“In the beginning, there was fire. All-consuming and full of rage, the great fire snuffed out any attempts at life. The fire had neither mind nor soul; pure rage and desolation fueled its rampage. Until the day the divine seed came into being, as a natural opposition to the great fire. Oh, many sprouted forth, creating the stars and the sun, the moon and the ocean, the land and humans, and all the creatures that inhabit them.

These new beings were tasked with keeping back the fire, establishing a new order so their descendants could walk freely without fear of desolation. The divine left their mark on the world, leaving behind remnants of their power as their last stand against the great fire, creating a permanent barrier against all darkness.

The inhabitants of the new world were left in peace since that day, with kingdoms rising and falling. The natural cycle of death and rebirth ruled supreme. But peace could not last forever, and one day the great fire would return, bringing with it atrocities and darkness unfathomable. The world would be purged, and only the worthy would weather the flames.”

The woman’s croaky voice echoed impossibly in the vast chamber. The speech was customary before the eating could commence. Axelia, of course, was too old to believe in such ramblings now. She had survived enough winters and encountered enough men to trust only in common sense rather than men’s limitless virtues.

Her eyes scanned the table, her heart burning with every set of eyes around her. All dull and brown, as good as commoners, the lot of them. She had been seated away from the main table, where her many brothers and sisters were seated, where the king was seated next to his wife. It was an insult, a reminder that she was not truly considered a Blantrall by law, and she never would be.

It had been purposeful, and nonetheless, there was nothing she could do. She had been burned before, and she refused to be such a child yearning for a father’s affection again. Nor would she allow her siblings—all poisoned with their own notions of grandiosity—to make a fool of her tonight. She felt no draw toward the food on the table but allowed herself to be served by a female slave. The slave was not one she had seen before, her face a mask of indifference even in the face of the jeers and calls of the men surrounding her.

That was who she had to be tonight. A mask of indifference; nothing could dare break her shield. She could not allow it.

“Attention! Attention!” a voice called out, silencing the budding chatter in the room. The words echoed in the vastness of the hall before dying out. Her eyes were drawn to the man standing a few steps below the main table where the rest of her family was seated. He was one of her father’s advisors, dressed in various outrageous colors with a foolish smile on his aged face. He would serve better as a jester in her opinion.

The man, whose name she could not recall, stood to the side, sweeping an arm toward her father’s seat. The king rose, though it did not come easily. His body seemed to sway uncontrollably, his frail frame unable to support movement. He was easily a few hundred years old. The sorcery their family practiced extended their lifespan, but even that had limits.

The king was dressed in his full attire that night, as befitting the Feast of Remembrance. He wore robes of the finest silk, white in color, with their family’s crest embroidered all along the front in gold. His eyes had the same eerie reflective quality that all Blantrall possessed. The glass crown that sat upon his head seemed almost to reflect the desires of anyone who dared hold its gaze for too long. Ancient sorcery was imbued in it; she had only ever seen glimpses of its power.

Flashes of screaming men flickered through her mind. Shaking off the thoughts, she returned her attention to the king.

“I have ruled this kingdom for many years. Even more so, I have kept the people safe and prosperous. It is with such judgment that I am to announce my—inevitable stepping down from power. The hope of the future lies within my children, and one shall rule you all in the coming times.” He paused, and the entire audience waited for his next words. The tension was palpable; no one could believe that tonight was the night the king would announce his abdication. Axelia herself was in shock. Despite her dislike for her father, he had always seemed like a constant in her life. The idea that he would simply hand over the throne was hard to grasp.

“There shall be a decision on another day; for now, let us bask in our prosperity.” With a swiftness surprising for such an aged man, he grabbed his goblet and thrust it into the air. The entire hall erupted into incessant cheering, fists thumping rhythmically on tables. Joyous shouts filled the air. The only thing Axelia could summon was dread. Dread about what was to come, for the kingdom and for herself.

The feast was an odious affair, and she found herself losing track of time. Many of the nobles around her tried to start conversations, but all she sensed in them was lust, no doubt thinking her an easy target. She forced herself to stay for as long as was socially polite, but by then, she could have gouged her eyes out from boredom. She left as silently as possible; no one would dare come after her in her father’s castle, but she had no doubt the queen would have a fit if she noticed.

Stepping out into the hall, her footsteps echoed along the empty corridor; cold wind bit at her bare shoulders, the large openings in the wall to her left letting in copious amounts of air. Torchlight flickered and danced, illuminating the path ahead of her. The scene outside the openings was an endless void, so different from the beautiful day.

She could hear none of the noises from the hall, likely due to some type of sorcery. The silence gave her time to think, but her thoughts only brought feelings of fear. She would no longer be untouchable; as much as she hated her father, he had ensured that no one would openly challenge her. Her siblings would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to harass her even more than they already did.

The whispers in her mind were dark, fear and sadness clouding her thoughts. Something was wrong; she could sense it lurking in the shadows. She quickly drew upon her blood, seeking clarity of mind. This was not natural; there was something hiding. Malignant energy was being directed toward her. There was no use denying her instincts; she was a Blantrall by blood and held just as much sorcery within her as any of her siblings.

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She risked a glance behind her. Nothing but an empty corridor lay there. Turning back in front of her, she found a firm grip on her throat, her body being painfully pressed against the stone wall. Unable to speak except for little gasps, her eyes flickered upwards.

A man with half his face covered by black silk, only his scar-ridden mouth and beard visible to her. Seeing the mask, a thread of fear twisted around her heart. Sinetryll. The vassals to the house of Blantrall, their sworn protectors. And one was currently holding her life in his hands. Her lungs fought for oxygen against the tight grip on her throat. Little gasps escaped her mouth despite her efforts.

“Missus, I’m afraid you’ve made some enemies,” the man said, leaning in. She pushed her head back into the wall, but there was nowhere to go. His voice was scratchy, as if the scars lining his mouth extended further. His breath hit her nose, and she wanted to run, but she was trapped. Panic surged within her; she clawed at his hands, but he didn’t flinch as her nails drew blood. Sinetryll were born and bred assassins; no pretty words spouted by her family could persuade anyone otherwise. She had just never thought she would be on the receiving end.

She forced her throat to make sounds despite the suffocating pressure. “You—are—” she sputtered, gasping for breath. The hand on her throat loosened slightly, allowing more air into her lungs. “Sworn to protect,” she finished, her eyes beseeching his. She couldn’t fathom it; he was going against his duty to protect the Blantrall.

The pressure on her neck increased again. His mouth curved upward, one side refusing to match the other, revealing his rotted yellow teeth only on one side. He leaned into her neck; she could feel his rancid, hot breath, and she sensed she had more to fear than death in that moment. His nose nuzzled into her, and she trembled, her mind scrambling for anything she could use against him.

She futilely pushed against his chest as his free hand began to wander over her body. Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them shed. He chuckled as he sensed her resistance, amused by her futile efforts. Bile rose in the back of her throat, the acidity burning her mouth.

“Don’t be afraid, missus, I promise—” A wet slick sound interrupted him, and a hot liquid poured over her face and body. Her eyes were clenched shut as the hand holding her neck slackened and fell, followed by the sound of a heavy thud on the ground. All she could focus on was the furious beating of her heart and the panic running wild inside her.

“Princess!” A familiar voice shouted. She felt firm hands grip her shoulders, and though she wanted to panic further, she recognized the man. Forcing her body to obey her mind, she opened her eyes. Her vision, distorted and shaking, allowed her to make out the familiar form of Rudal, her knight.

“Are you okay? Did he manage to do anything untoward?” he asked, his voice laced with rage. She couldn’t fully comprehend the words coming out of his mouth, but she didn’t need them to see the intentions within his soul, the strength she found herself naturally drawing upon, calming her. The alien emotions ran their course through her body, her heart slowing and her trembling ceasing.

Taking deep breaths, her mind returned to her, and her body settled. She was able to take in her surroundings, including the knight in front of her. She pulled herself out of his grasp, separating herself from him and the body on the ground between them. A quick glance downward revealed what had happened—Rudal’s sword had sliced clean through the top of the man’s skull.

It was her first time seeing such a violent death, and yet all she felt inside was regret that it hadn’t been worse for what he had done. It caught her by surprise, but she had more pressing matters to worry about. She was not fully unshaken from the events that had just taken place, but she needed answers.

“That man,” she began, taking a pause, her voice breathy and filled with false strength. Trying to steady her words, she continued, “—He was a Sinetryll; he was sworn to protect,” she finished, her voice breaking at the end. It didn’t sound right to her ears that such a man could ever have been capable of protecting anything. He was far too dark, far too enmeshed in the shadows even for one of his kind.

Her eyes flashed to meet Rudal’s. She wanted him to tell her that he had been a rogue, that he had acted against her family’s knowledge to get what he wanted. As horrible as that would be, the alternative was even worse.

He wouldn’t even meet her eyes, casting them to the ground. That was as much confirmation as she needed.

She once again felt panic threatening to overtake her, but this time she could fight it. “Who?” she asked, her voice small and barely reaching the distance between them. Rudal did not answer, his eyes still cast away from her. She could feel the fear and guilt he carried inside him. That did nothing to suppress the other emotion within her—rage clawing its way up from her gut and into her throat. She took a step toward him, her hands clenched in the fabric of her dress.

“Rudal, I asked you who,” her voice was tinted with anger but still controlled; she could barely hold onto it. This time, he raised his eyes, and she saw something she had never thought to see in them. There was a wariness that almost broke her anger. What could such a man fear from her after he had just saved her from a savage? But she refused to let it distract her, letting more rage seep into her mind.

“Who!” she shouted, her voice fully consumed with rage. Other emotions, too—betrayal and fear—were the strongest. Her body was trembling once more, and she cursed herself for being so weak and pitiful. But she steeled herself, not breaking eye contact with the knight.

“I—I do not know who sent that man, Your Grace, but I can guess as to why,” he paused, his face contorting in displeasure. “The announcement the king made tonight has given your siblings free rein; they will try to eliminate any obstacles in their path to the throne,” he finished, turning his eyes away from her once more.

She had suspected as much; she had not wanted to admit it to herself. She had foolishly thought she would be safe. She was a bastard, a girl at that. In her mind, she had lied to herself, imagining that she would simply be cast away, never that they would outright try to kill her. She should have been making preparations the whole time instead of doing nothing. There was nowhere for her to go now; the Sinetryll would surely come after her even harder, and she had no defense against them.

“What will I do?” she asked aloud weakly. It was not intentional; her mind was simply too absent to focus on her surroundings. It had already been bad living in the castle surrounded by people who hated her because of her mother. What would it be like now? Did they all know? Did they see a dead girl walking, stupidly unaware of the threat to her life hanging over her head at every moment?

“I will hide you, My Grace,” Rudal’s voice called out desperately, breaking her out of her thoughts. She turned to him. What did he mean, hide her? There was nowhere the Sinetryll couldn’t reach, at least not anywhere she could go. She doubted any foreign kingdom would risk hiding the bastard daughter of the Blantrall family. She would, at best, be used as a broodmare for her blood, and at worst, be used and killed as a pawn against her family. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad; it would allow her to get some kind of justice, even if she had to die to achieve it.

“Where?” she asked, her voice breaking and incredulous, as she gestured wildly with her arms.

The knight strode forward, invading her space and taking her hands into his own. She had to look up at him to see his face; it was set in determination, his sun-kissed blonde hair falling over his eyes, his square jaw clenched and tight. “I will take you to a place where no one will be able to find you,” she could feel it in his words, in his soul, and in that moment, all she could do was place her trust in him, even if she did not fully believe him.