Page 1 of Turret

Chapter 1

No matter how long I’d been trapped, I couldn’t get used to being so high, so far above the world I’d never quite been a part of. I watched from my perch on the highest floor of the turret as the world beyond its enchanted walls shifted to autumn, the green leaves becoming dipped in hues of gold and orange, a measurement of the time that had passed since I’d been away from home.

My room was near the top of the seven-story tower. The height used to be dizzying, but in the three years I’d been trapped here, I’d long grown used to it. I was so close to the sky I felt as if I could reach out and touch it. I never tired of the sensation that with one breath I could almost tumble inside its vastness, nor did I ever fail to appreciate the beauty of the ever-changing landscape, stretching as far as my eyes could see, just aching to be explored.

But doing so was impossible, for I was a prisoner.

I shifted my perch on the windowsill and leaned back against the frame to alleviate some of my lightheadedness. The stones warmed to seep through the thin fabric of my dress, the tower’s way of extending assurance, a magical communication only I could feel. Being enchanted, my turret home possessed a mind of its own, and though it didn’t speak in words, I often felt these small reminders that it was aware of me, ones that provided great comfort that I wasn’t as alone as I often felt.

Out of habit, I searched the ground below. I wasn’t sure why I kept looking for Mother when I’d long since stopped believing she’d visit me, but no matter how many times I tried to suppress it, my hope thattodaywould be different compelled me to continue clinging to my hope. Yet there was still no sign of her.

“I don’t think she’s coming today,” I murmured, quietly enough that only the tower would be able to hear me. The last thing I wanted was to alert my attending guard, Quinn, or my handmaiden Melina, to my distress. Both remained nearby, Quinn whittling from his usual rigid position against the wall, Melina darning stockings near the hearth.

The tower stones warmed again in a feeble attempt at comfort, but it did little to quell the heavy discouragement pressing against me, a heavy burden I’d become far too accustomed to carrying and one I’d long since grown tired of.

In the beginning of my imprisonment, Mother used to visit every few weeks to check on me, finding me easily despite the spell that made the tower invisible, though her visits were so impersonal I half-wondered if she was actually checking on me or on the tower and the enchantment she’d placed on it. It wasn’t as if I enjoyed her visits—not when they were filled with tension, false sweetness, and her thinly veiled disappointments and subtle criticism—but I enjoyed them far more than being forgotten, just as I often was.

But it had been months since she’d last come, confirming my pressing, reoccurring fears that she’d grown tired of her motherly duty towards the sickly daughter whom she’d always considered a burden. I was surprised I still believed I’d ever be anything else. I often wondered why Mother even visited at all since she was the one who’d trapped me, creating a spell to make the turret my caretaker in order to free herself of the obligation.

She said it was for my protection. But the assurance was becoming more and more difficult to believe with each passing hour trapped within these walls.

The dark memories from that day returned unbidden, haunting my thoughts. I closed my eyes to block out the scene and stave off my burning tears, but reminiscences slithered into my mind anyway, causing me to recollect things I yearned to forget—Mother’s coldness, my sister Reve’s betrayal, the sense of despair that had overcome me when after several futile efforts I realized the tower’s enchantment couldn’t be penetrated, leaving me trapped…likely forever.

Even as the tower’s invisibility had gradually faded over the years, I still had no hope of being found, for no one had ever come, confirming my worst fears that no one ever would. It didn’t matter, for I was sure no one was looking for me, the forgotten, sickly princess, a useless appendage to the Malvagarian Royal Family.

From his post along the wall, I sensed Quinn’s concerned gaze. I hastily masked my expression to hide my dark, poisonous thoughts, but by his frown I knew he’d already seen past my usual barriers.

Melina tore her attention away from her mending with a worried pucker. “You’ve been near the window a long time, Your Highness; come away before you catch a chill.”

I bit my lip to suppress a sigh, trying to breathe evenly to ward off my growing headache and keep from coughing. Everyone seemed to address my well-being more than myself, as if there was absolutely nothing else about me worthy of their attention. Perhaps there wasn’t. After all, a princess who’d spent most of her life bedridden had very little else to recommend her. Suitors had certainly never come calling.

“I’m fine.” I stubbornly remained silent about the fact that I could still feel the lingering effects from my recent illness—a crushing weight pressed against my chest, making my breathing shallow; bouts of dizziness mingled with heavy exhaustion; my persistent cough aggravated by the slightest exertion; and a headache pulsing against my temples, each symptom familiar due to the frequency of their unwanted visits. But I didn’t want to admit I felt unwell and risk losing my time near the window, a far more interesting way to wile away the hours than in bed.

Whenever I caught Quinn’s knowing gaze, I sensed he knew I feigned feeling healthier than I actually felt, so I avoided looking at him at all. But I couldn’t escape the sense of his gaze devotedly watching me, despite there also being great comfort in knowing how much he cared.

I leaned my head back, enjoying the caress of the fresh air against my face, even if such a pleasure had to be enjoyed with layers of blankets piled on my lap in order to protect me from the autumn chill. “I’m well,” I insisted again, more weakly this time.

Melina frowned and cast a pointed glance towards Quinn, a silent plea for him to intervene. He shifted and I almost sensed his internal battle—his desire for me to receive fresh air, something he encouraged at every opportunity, and his ever-present worry for my weak health.

He searched my face, his look deeper than my handmaiden’s, as if he saw beyond my physical ailments to the ones riddling my heart. “Are you enjoying the view?”

By his knowing look I knew what he was really asking. After years of service he’d become attuned to my emotions, allowing him to sense even without words that while the view was lovely, I was really looking for Mother.

I was too discouraged to answer, so I merely shook my head and returned my attention outside, even though I’d already memorized this particular location the tower had transported us to. A clearing surrounded the turret, and just beyond was a forest that stretched endlessly into the distance. I had no idea which forest it was; the tower had shifted locations so often—sometimes several times a day—that I’d long since lost track of the surrounding geography.

I used to love waking up and immediately peering out the window to see where the tower had transported us during the night. I wasn’t entirely sure the reason behind its magic—whether it was the tower’s attempts to entertain me with a different view each day or if it was part of Mother’s spell to keep the tower from ever being discovered.

Probably the latter, which meant I’d likely never be found and I’d live out my days isolated and alone.

No matter how unique the location, I often imagined that if I looked far enough into the distance I could see my childhood home, the palace filled with haunting memories of my life within its walls. These thoughts often caused me to withdraw back into the tower, which over the years had become a place of refuge.

But the days of the shifting tower were long gone, for it’d been weeks since the turret had last moved. It had never gone so long before, and I was growing worried…as much as I could for a bunch of enchanted stones.

I shifted my attention back outside and tried to appreciate the view despite its familiarity, but it was difficult to concentrate with the heat of Quinn’s attention still riveted on me. I heard him push off the wall and approach, felt his presence as he hovered behind me, and after a moment’s hesitation he joined me on the other side of the sill.

My gaze darted briefly towards him long enough to see his concerned gaze before I was back to staring outside the window. “The tower still hasn’t moved; I’m growing more worried.”

In my peripheral vision, I saw Quinn’s attention shift reluctantly from me to stare out the window with a furrowed brow. “I grow more concerned the longer it becomes. I’m wondering if perhaps there’s a reason for it…that the towercan’tshift anymore.”

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