Page 1 of Through the Wicked Wood

Prologue

The pale light of the falling full moon spills through the carved, marble windows. The noises of the revelers below are faint in comparison to the clacking of my boots against the stone floor, as I make my way down the empty hallway.

The heavy wooden door of the study is slightly ajar, the soft orange glow of the fireplace creeps through the crack and two familiar voices talk in hushed whispers on the other side.

Pushing open the door, its oak frame moves silently as I glide into the room.

The study has become the only place inside the castle that I can tolerate. Dark blue velvet drapes block any natural light from the carved windows. The walls are plastered with books from ceiling to floor in thick wooden cases. Worn spines in varying colors; blues, reds, greens. Ancient tales of magick throughout our country of Teravie and Valebridge History.

The aroma of the wood burning fire greets me first as the two men I’ve arranged to meet sit stiffly in wingback chairs facing away from the door. The deep red fabric paints a picture of crimson that frames the flickering heat of the fireplace.

A handmaid dressed in deep blue and gold takes notice of me right away despite my silent entrance.

“Good evening–”

She’s cut short by the larger man near the fire. His graying hair neatly swept back, matching gray stubble lines his soft jaw.

“It’s about time you’ve made it, the moon has nearly fallen,” he grumbles, not bothering to turn in my direction. I shoot the handmaid a smirk, skirting around her to take a seat in the third chair by the fire.

“What the hell took you so long?” the second man asks, leaning toward me in his chair before catching his movements and settling back into a more casual position. Crossing one leg over his knee to keep it from bouncing. He means to come across as demanding, but I know better. He’s been worried. He pushes his curly, dark tresses out of his face; his green eyes, wide as a doe, watch me as I straighten my back against the upholstered chair.

“Usual business,” I say as nonchalantly as possible. That’s all they need to know.

“Pardon, Your Majesty.” The handmaid approaches again, the swoosh of her jeweled, navy gown catches my attention. Unusual attire for a handmaid, but given it’s the full moon, I’m certain she’s been allowed an exception for the evening. “Can I get you or your guest anything?” The rest of her question goes unsaid, but the king picks up on it anyhow. She’s desperate to join the rest of the partygoers before the sun dawns.

“No,” King Silas says flatly. “You’re dismissed, Alena.” He doesn’t so much as glance at her, gesturing toward the door. The light of his many rings glisten in the firelight. Her exit is as silent as my entrance, the only tell that she’s left is the click from the door as it shuts completely this time.

A weighted silence hangs around us as the fire crackles, plumes of heat tickle my bare chin as thick tendrils of smoke waft up the stone chimney. “I think I’ll have a drink after all,” I say. Rising from my chair, I dip my head at the other two men and raise my brows. A silent question to which they both answer with a curt nod.

“Three drinks it is,” I mumble to no one in particular. The bar sits to the right of the chairs. My back faces the men as I scan the various crystal bottles and decanters until I find the preferred amber liquid. Pulling three short but heavy glasses, I begin to pour.

“The people are becoming uneasy with the change of the moon,” Prince Roman says, in a voice that matches his worried eyes. Pathetic. Perfect.

“Nonsense,” King Silas scoffs. Turning, I catch him as he waves a hand through the air, dismissing his son entirely. “It happens with every new moon. Unrest and revelry often appear the same. The Enchantresses know their place in the Kingdom. They have for many years.”

Returning my focus to the three drinks, I top them off. Taking note of which one is mine, before rejoining the men by the fire.

“You speak so confidently of the Enchantresses, but you forget the uprising,” I say, handing the drinks over before settling into my chair. “It won’t be long before another happens, and with it would be absolute devastation. With the new law allowing them to breed, we’ll be outnumbered ten to one. Unless we keep them under tighter restraint their magick could—”

“And you forget your place,” the king hisses, and I fight to conceal the smirk dancing along my mouth. I’ve gotten under his skin. Excellent.

“Apologies,” I say, raising my glass. He watches me with questioning eyes, and I meet him with an equally passive gaze. I know my presence is merely tolerated and not entirely welcome, but I lean into my chair, nonetheless. Making it known that I will not be scared away so easily. Not even by the king.

“An uprising hasn’t happened in decades,” Roman says, taking a cautious sip of his drink. His dark hair is long, too long, and the curls fall wildly in his eyes. “Shouldn’t we be concerned? If history repeats itself...” His eyes snap to his father, letting the rest of his concerns go unsaid. Planting the seed just as I’ve asked. Good boy.

“We have a long-standing relationship with the Enchantresses. Paranoia from the past will only raise unnecessary concern,” King Silas says, swirling the liquid in his crystal glass. “My meeting with Elwyn earlier proved my point. The Enchantresses are content with their stations inside of Valebridge. They’re free to use their magick so long as it remains here under my watch. Free to breed as you so eloquently put it.” A snarl in my direction. A smile in his. “It’s been this way since my father, Richard, was on the throne. It was his law that healed our country after the uprising and it is his law that will remain intact.

“If the Guilds do not seek change, then no change will be had. The Enchantresses are not our prisoners, they are our allies. We worship the same deity, after all,” he pauses, staring into the fire. “And should we not forget it is Mother Gaia who holds our fate and the fruitfulness of our lands. I will not discuss this any further.” At this, his eyes finally snap to mine. I make note of the concern growing in them, the deep wrinkles that settle around the outer edges and between his brows.

“The Head Enchantress has been my trusted Seer for over a decade,” Silas continues, still swirling his drink, not yet taking a sip. “If she does not see a cause to worry, then there is none.” The King’s words are final as he tips his glass to his lips, taking a long, slow pull of the dark liquid. “Is this what you insisted we meet about?” King Silas asks, shaking his head between sips. “You waste my time again, boy,” he says, pointing a ringed finger in my direction, “and I’ll have your head.”

“Understood,” I say, raising my glass toward the two men, casting the dark-haired prince a wink of approval for his work tonight. The flush to his cheeks and thick swallow tells me all I need to know about where he stands. “Long live the king,” I sneer before tossing my drink into the flames.

Chapter 1

Sorin

Five Years Later

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