Stay awake. One foot in front of the other. Keep walking, and don’t you dare, don’t you dare let your eyes close, not for a breath, not for a blink. Don’t even blink against the harsh sunlight filtering through the trees. The light here is sharp as a blade—it will cut you the same way they did your sister’s throat.
I was running through a land like the pages of my worst imaginings. No more handmaids to draw my bath or weave ribbons through my hair, no silken beds or lullabies. Just the wild—a tangled, living thing that stretched for miles, sheltering beasts that screamed from the shadows. I used to think the woods were pretty from afar. Now, the same trees seemed to curl inward, hungry, as if they wanted to swallow me whole.
The other girls moved as if this was home to them, their steps sure, their gazes fierce. Maddy led us like a general, watchful for the Woodgairrd patrols, while Jaide and Dyana—the sisters-in-law I should have had—followed in lockstep. Behind me, the young Tanners Soniya and Darlyne kept a vigilant guard, their steps as silent as death. They all moved with a purpose I couldn’t understand, a rhythm that escaped me.
I wasn’t like them. Not yet. Not ever.
I used to know these girls. Jaide, Madeleine and I, chasing each other through our parents’ gardens while the elders whispered of dark politics in shaded corners. But that was before, when we were still allowed to be children. Over time I noticed they weren’t much interested in playing with dolls anymore, and it wasn’t long until they left me behind. The forest claimed them with its cold, cruel kiss, and I…I chose to be the dumb beauty in the court’s hands.
I stumbled over a root and barely caught myself. That stupid pretty dress, it was a disaster now. What had once been the shade of summer skies was torn and filthy, its hem heavy with mud and brambles. My hands were the roughest they had ever been, caked with dirt and sap as I struggled to keep the fabric from dragging. And this stay—why was I still wearing it? No handsome prince was going to hold me by the waist now. There were no ballrooms left. It held me like a vice, and I needed to free myself of it, but there was no time. I could barely manage to keep up with the others, let alone find time to unlace it.
I clung to it as if it could tether me to that simpler, softer life. How could I shed it, even now, when the world had turned so cruel?
No, I told myself. I have to keep up. I owe them. I owe Incognitae for saving me. And Tobas. I owe Lord Tobas for his mercy. He could have left me to die in that knight’s grasp, but he didn’t. I owe Lord Tobas my life.
One day in Bernstaplen, my mother sent me to the nearby village of Basindale to purchase some tomatoes at the market when our own fields were faltering. The market woman, the one with the ripest fruit, had terrified me then. She wore the same half-ripped wool cloak every day, her hair tied back but still black from grease. She shook even when she was standing still, her head moving this way and that, as though her body was alien to the concept of rest. I had been too young to understand how someone could become that way, how time and life could grind a person down, wearing their dignity like stone against riverbed. She was hideous to me then, a creature of misery. I feared becoming like her.
Now, I wondered if I already had.
Once, I was the daughter of a lord, adorned with silks and jewels, taught that grace and beauty were worth more than anything. But grace hadn’t saved Annyte. Beauty hadn’t stopped the daggers. What good was all of it now?
I was no longer the untouchable girl high in a white tower. I was a beast, ugly, with a mess of blood and muck for a new skin. Would I ever feel clean again?
What happened to the family? Just a year ago, the greatest sorrows I knew were over shattered dolls and cancelled tea parties. Back then, the halls of our home were alive with laughter, filled with warmth from the hearth that always seemed to reach every corner of the sitting room. Hickmere would tell us stories by the fire. How I longed to hear her voice again, spinning a tale that would carry me far away from this world. I wanted to lose myself in another one, something safer, something where none of this was real.
And my sister…I could see her, bright and full of life in the castle gardens. She never much belonged inside stone walls; the wild places always called her, a pull she never could resist. It was no surprise she joined Incognitae the moment they offered. Sometimes Mum and Ronayne weren’t available so I had to tuck her into bed and tell her of the adventures we would one day share. I wonder if Ronayne is still at Bernstaplen, I thought. And Narisetti, where could he be now? Maybe they’re all together, with Mum and Dad and Dayron and Damon and Corren and Witanegemote Morgan and Jaze and Odo Wyne and Horsemaster Sullivan and Stableman Buckley and Kennelmaster Richards, sharing a grand meal from Moya, sitting around the table, waiting for us, the girls, to come home.
I blinked, chasing away the images that only made my chest ache. The trees began to thin, their long shadows peeling away as we stepped into a broad stretch of grassy land. The golden light of late afternoon. My skin was slick with sweat, but the soft breeze carried a relief that felt like a balm.
I went to the side, my legs finally giving way as I sank down into a patch of the grass. My hands trembled as I fumbled with the laces of the stay. For a moment I struggled, but then, with a deep breath and one last tug, I freed myself from the stiff bindings. The sudden rush of air filled my lungs. I tossed the stay aside, a wave of guilt washing over me for wasting the fabric, but what did it matter out here? It couldn’t protect me anymore, couldn’t offer the survival it once promised within castle walls.
Jaide and Dyana were already huddled, their heads bent as they murmured about what should come next. The Tanners kept their eyes on the horizon. Madeleine, still at the front, looked over her shoulder. “What now?” she asked, her voice steady but strained.
Jaide’s gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the grassland, distant and calculating. “We need a direction,” she said. “We can’t stay out in the open like this. Someone will find us if we do. We should find somewhere to hide and gather our bearings before we decide anything else.”
Dyana nodded in agreement. “Uncle Styve might have already sent knights after us. If they catch us here…we cannot be seen.”
As I stood, trying to brush the dirt from my hands and the last scraps of my once-beautiful dress, a painful truth settled in that the other girls had done this before. They were experts, movements purposeful and eyes alert. Soon a small but urgent voice broke the uneasy silence. “Over there!” whispered Soniya harshly. We followed her gaze and there was a small camp nestled between too small hills. Smoke coiled lazily from a fire, and the faint hum of voices reached our ears. Men clad in armour moved about, their steel glinting faintly in the fading light.
“They’re not Woodgairrds,” Jaide murmured, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not what our armour looks like. Kristyne, come with me, I want to listen in and decide if they’re a threat or not. The rest of you, ready some arrows. Just in case.”
We moved cautiously down the hill, using the tall grass and brush for cover. I felt like even the pound of my heart could be loud enough to give us away. When we were close enough, we crouched behind a large bush, hidden but able to listen.
A gruff voice, deep and grating, cut through the murmurs. “We have enough girls, it’s time to deliver them to Our Lord,” he said. “No idea why he needs so many, but it ain’t my job to ask questions. I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders, thanks.”
Another knight’s voice, younger and audibly uneasy, responded, “But why so many? He’s already betrothed to Lady Marza. It’s…a strange request, isn’t it?”
The first knight snorted. “A strange request, he says! You’re in the wrong profession if you’re lookin’ for things to make sense, lad. You want to go ask Lord Magniv what he’s going to do with a bunch of young girls, be my guest. You’ll be missing your tongue by morning.”
The younger knight stammered. “N-no, I…I was just wondering…”
A third knight seemed to join in, “Speaking of doing what we’re told, did you hear? Styve’s already holding his coronation in a few days. The man’s not even properly seated and he’s already measuring for a crown.”
The younger knight sounded sceptical. “And what about Kase? Last I heard, he’s holed up at The Maroon, declaring himself king. There’s going to be war. Who will Our Lord side with?”
The first knight let out a low chuckle, a greasy, unpleasant sound. “Lord Magniv will side with whoever fills his coffers quickest. He’ll sniff the air, wait for someone to come out victorious, and then act as though he was with them from the start. If neither of ‘em proves much, he’ll just remain in Batoulia and watch as their kingdoms go up in flames.”
Batoulia. The name tickled something in my memory. Lord Francis Ashford had agreed to leave House Batoul untroubled when Emannar ascended to the throne. I’d never met a Batoul in my life, nor did I think I needed to. The Pargions had no dealings with them. Now, it seemed, that ignorance could have a cost.
“Styve’s Royal Guard, though,” said the third knight, almost wistfully. “They’re somethin’ else. Stephyn Tanner as Lord Commander, Garvy Orkwood as Lieutenant General. And then Durron and Rygert served Emannar himself. If we had to face them, we’d be cut to ribbons. ‘Course, if Karron Wull hadn’t quit, Styve’d be the undisputed king already.”
“Stephyn Tanner, formidable? Wager I could take him,” the younger knight scoffed.
The other two erupted in laughter. “Oh, listen to this one!” the first knight wheezed. “He thinks he could take the Lord Commander. Kid, Tanner would snap you in half and pick his teeth with your ribs.”
“Maybe he’d keep your bones for kindling,” the third knight added, clapping the younger one on the back. “Keep dreaming, boy.”
The first knight’s tone shifted, becoming more serious. “This ain’t a game though. Styve’s not the forgiving type. If he gets the throne, he’ll have a list of everyone who wasn’t kissing his boots on the way up. And if Kase wins? Eh, boring, stable. Who wants that?”
“Politics, politics,” the third knight grumbled. “All we do is fight for these crown-chasing fools. If Styve gets in, we’ll be on his chopping block for even thinking about siding with Kase.”
The first knight shook his head. “Ah, well, we’re just soldiers. Not our job to think. Our job’s to keep breathing and not end up in a ditch somewhere.”
The third knight’s voice dropped a little. “You heard about Simon Pargion, right? Had to kill his own wife, Gwendys, by order of Styve. They say she died horribly. Begged, screamed for mercy right up until the end. And he loved doing it. His own wife.”
My breath hitched, and I felt the blood drain from my face. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, my vision blurring with tears, duelling with a scream that desperately wanted to get out. My father…killed my mother. Pain swam out of every pore of my skin. My violent shaking nearly made me topple over in tears.
Jaide didn’t look at me but placed her hand on my arm, steadying me. She knew the weight of family betrayal: after all, her brother had just been murdered by their uncle for power. Pain was the currency of the world now, it seemed, and I was just another one paying my share. But as the tears threatened to spill, I knew the truth. Look at Jaide with her hand on my arm. You’re not the only one suffering. Why are you so selfish?
I couldn’t grieve here. The knights were dangerous, and our position was precarious. Jaide tugged on my sleeve, signalling it was time to retreat. We began to move slowly, deliberately, trying to make not a sound, but just as I shifted my weight, a twig snapped under my foot.
“Who’s there?” one of the knights shouted, his hand flying to his sword. For a moment everything froze. Then, like a floodgate bursting, panic surged through me. I scrambled to my feet but it was already too late.
“There! Over there!” the first knight yelled, with his arm pointed directly at us. “Seize them!”
Before I could even think, they were on us. Rough hands grabbed me, yanking me backward. I kicked and screamed, trying to fight, but their strength was far greater than mine. Jaide, too, was overpowered, both of us dragged toward the camp, prey.
Soon after, the other knights spotted the rest of our group. “Look up there! Archers!” one of the Batoul knights called. A flood of more armoured men poured out from the tents, at least eight more. Incognitae stood at the ready, arrows nocked, but they were hopelessly outnumbered.
“They’re all just girls! Capture them unharmed – more for Lord Magniv!” the first knight ordered, his voice darkly gleeful.
The girls released their arrows, and for a moment, there was a glimmer of hope. Two knights fell, clutching at their wounds, but the rest surged forward, undeterred. In mere moments, they were upon the others. The girls fought valiantly, but their efforts were quickly smothered by the sheer number of soldiers. One by one, they were disarmed and captured, just like us.
All of us were herded together, bound and thrown into a carriage already crammed with other terrified girls. The door slammed shut with a loud clang that echoed in the stifling silence. I could feel the weight of the fear, the oppressive heat of bodies packed too close together, and the awful, bone-deep despair that seemed to hang in the air like a fog.
For a long time, we said nothing. The carriage jolted forward, and I sat there, feeling small, useless. My mind was numb, unable to process what had just happened.
Finally, Jaide hissed with a sharp frustration. “How did we get into this mess? We were supposed to be careful!
Her sister tried to calm her. “Jaide, I know it’s frustrating but—”
Jaide wasn’t having it. She turned her glare on me, eyes blazing. “This is your fault. You snapped that twig and gave us away!”
Her words pierced through me, sharp as any blade. My heart sank deep into my chest, a sick weight, and the tears were welling up. “I…I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s not just the twig,” Madeleine interrupted harshly. “You’re not ready for this life. You’ve been slowing us down the entire time. If you had even a little bit of courage, maybe we would’ve had a chance.”
Soniya, her own eyes wet with unshed tears, tried to intervene. “We need to focus on getting out of here, not pointing fingers.”
“But she’s right,” Dyana said quietly. “We can’t afford mistakes. You’re going to need to be better.”
Better. Better? My mind could not process the word. How could they expect me to be better when my world had crumbled at my feet? I didn’t care about being better. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry so loud that it cracked the walls of the carriage and echoed into the heavens. I wanted my grief to drown the knights and the girls around me, to make them feel the agony clawing at my insides.
I was only fourteen. Fourteen. Fourteen and my mother was dead. And her murderer wore my father’s face. I’d never see her again. Never hear her laughter or feel the warmth of her embrace when I needed her most. I had lost everything. I was too young for this—too young to bear this kind of pain.
The tears came then, silent and unstoppable. I pressed my hands to my face, my body trembling with the weight of it all. My breath hitched as I tried to hold it in, but I couldn’t. I wanted someone to hug me, to tell me it would be okay, even if it was a lie. I wanted my mother. I wanted someone to be there for me.
But no one moved. No arms reached out for me. We were all trapped in our own prisons, bound by the ropes of fear, anger, and hopelessness. Would we ever make it out?
Suddenly, a soft voice broke through the chaos. “It’s not as bad as it seems.” We turned to see another girl, about our age, with kind eyes and a calm demeanour. Despite the oppressive atmosphere she seemed entirely at ease, as though this was nothing more than a temporary inconvenience.
“I’m Isolde,” she said, her voice like a soothing oil in the silence. “I know it all looks bleak, but we could be dead.”
Jaide’s eyes narrowed. “And you think that’s supposed to make us feel better?”
Isolde nodded. “I’ve been in worse situations, believe it or not. We just need to stay calm and think clearly. Panicking will only make things worse.”
“Why are you here?” Soniya asked, curiosity momentarily eclipsing her fear.
Isolde shrugged. “I was captured a few days ago. Lord Magniv’s men ransacked my village and took me and a few other girls here. At first, I was terrified, but I’ve seen that they’re not entirely merciless. Their Lord wants to pamper us, it seems, so they won’t harm us. If we play it smart, we might find an opportunity to escape.”
Madeleine looked sceptical, her arms folded across her chest. “And how do you propose we do that?”
“I listen to their talk,” said Isolde. “They’re going to stop again a stone’s throw away from Batoulia, to assess our health one last time before we enter the city. Some of them are wounded or dead now, thanks to your arrows. That means even fewer guards. There are so many of us here, and only a few of them. If we time it right, we might be able to overpower them.”
“What’s Batoulia like? I’ve never been,” I asked.
“Me neither, but I know the tales,” Isolde said. She proceeded to look around to each of us while she spoke, as though she were telling a scary story. “The Sun feels dead there. The ground cries out for a joy it’ll never find. Settlers wander through air blackened by the worthless faith that living conditions would ever improve. The air is thick with hopelessness, like the last embers of a fire that’s long burned out. Blackbirds form small packs; their black plumage having soaked up the last rays of sunshine, and they sing a song as old as time, a song that was once said to heal the land but now takes the form of a lament. Millions of people live there, and perhaps a hundred thousand can afford homes that won’t collapse at any moment. Yet above them all, resting maniacally on his throne, their Lord Batoul throws lavish banquets and frivolous celebrations with his family, as though the suffering below him is invisible.” Her voice grew quieter, perhaps because of the fear that the knights could catch her words. “He’s mad. They say he eats while the people starve, drinks while the land dies, and dances while his dominion crumbles beneath him.”
A heavy silence settled over us again. What had we done to deserve this?
“So the people there are desperate,” Madeleine deduced. “Desperate people are not the kind you want to surround you. We’ll need to be careful.”
Darlyne’s voice, small and shaky, broke the silence. She was the youngest of us all, and thus rightfully the most scared. “What if we don’t make it out? What if we never see our families again?”
“Don’t think like that,” said Dyana firmly. “We have to believe we’ll get out of this. We owe it to ourselves to fight.”
“Get some rest,” Isolde suggested softly. “Batoulia is a long way from Stormholme. We’ll need our strength for whatever comes next. Sleep while you can. You’ll struggle to get any more once we arrive.”
The carriage continued to lurch forward, the sound of the wheels grinding against the rough road the only thing filling the silence. One by one, we closed our eyes, though sleep felt like a distant, unreachable thing.
Reluctantly we agreed. Sleep seemed impossible given the circumstances, but exhaustion had a way of demanding its due. I lay down on the hard ground, trying to ignore the stifling heat and cramped space. No soft pillows or blankets now, just cold floor. My eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough, sleep claimed me.
I dreamed of home when the world turned dark.
The grand hall of Bernstaplen was bathed in the golden light of a summer afternoon. My father stood at the centre, wearing a fine tunic of deep blue velvet, his presence commanding yet gentle as always. His voice carried easily over the squabbles of the court, as he discussed matters of state with all sorts of important men. And my mother was by his side, her hand resting lightly on his arm. They exchanged a look of love and understanding, a bond so strong, so undeniable. I wish I knew then that it would all go wrong.
Every evening when we were both home my father would read to me from the old tomes in the library. He had a vast knowledge of history and lore that he took great pride in passing down to me. I would listen with rapt attention, learning of the great queens and kings who had ruled before us from Queen Loreena, who led our people to prosperity, to the tyrant Grimm Woodgairrd, whom my grandfather helped to overthrow.
“You know, Kristyne,” he would say, his eyes twinkling with amusement, “one day you could be written in one of these books like I am.” And yes, at the time my fantasy was to one day be remembered as Queen Consort Kristyne Woodgairrd. I wanted to take the time to visit each and every village, speak with the people, listen to their concerns and offer solutions to their problems. I wanted justice. I wanted to heal the land. I wanted to be like my parents before me.
Sometimes we’d all have tea in the garden together, when my father could simply be my father, not a ruler of men but a man who loved his family deeply. And moments later I would find myself standing in the castle courtyard, watching as he prepared to leave for a campaign. He would kneel before me, his face serious but full of love.
“Be strong, Kristyne,” he would say, with his hand on my shoulder. “And take care of your sister. I will return soon.”
I would nod, trying to be brave even as fear held me. “I will, Father. Please be safe.” His smile would reach his eyes and then he’d be gone, mounting his horse and leading men out of the castle gates to war or whatever else.
When he was away Mother would be the heart of the home. She had a way of making every corner of the castle feel warm and inviting. She would spend hours in the kitchens with Moya baking treats for us, sweet pastries for the afternoon tea, her hands deftly kneading the dough while she hummed a sweet tune. She always smelled of lavender and honey.
“Come, Kristyne,” she would call. “Help me with the almond cakes. We want them perfect.”
I would eagerly join her, my small hands mimicking her movements as best I could. She would smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she watched me. “You’re doing wonderfully, my love. One day, you’ll be the best baker in all the Kingdom.”
In the evenings she would brush my hair by the fire, her fingers working through the tangles with practiced ease. She would tell me stories of her childhood, of the adventures she had with Father, and of the dreams she once held.
“You are my dream, Kristyne,” she would say softly, her eyes reflecting the flames’ glow. “You and your sister and your brothers are everything I ever wished for. Promise me you’ll always take care of each other.”
I promise, Mother. I had to be strong for her, for the future I promised I would claim. I could not break; I’m a Pargion. Death does not deserve us.
The carriage rocked and jostled as it traversed the rough terrain, the wheels clattering over stones and bumps. None of us spoke much during the journey, each lost in our own thoughts and worries. I couldn’t tell you how many days had passed by the time we finally came to a halt. The clinking of armour and muffled voices outside signalled that we had arrived in Batoulia. My heart pounded in my chest as the door creaked open. A knight stood there sternly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. We were trapped, penned in like livestock. The knight took a step closer, but before he had the chance to speak an inhuman screech filled the air.
It was Isolde. Her scream was not one of fear but of fury, a guttural, feral sound that emerged from some ancient rage. Her eyes were wide, wild, and the knight recoiled, momentarily startled by the unearthly noise, and that was all the opening Isolde needed.
With a fierce cry she launched herself at him, her hands grappling for his sword. Their bodies collided in a frenzy of movement. He stumbled back, caught off guard, and Isolde, with surprising strength, managed to wrest the weapon from his grasp. She swung wildly, the blade catching the light as it arced through the air, and with a sickening thud she struck him down. Blood sprayed across the dusty ground, staining her hands and face.
“Run!” she screamed. “Now! Run!”
Chaos erupted as the girls surged forward, leaping out of the carriage and scattering in every direction. I was swept along with them, my feet fumbling as I stumbled out into the open air. Behind me, I heard the panicked shouts of the other knights.
One of the guards who had been following us on horseback leaped off his horse, drawing his sword and racing toward the carriage. He shouted orders to the others, trying to regain control. But it was too late. Isolde had sparked in us all a desire for freedom.
Girls scattered in every direction, running toward the open landscape, toward any source of cover. But the knights were quick to respond. The sound of steel clashing and cries of pain filled the air as more guards leaped off their horses, swords drawn. Some girls, too slow to react, were cut down where they stood. Their screams pierced the air while the knights called frantically as they tried to corral the escaping prisoners.
I looked back and saw Isolde there, standing defiantly in the midst of it all, wielding the knight’s sword with wild, untrained swings. Her face was smeared with dirt and blood, but her eyes burned fiercely. She slashed at another approaching knight, her movements reckless but full of raw fury. But in the chaos, none of us saw the archer still on horseback, bowstring drawn tight, his eyes fixed on Isolde.
The arrow flew through the air in a blur, and in an instant, it struck Isolde square in the chest.
“No!” I screamed, my heart shattering as I watched her crumple to the ground. Blood pooled around her, and her eyes, once so full of fire, dimmed and closed. But before I could move, Madeleine drew her bow. She aimed and fired, the arrow finding its mark in the archer who had slain the poor girl. He collapsed, clutching at his neck as his own life essence poured from the wound.
“Go!” Madeleine yelled, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the chaos. “We have to go!”
I stumbled after her, my legs weak with shock. Behind us more knights were closing in, cutting down girls who were too slow to escape. My chest ached, my heart felt massive, but I forced myself to keep moving. The adrenaline pushed me forward, my feet pounding as we ran, trying to escape the madness.
Girls and knights fell alike, their bodies littering the path as we fled. Madeleine’s grip on my arm was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality as we ran from the horror. We didn’t stop running until the cries of battle had faded completely into the distance. My legs burned, my lungs screamed for air, but I didn’t dare stop. I couldn’t stop. I could still see her lifeless eyes in my mind.
Some days when my mother had been away from home for a while and finally returned, she’d hold my chin in the palm of her right hand and call me ‘sweetest daughter.’ I’d tell her I missed her and she’d say the same about me.
I needed that right now.
I would have liked that more than anything.
Dylan Brennan 
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