Witch hunt
Wren
The bedchamber is smaller than my one at home. Everything here is different. This place feels like a home almost. There are no guards. Hazel flits about this castle and does whatever her little heart desires. Then when she returns, her parents actually want to hear what she did with her day. And she tells them. The truth! It’s bizarre and … nice. It’s really nice here.
And yet my stomach is in knots, twisted so tightly I think I might vomit.
My protests were drowned out by my father’s ruling voice. He said if I wanted to act like a child he’d put me in a time out.
A time out a hundred miles from home.
I lie on Hazel’s guest bed. My room is a guest room. None of the furniture, decor or paintings are my own. For the next few weeks anyway.
Until the day of my wedding to Nash Turningten.
My eyes burn with moisture and I close them tightly, refusing to let the tears slip down my cheeks. I clench my jaw and breathe hard. I won’t break beneath the life they’re pushing me into. I stand abruptly from the soft bed, my skirts swooshing behind me as I stride across the room.
I’ve been here for days alone. Hazel’s parents insist she finish her lessons as normal. Her parents said her cousin living with her isn’t a reason for her to be an uneducated woman.
So I’m alone.
I’m tired of wondering how the Ryken brothers are doing; how much they’re suffering because of me.
What if they don’t fix the curse in time? The sea witch said they needed me.
Why? And how did she know?
My boot’s carry me soundlessly through the long halls. I pass Hazel and slip my arm into hers, surprising her as I drag her off, away from her school work. She shoots me a mischievous smile, pleased with my change in attitude.
The cold dagger stings my leg, reminding me of its demanding and cursed presence. I slip on a dark cloak, the soft material caressing my skin as it wraps around me.
If I’m going to be wasting my life away here, I might as well try to save theirs.
***
My cloak shadows my face as I tentatively stare toward the dirty pub door, watching drunkards stumble in and out. Wilder When Wet is the busiest, grossest bar around. The smell of alcohol and body odor greets me from where I stand just across the street. I stand hidden under the shadows of a nearby tree. Hazel fidgets at my side, the hem of her dress skimming a small puddle below us.
“This is definitely it,” she says pulling her silk red cloak away from her face, her nose crinkling.
“What are you doing? Keep that up!” I pull at her hood trying to cover her perfect features.
Hazel frowns and pushes my hands away. “I have a face to be admired, Wren.” She winks at me. “Why do you want to come to such a place anyway?”
I asked her to take me to the busiest pub in our kingdom.
Pubs are a place for drinks. They’re also a place for gossip, secrets, and a place of surprising knowledge if you find the right person.
“Who are you to turn away from a good adventure?” I counter.
She looks at me skeptically, rolling her eyes and steps towards the bar. Her green skirt sways with her confident steps and I jog after her, mimicking her movements.
In the bar, it’s dimly lit with a thick layer of slime covering the old floor boards. My boots stick as I turn to get a good look of the place.
If I’m going to find a witch or someone who can find me a witch, it’s got to be here. Point me towards the deepest, darkest corner.
Hazel has already left me to find a drink. Or company, I’m sure. I raise my chin and head to the back of the building. A series of booths line one wall where the lighting is dimmer and the crowd is more ominous.
The last booth catches my eye. One man. Alone. Alone is good. I’ll start there.
Squaring my shoulders, I march off toward him. As I inch closer, I find myself tugging on my hood to keep my face shielded. I shudder at the thought of what Daddy would do if he caught wind of my presence here.
He isn’t here, though. And I’m an adult; a Princess.
I can handle myself.
The man sits with his hands clasped before him, staring ahead. When I step into his view, his emerald eyes peer up from under his midnight hair. Without asking, I take a seat before him.
The splintered wood bites into my thighs as I settle into the shabby seat.
“I’m in the market for someone to perform some ... services for me,” I muster, pulling out a small velvet pouch filled with my father's coins. The money clinks together in a harmonious noise that draws the attention of the stranger across from me.
Gripping the bag, my manicure digs into the cloth. The stranger smirks, his half smile revealing a dimple underneath his chin as he tilts his head back and laughs.
“Look lady, you don’t seem like you are from these parts and if you're looking for someone to warm your bed, well, the prostitutes are usually on the street.”
Oh. Not what I meant.
Biting my lip I try again. “No, no. I need someone to find someone else for me.”
“Like a missing person?”
“Something like that.”
He leans forward, extending his hand for the coins. Nodding, I push the bag eagerly into his palm. Our fingers brush for only a moment and I pull back quickly. Peering into the bag, he winks and pockets the change.
“I can’t help you,” he answers before settling back into the booth.
My lips part, my brows pulling tightly together.
“You what? You just took my money.” My voice rises as I dig my nails into the grain of the dirty table.
“Ah, ah, ah. Now sweetheart, I wouldn’t raise your voice if I were you. You're drawing attention. If too many of these poor folk see you traipsing around here with that expensive dress and jewels, they might rob you on your way out. You should be thanking me.” He crinkles his nose sarcastically, the dark eyelashes brushing his cheeks.
He’s handsome in an arrogant way. In a way that makes me want to slap him more than admire him.
“Since you took the coin, the least you can do is point me to someone who can help.” Gritting through my teeth, I stand up from my seat, brushing dirt off my dress.
“Ain’t nobody gonna help you around here.” He grins. Leaning forward he props his chin on his fists. “Who are you looking for anyway? Prince Charming?”
Anger boils beneath my skin. How dare he mock me!
“I need a witch,” I hiss.
A serious look flashes in his eyes, something that I don’t miss, before his laugh deepens and he shakes his head at me. “No, no. Go on home.”
Growling, I turn on my heel, stomping toward the bar. Hazel is laughing and going on to a group of guys she has under her spell.
A glimmer shines in their eyes as they watch her every move.
A man with salt and pepper hair grabs her around her thin waist, pulling her close. She frowns, pushing away but doesn’t escape his arms. The men around them—nothing short of grease balls—laugh while she struggles to get away.
Each step I take is a mission as I let the rage propel me forward. I crunch Hazel's captor’s toes under my boots.
The man drops her as he yelps in surprise. Taking my chance, I pull Hazel away and give the group my best glare.
The glare of a princess is well practiced and I know I wear it well.
“Don’t you dare touch a woman without her damn approval.” Pushing my cousin through the crowd, I leave the men behind but I feel there gaze burn across my back.
Did I just do that?
Internally, I clap for myself and my bravery. But I still have no leads for a witch. Only a pair of sticky boots and one pissed off Hazel.