Page 1 of A Deal with the Shadow King

Chapter 1

A Dark Miracle

“Hold him steady,” I tell Gerald.

The amount of swelling over Firenze’s cannon bone indicates that it’s fractured. A complete break like that is deadly for a horse.

The old farmer tightens his hold on the shiny bridle and strokes the white stallion’s neck. “Easy, boy. The princess is here to help you.”

Firenze settles down a bit, long enough for me to lay my hands over the shattered bone and let the magic flow, my powers easier to access by the day. The squishy, inflamed flesh slowly rearranges.

Gerald holds his breath, his grip wavering. He follows my movements closely, like he hopes to figure out the inner workings of my magic as if it was the motor of his mechanical plow.

Tingles heat my palms as the wound shrinks down to a gash. My core muscles cramp, but I soldier on to finish the job.

“Crops. The damage is too extensive.” My arms shake. Ice prickles my fingertips, my companions oblivious to the sudden change in temperature.

It’s a warning.

If I push past the discomfort, my lips will turn blue, and I might pass out. I let the magic fizzle out instead and eye the leftover swelling with a resentful pout. “It’ll take a few days to heal properly, but he’ll live.”

Gerald’s wife, Mathilda, clutches her goddess talisman. “Thank you, Your Highness. We’re so grateful to you and your miracle.”

I force a breath down my lungs to relax my jaw, annoyed by the mention of my miracle. The villagers always call it that, even though I know better.

“It’s only right for me to help you. Besides, Firenze here is an old friend.” I run my fingers over the stallion’s pristine mane and pat his neck. Warmth radiates through his soft fur. “Now, you’ve got to be more careful, Firenze. I won’t always be around.”

The old horse neighs, a promise to keep out of trouble. To the villagers’ eyes, it’s only a coincidence, but I know he understood me. Horses have better instincts than people, and I’ve known Firenze for as long as I’ve been alive. When it comes to horses, there isn’t one better in all the worlds.

I climb to my feet, my skirts peppered with blood. “I’ll be back tomorrow to see if I can do more.”

Mathilda hands me a bucket of water and a fresh rag. “You saved his life, Your Grace. It’s enough.”

“Still, I’ll try to come before church.” I scrub as much blood from my hands and clothes as I can, knowing Esme will throw a fit if I come home in a bloody dress.

The couple bows their heads in reverence, and Gerald escorts me outside. “I can take you home in the hay cart, princess. It’s almost dark.”

“No need. I love to walk.”

Autumn leaves crunch under my boots. Maple trees tower on each side of the main road, almost completely barren. It’s one of those perfect autumn evenings, when the crisp air of the night chases away the warm summer day and signals the switch in seasons.

Gerald rests an arm on the wooden fence separating his crops from the well-traveled path. “Your father wouldn’t want you to wander alone at night.”

I cough to stifle a nervous giggle. “Stay with your family.”

He tips his hat. “Alright, princess. May the Mother protect you.”

“By her grace.”

The familiar goodbye is sour on my tongue.

Gerald spins around, and I hurry along the path. It’s only a short walk to the royal summer house, but the orange sun slips under the horizon like it’s scared to be caught hanging on.

The corn fields’ golden shine dims in its absence, and shadows encumber the road. My brisk pace drowns out the ambient sounds, the carpet of fallen leaves loud in my wake.

The scent of pine needles, overturned earth, and wood smoke wafts through the air, the summer house fireplaces already lit for the night. I cover my white-blond hair with my hood and tuck my shoulders in to blend with the shadows. My affinity for darkness has blossomed in the last few weeks. My thoughts seem sharper in obscurity, my muscles feel stronger, and my movements are more fluid.

I’m terrified by what it means.

---