Chapter One
Cinders and Ashes
It was always winter in my heart.
A heart should be vibrant, beating, brimming with hope. Should be. Instead, locked inside my ribcage beat the coldest, most barren of places. Nothing would ever change that.
No one cared to try, ever since Mother died and my little sister Luchinda was heartlessly sold to the castle kitchens. Corinne was all that was left, the last precious bit of love rattling around in my empty heart. The baby needed me. Her darling little hands kept the tiniest spark alive in the wintry depths. All the same, it still hurt to breathe.
Gildingvale was the country where I was born, long ago. And if Mother had lived... it would have been my home: where I was raised, found love, and spent my life doing what everyone else does—being normal.
My life is only a prison now. A room with no doors or windows. A dreary life with no escape.
***
“Another,” I requested, hand held out, palm up.
I didn’t need to ask.
Corinne carefully handed me the next dirty cup.
Hundreds of dishes filled the counters and the sink. The feast that had filled the inn to capacity had gone on for days.
Groton, the loud, pompous innkeep burst with pride as he ordered more food from the farmers. “We’ll need another six swans, three deer, and a boar,” I heard him instruct the delivery wagons. “Another few days of this, and we will have expenses covered for a year.” His huge smile was real. It only turned sly when he caught me watching him.
“What you looking for, girl? You like what you see? I am about to be a wealthy man. You can smell the money, can’t you?”
Without warning, he grabbed me by the waist and spun me around. He planted a big, sloppy, wet kiss on my cheek, only missing my face because I turned my head.
Maybe in some land, that passed for dancing. I just tried to not fall or cut him with the paring knife I had been washing, still clutched in my hand.
My mouth opened in shock.
“Sir!” I exclaimed, taken aback. “I hope I didn’t give you the impress-”
“We’ve got big plans, don’t we?” he interrupted. Groton didn’t listen to my protests. With a rough twirl, he spun me back to the work table. Bestowing a crude wink towards my startled face, he looked right at Corinne and promised, “When I come back, I’ll bring you something sweet to suck on.” I shuddered, aghast at the man’s lewd stare at a seven year old girl. Then, without another word, Groton strolled out of the kitchen, humming off-tune.
“He’s not very bright, is he, Briar?” Corinne’s little ears and big eyes observed everything.
I snorted, “Sometimes, it’s the things they say that make the man.”
“And sometimes it’s the things they don’t,” my little sister spoke with a wisdom far beyond her years.
We looked at each other stone-faced before bursting into laughter at the horrid clumsiness of the innkeep. I wiped away tears on my cotton-covered shoulder as Corinne handed over another dish to be cleaned. The mountain was never ending, just like Groton’s wandering hands and his lingering stares at my chest when he thought I wasn’t aware. And more often lately, even when I noticed, the man felt inclined to stare at me. Inclined to have his way. To do what he wanted. His leer spoke more than the voices of a thousand teachers.
I steeled myself for the conversation that was coming.
The one in which I would have to firmly but politely say “NO!” loud enough for him to actually hear my rejection.
He didn’t see me as an equal so he didn’t hear my words as anything other than invitation. Yes or No from a servant girl always meant YES to a rich man.
“I’ll have to deal with that soon.”
“Don’t wait too long, Bri. He—the way he looks at you, scares me.” Corinne’s eyes kept wandering to the outside door, where Groton could be heard shouting with equal boorishness at merchants and Joe and Gant, the local farmyard help.
I washed another dirty dish and placed it gently in the wrack.
After the mountain of dishes finally rested, cleaned, and tidy in their places, I stretched my arms wide, relaxed for two seconds, and then grabbed the potatoes to go outside.
“Time for peeling, Cori,” I spoke cheerfully, choosing to be happy just to get outside the tedious work of kitchen assistant. Sunshine warmed my face as soon as I stepped outside, a bowl of potatoes on my hip.
The sun hung low in the brilliant blue sky, its rays blinding me for a moment as I emerged from the kitchen. Reflexively, I shielded my eyes from the direct sun’s rays with my arm. I blinked, waiting for my vision to adjust.
Out of nowhere, a shoulder hit me, knocking me down.
Potatoes flew.
I clutched the rim of the bowl. Somehow in all of the commotion, I dropped the knife. Blind and confused, I scrambled on the stone steps trying to catch my balance while my suddenly free hand swept the stone walkway for the fallen knife.
It was impossible.
Someone screamed nearby as the assailant knocked me over and fell to his knees. It was a man—a much bigger, taller man. He smelled of cinnamon and lavender. That is the oddest thought to have in a moment like this. My index finger found the bone handle of my paring knife just as I tried to roll to my feet.
Unfortunately, the person who had knocked me down made that difficult.
“Get. Off. Me. Now.” I hissed, beyond angry. “How dare you...” I started to say. And then my eyes caught the color of his cape. Royal purple.
Royal. Oh, shit.
The man groaned, and rolled his weight off my shoulder, enough so that I could sit up. “The sunlight is no friend to either of us, today, sir,” I whispered.
The man on the ground moaned, clutching his ribcage.
I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t matter. I was offered no choice.
Like inconsiderate trash, I was pushed aside, as strong men pulled me away and shook me like a rag doll.
“How dare you assault the prince?”
“What kind of idiot are you, girl?”
“Did you see her?”
“She tripped him. The prince? Is he …”
Someone bound my hands, easily disarming my grip on the paring knife.
“She stabbed him!”
“Is he alive?”
“No, I di-” I started to say before someone shoved me against the apple barrels in the yard and smashed a cloth in my mouth.
Instinctively, I was mad. But survival kicked in: I was more scared and confused than angry.
What happened?
Who was that?
What kind of trouble am I in?
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. The blade missed his heart. Glanced off a rib, looks like.”
“This girl? She did this?”
Another voice answered. “We will have to cover our tracks and hers. Take her. We only get paid if there are no witnesses.”
I had only a moment to glance behind me to where Corinne huddled, frightened. Our eyes met.
I moved my head sideways, once. NO.
Corinne’s shoulders sagged as I, Briar Rose Berwyn, insignificant kitchen assistant was kidnapped. I glared at the masked men as they bundled the wounded prince under a thick, black cloak. Then, two men clad in expensive leather and silver grabbed me roughly. One of them threw me on the back of a nervous horse. I lost my breath when I landed sideways across the saddle.
The horses whinnied, then burst into a gallop and then a flat-out run. Just like that, I was lost to the civilized world.
It was all I could manage to just keep breathing as the horse moved under my body. Falling off its back at that speed would mean terrible injury. I cursed the cruel hands of Fate. Only the gag in my mouth stopped the men from hearing each exquisite word, worthy of the most depraved sailor.