Page 1 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

Chapter 1

Farrow

Farrow moved across the cobblestones, her soft footsteps the only sound on the sleepy street.

The pink light of dawn had barely begun to peek over the wall. The first rays sparkled in the murky water of the ancient fountain, and highlighted the subtle shades of copper and rust in the blue slate that made up the roofs of the shops in the town square.

The world was all hers in these pre-morning hours, and she relished these moments before Lockwood erupted into a bustling, smelly cacophony.

Farrow loved the townsfolk, but she had always felt most at home gathering herbs in the fields and nearby woods. In those places, she could let her forbidden magic hum just under the surface of her skin, without worrying who might notice.

She reached her destination and dug in her skirts for the key. The wooden sign above the shop swung slightly in the morning breeze, creaking as if in welcome.

Barton’s Baked Goods

Farrow was a Barton, and the Bartons had always been bakers. So, her fate had been sealed long before she was even born. Fortunately for her, it didn’t take Farrow long to discover that she actually liked baking. And fortunately for Barton’s Baked Goods, she was pretty darn good at it.

She pushed the door open, welcoming the warm, yeasty scent of fresh bread. The bakery was dark, but she quickly lit the lanterns, filing the space with golden circles of light.

Farrow would never be accused of tidiness, but her mother took the late shift, and always had the whole place sparkling clean for the next day.

Farrow went to the big wooden counter and laid out her notes for the daily orders. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but she would have to work hard and fast to get everything ready for the morning rush if she wanted a little extra time to try something different.

And with the competition coming up in just a few days, she needed all the extra time she could get.

Gathering the ingredients and bowls, she began setting up.

Everything was perfect first thing in the morning. There was nothing but pure potential, like a blank parchment to a playwright. As the day went on, things would happen. An oven would heat unevenly, a batch of dough would refuse to rise, and compromise would become inevitable as potential turned to actual. But right now, in her mind’s eye, she could envision those perfect rows of glistening buns and hearty breads laid out exactly as they should be.

She began with the buns that were their most popular item. The dough was simple. These were humble brown buns, like her grandmother would have baked.

But there was one ingredient that Grammie never had access to.

Magic.

Farrow didn’t have a lot. She couldn’t call down lightning or make the ground tremble, the way the battlemages could. But her gift gave her a connection to the leafy things that grew all around her, allowing her to tap into the natural magic they all held. And those plants were the backbone of every recipe she made. Which gave her the ability to make her creations a little extra special.

When it was time, Farrow would use that gift to coax a little magic out of the vanilla bean she used for the glaze. It was nothing dangerous or life changing - it just made the eater feel a tiny bit happier for an hour or two. Not enough to make anyone suspicious - which was a good thing.

Anyone caught using magic in the kingdom was asking for big trouble. Most of the mages had been banished years ago, after the prophecy. She thought there were probably a few small-time users left, like her, calling on a bit of power to spice up a muffin, or to keep the steps from icing over in the winter. But Farrow hadn’t seen anyone use magic in the open since she was a child.

The King had outlawed it, for his own safety.

But Farrow couldn’t help herself. The magic was part of her. Not using it would be like not singing on a sunny day, or not catching a snowflake on her tongue during the first snowfall of the season.

Not that Farrow’s magic was dangerous anyway. And she’d never even really learned how to use it properly. When she was five, she might have been brought to the kingdom’s academy for formal training. But her mother decided that her magic wasn’t strong enough to be worth the application fee. Or at least that’s what she told Farrow.

It probably didn’t hurt that even back then, Farrow was already such a help in the bakery. As the only child her parents had been blessed with, if she’d gone away to train, Barton’s Baked Goods might have gone under.

And of course, it turned out to all be for the best when the King’s seers revealed that terrible prophecy.

Magic will bring a blade to the throat of the King.

Just the thought of it made her shudder.

Thanks to those eleven little words, all magic in Fairweather Kingdom had been prohibited by the time Farrow was seven years old. The trainees and professors at the magic academy just outside of town were run out, and the beautiful old building was left to rack and ruin.

And worst of all, a giant wall was erected between the lands of the Fae King and the rest of Fairweather, effectively cutting off every source of the magic in Farrow’s world.

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