¡¯ve just completed training with Sir Thorne. I shove the notebook under my pillow, and barely lay my head upon it before feeling sleep come to claim me once more.

    ????

    ~Duchess Adeline LaVelle

    Adeline LaVelle sat in a chair by the window in her room. She was dressed in a soft, warm, white nightgown, a lavender robe edged in lace, and she wore soft lavender slippers on her feet. A soft blanket was tucked around her in the chair as she sat, motionless, staring out the window. Her pupils were tiny black dots in watery hazel, but she did not look away from the sunny view.

    Her daughter was awake. Florence was awake. She had known this for some time now, but every morning when she remembered, it was still a shock. Somewhere, deep, deep inside her, she felt a hint of relief. But it was a single stitch attempting to mend a heart ripped in two.

    Adeline was broken and had been for years. She had lost the will to live, and love. Failure after failure with Florence had chipped away at her delicate nature. Addie had been loving, yes, but she was also soft¡ªnot a fighter by any means.

    She first gave up on Florence, and then shortly after, she gave up on herself. Barely a year after Florence fell asleep.

    For the first time in their twenty years of marriage, the Duke and Duchess had moved into separate bedrooms¡ªthe Duke unable to bear the listlessness of his wife, and the Duchess unable to bear the pain she knew she caused him.

    She was completely aware of her apathy, her detachment from the world, which is why she decided to remove herself from it. Addie simply could not make herself care about anything¡ªnot anymore. Not her husband, not even her own children.

    So, every day, Addie looked out the window, watching the seasons change in the garden. Once, quite recently, she saw Florence sneak out of the annex. It was the first time since becoming ill that something stirred within her¡ªa forgotten feeling. Curiosity. Since then, she¡¯d kept a closer eye on the garden, in case she caught a glimpse of Florence, knowing that a glimpse was all she deserved.

    The debut had been¡­a nightmare. Because she had grown so physically weak, Elaine had held her up. As soon as Addie saw her daughter, she knew it had been wrong to let Madam Rosanna be in charge of everything. Florence looked miserable¡ªwhile Addie didn¡¯t feel guilty, she knew she would have if she were capable.

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    But she hadn¡¯t been able to say anything. She hadn¡¯t been able to move. Her body had failed her. She had felt something that night¡ªfrustration. Perhaps even anger. It was the first time in a long, long time that something had evoked a reaction from her. Perhaps...even if she was broken, she might be put back to¡ª

    ¡°Good afternoon, Your Grace,¡± Madam Rosanna said, striding into the room with her usual brisk sense of purpose. She was wearing a court-regulation ensemble and hadn''t bothered to change out of it yet. Ah, the meeting at the Royal Palace must¡¯ve been today. ¡°How are you doing today, Your Grace?¡±

    Because Madam Rosanna was so used to Addie¡¯s silence, she continued talking before Addie could respond.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I should be the one to tell you, but I feel you must know¡­¡± Madam Rosanna walked over and perched on the chair opposite Addie and grabbed her hands, as was her habit. ¡°My lady, His Royal Majesty has labeled Duke LaVelle a fool, and it¡¯s all due to Lady Florence, the poor girl.¡±

    She tsk¡¯d.

    Addie opened her mouth to speak, but Madam Rosanna continued, ¡°His Majesty said the LaVelle Duchy is no longer in his favor¡ªthat Duke LaVelle would have been whipped if not for his mercy! Whipped! Like a common thief! It is truly unfortunate Lady Florence attracts so much trouble.¡±

    ¡°Now, I have a plan,¡± Madam Rosanna continued, sitting back in the chair. ¡°I¡ª

    ¡°No,¡± Addie said softly, finally finding her voice.

    Madam Rosanna stopped, a smile frozen on her face.

    ¡°My lady?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No,¡± Addie said again, looking out the window. ¡°Leave her be.¡±

    The words had been no louder than a whisper, yet the silence stretched after.

    ¡°A-as you command, my lady,¡± Madam Rosanna said, getting to her feet. ¡°I will let Lady Florence be, until you¡­or the Duke, commands otherwise.¡±

    Madam Rosanna left, leaving a cloud of rose perfume behind. Addie finally, after all these years, knew better than to trust Madam Rosanna at her word, but surely she wouldn¡¯t lie about something so serious as the King calling her husband a fool. As for it being Florence¡¯s fault¡­

    Addie sighed. The poor girl had been blamed for enough.

    She needs me, she thought. But how can I?

    Addie was so weak physically after letting herself waste away for years. But it wasn¡¯t just that. When she¡¯d heard the news that Florence was awake, she hadn¡¯t felt anything. It was as if Claude had told her the cat had woken up from his nap. It was insignificant. She¡¯d managed to tell her husband, ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± and even forced a smile on her face, but Claude knew it was fake.

    Claude understood her well enough by now to know it wasn¡¯t her fault she felt, or rather, didn¡¯t feel a certain way, but she knew it still hurt him. How could it not? So, he¡¯d had to face Florence by himself, he alone bearing the aftermath of her awakening.

    How could she face her daughter like this? At least Elaine knew the truth of it. She knew what to expect from her mother. But Florence wouldn¡¯t know that¡­Florence would see someone who couldn¡¯t even pretend to be happy to see her.

    So, it had been better to say she was ill.

    At least, that¡¯s what she¡¯d thought at the time. Perhaps that had been a mistake, too. Her daughter was nineteen now¡ªalmost an adult in the eyes of Dorandian law, and she had treated her as if she were still twelve.

    ¡°How can I?¡± she whispered to herself. Where could she even begin? Should she write a letter to Florence explaining what happened, and let Florence decide if she even wants to meet after all this time has passed?

    If not Addie, then who else would try to mend these things? It shouldn¡¯t fall to Florence¡ªshe is the one who suffered far more than any of them.

    Madam Rosanna could no longer be left to roam unchecked. Addie had trusted her for years, had even considered her a dear friend, but lately¡­lately¡­

    Perhaps shutting herself away from reality might also have something to do with her unwillingness to pull back the curtain on her suspicions. But that might be difficult to do unless she hired some new attendants.

    ¡°If only Ursula were here,¡± she murmured, thinking wistfully of her strong, talented, younger sister, who also had a scathing tongue when angered. But it had been several years since she¡¯d written. Had Ursula given up on her, too? Addie shook her head.

    She¡¯d give herself a short list of things to accomplish¡ªshe¡¯d write a letter to Florence and talk to Claude about hiring some new attendants.

    Surely, she could do that much?

    ????

    ~ Mount Doran Research Division (MDRD), Mount Doran

    ¡°Keith, Keith! Get yer ass up here and take a look at this,¡± Professor Darnel shouted down the dirt track the team had just dug the day before.

    Thirteen pairs of eyes looked up at him, bright spots of amber, green, and blue on their muddy faces, though Keith was always recognizable by his hair. He had been allowed to keep the blue color, since he was young enough to pass as a recent graduate, thus more prone to unconventional hairstyles. While cyan was not as natural a color in Dorandia as it was in Liutan?ia, readily available hair dye made it slightly more common. As long as he spoke flawless Dorandian, there was no reason to suspect Keith wasn¡¯t a natural citizen.

    ¡°Yes, Prof?¡± Keith asked. The two had been friends before joining the Mount Doran Research Division, the name of the fake research team that served as the front for Liutan?ia¡¯s infiltration into Dorandia. It was hard for Keith to see Darnel as anything but his friend, however, Darnel was a powerful mage. ¡°Think you found it?¡±

    ¡°What do you think?¡±

    Darnel stepped back and let Keith take his place in front of the rockface, which had seemed like an impenetrable wall of granite a moment before. But from the angle Darnel was standing, there was a seam about an inch wide. Keith put his hand up to it to confirm what he felt blowing across his face¡ªwarm, steamy air.

    He turned to face his friend, who was already grinning.

    ¡°We¡¯ve found it, Keith! We¡¯ve finally found the bloody thing,¡± Darnel said, eyes moist with relief. ¡°A way in.¡±